Beauties of the mind, a poetical sketch :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Yet suffer not scowling Mistrust
To make thee to the world unjust,
And think the whole one blot;
For some there are,—Alas, how few!—
With souls to every virtue true:—
Heaven cast with these thy lot!”
W. JERDAN.

I

Thou leav'st me for the world—the false, the vain,
The treacherous world;—Alas! too soon to know
How bitter is the fruit thou wouldst obtain!—
How mean the core of that vast gilded shew!
How deep the arts there practised to beguile!—
How black the purpose veil'd there 'neath a smile!

II

Spare not thy father—bid his aged eyes
Turn to the grave, forgetting earthly love;
Leave him—with not a hope beneath the skies,
Save that swift death his sorrows may remove;
Bid the last link of life be like the first;
Go!—leave this bruised and aching heart to burst.

III

Clasp the alluring world to thy young breast;
Believe it the great glory it appears;
Though it brought daggers to thy father's rest—
Though it brought poison to thy father's tears—
Deem thou the world as noble as it seems,
And wake to madness from thy splendid dreams.

IV

If Happiness on earth hath an abode,
She dwells among the forest leaves and flowers;
She speaks before the shrine of Nature's God;
She smiles in beauty through the summer hours;
Not in bright hall—nor crowded citadel—
Not with the high nor wealthy may she dwell.

V

Not with the high,—even though all be won—
They're fretted by the very toys they crave;
Not with the wealthy,—for their souls are gone
With their adventurous vessels o'er the wave;
Not in the glittering dance,—there Envy sips
The blushing rose from young and lovely lips.

VI

Return to our rude cave; still be thy hand
My gentle guide through the tall ancient woods—
The only lasting glory of the land,
God's arm hath rear'd within his solitudes;
Then perfect not the deed thou hast begun—
Break not thy father's heart, my son!—my son!