Poems to Thespia :: :: University of Virginia Library

I was not form'd for glory's arduous ways,
The hidden depths of science to explain,
To cloathe me in ambition's golden rays,
Or combat death, and tread the carnaged plain.

In the broad, open face, of public life,
To some Heaven gives conspicuously to move,
Enamour'd of the scenes of noise and strife,
To me a mind, all indolence and love.

Unhappiness and care to Kings I give,
Exposed they stand to every stormy gale;
On yonder hill's green side secure I live,
Or walk with vacant step along the dale.

Enough for me, to meet my Thespia there,
Arm lock'd in arm along the wood to roam;
Lost but to love, to stray we know not where,
And wonder how we got so far from home.

For her the hedge-flower garland to intwine,
At her command invoke the artless Muse,
Press close her chaste, her glowing cheek to mine,
Or on her bosom, my whole soul effuse.

My thoughts to more extatic pleasures rise;
Here, sacred wodlock, bring thy closest veil!
And from the busy ken of prying eyes
Thy holy rites and mysteries conceal.

Such were the strains, which in the jocund prime
Of life, when fancy takes delight to dream,
I sung, nor spent a thought on future time,
Where rural Alphin winds his scanty stream.

I sung, each object struck me with delight,
The edying rivulet, the new-shorn flock,
The meads with flowers of various hue bedight,
The verdant hillock, and the barren rock.

Yet, tho by kindest nature form'd, to stray
The sweet oblivious path of life along,
Fate's tyrant voice, and unrelenting sway
Impells the novice mid the bustling throng.

I go; yet once more let me cast my eyes
On you, ye well-known scenes, a parting view;
Tho I with fondest estimation prize
Your long-frequented haunts; for aye adieu!

But oh, my Thespia!—there the imperfect sound
Hangs unpronounced upon my trembling tongue,
Cold damps of dewy sweat my brow surround
And every nerve and sinew is unstrung.

Once more receive me to thy panting breast;
Would I could rivet me for-ever there!
Such agonies no language e'er express'd;
Death cannot bring a torture so severe.