Poems on different occasions [by Cuthbert Shaw] |
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| [I]. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. | ODE VIII.
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
 | Poems on different occasions |  |
77
ODE VIII.
[The measure of twelve years at last]
The measure of twelve years at last,
O gentle youth, thy age attains;
And the long season now is past
Of infant life, and infant pains.
The sullen shadows are withdrawn,
Whose darkness could obscure the dawn:
Now bright shines forth the morn;
Health prints thy bold steps on the green,
And opening fair the flowers are seen
That thy young breast adorn.
O gentle youth, thy age attains;
And the long season now is past
Of infant life, and infant pains.
The sullen shadows are withdrawn,
Whose darkness could obscure the dawn:
Now bright shines forth the morn;
Health prints thy bold steps on the green,
And opening fair the flowers are seen
That thy young breast adorn.
78
O, while fresh youth glows on thy cheek,
And purer blood thy veins inspires,
Go, and each sprightly pleasure seek
That most thy sportive age requires.
Now urge the ball, now with bold hand
Aspire the proud steed to command,
That sweeps the sounding plain;
Now bend the bow with graceful pride,
Or with strong arm the wave divide,
First of the youthful train.
And purer blood thy veins inspires,
Go, and each sprightly pleasure seek
That most thy sportive age requires.
Now urge the ball, now with bold hand
Aspire the proud steed to command,
That sweeps the sounding plain;
Now bend the bow with graceful pride,
Or with strong arm the wave divide,
First of the youthful train.
The Muses shall not long delay
Thy steps more favour'd to surround;
To lead thee to their groves away,
Where songs from silver harps resound.
Led by the Muses, thou shalt rove
Delighted through the magic grove,
And see fair forms divine,
And hear celestial music breathe,
While round thy youthful brow a wreath
Of flowers the Muses twine.
Thy steps more favour'd to surround;
To lead thee to their groves away,
Where songs from silver harps resound.
Led by the Muses, thou shalt rove
Delighted through the magic grove,
And see fair forms divine,
And hear celestial music breathe,
While round thy youthful brow a wreath
Of flowers the Muses twine.
79
Thine is life's chearful morning ray,
And taught what care attends its noon,
We may not too impatient pray,
That the fair morn may pass too soon.
Now like the gay birds on the wing,
That play amidst the beams of spring,
With heart too light for sorrow,
Like them thou sportest in thy May,
Pleas'd with the sunshine of to-day,
And careless of to-morrow.
And taught what care attends its noon,
We may not too impatient pray,
That the fair morn may pass too soon.
Now like the gay birds on the wing,
That play amidst the beams of spring,
With heart too light for sorrow,
Like them thou sportest in thy May,
Pleas'd with the sunshine of to-day,
And careless of to-morrow.
The days of life thou yet wilt know,
Too oft no certain tenor keep;
But like the river-stream they flow,
Which, as it journeys to the deep,
Now clear with floods untroubled glides,
Now rolls more vext in darker tides,
Where rocks oppose its haste,
Now winds thro' fields and meadows gay,
And now pursues its joyless way
Along the lonely waste.
Too oft no certain tenor keep;
But like the river-stream they flow,
Which, as it journeys to the deep,
Now clear with floods untroubled glides,
Now rolls more vext in darker tides,
Where rocks oppose its haste,
Now winds thro' fields and meadows gay,
And now pursues its joyless way
Along the lonely waste.
80
O may thy days unruffled glide
In smoothest stream, thou gentle boy!
Most like the Thames, whose passing tide
Has oft beheld thy infant joy.
Serenely clear the Thames is seen,
While now it strays thro' valleys green,
Now visits princely towers,
And as the wave steals gently down,
The streams enrich the busy town,
And bless the shepherds' bowers.
In smoothest stream, thou gentle boy!
Most like the Thames, whose passing tide
Has oft beheld thy infant joy.
Serenely clear the Thames is seen,
While now it strays thro' valleys green,
Now visits princely towers,
And as the wave steals gently down,
The streams enrich the busy town,
And bless the shepherds' bowers.
| Poems on different occasions | |