The Poetical Works of David Gray A New and Enlarged Edition; Edited by Henry Glassford Bell |
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An Epistle to a friend.
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 | The Poetical Works of David Gray |  |
139
An Epistle to a friend.
Ah well-a-day, for human plans,
And Fancy's bright creations,
With all the purple-wingéd brood
Of young imaginations!
I've tried, this weary winter's day,
All poignant cares to banish,
By quaffing goblets, rosy-brimm'd,
Of dear poetic Rhenish.
And Fancy's bright creations,
With all the purple-wingéd brood
Of young imaginations!
I've tried, this weary winter's day,
All poignant cares to banish,
By quaffing goblets, rosy-brimm'd,
Of dear poetic Rhenish.
Not all the sweets of Castaly—
That river Heliconian,
Adorn'd with swans of queenly snow,
Of ancient brood Strymonian;
Not all the maiden Muses nine,
With tresses loosely flowing,
Could magnetise a single line,
Or set my quill a-going;
That river Heliconian,
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Of ancient brood Strymonian;
Not all the maiden Muses nine,
With tresses loosely flowing,
Could magnetise a single line,
Or set my quill a-going;
Until I thought of thee, dear friend—
Best loved, though long unheeded;
Then forth the virgin pages came,
And quick my fingers speeded.
This very hour I'll make amends,
This lonely hour quiescent,
When all the stars are in the blue,
'Mid lustre irridescent.
Best loved, though long unheeded;
Then forth the virgin pages came,
And quick my fingers speeded.
This very hour I'll make amends,
This lonely hour quiescent,
When all the stars are in the blue,
'Mid lustre irridescent.
And, from the slopes I know right well,
All shagg'd with bending thistle,
The homeless wind comes with a swell,
And enters with a whistle;
Till brightlier glows the cosy fire,
And cheerier my bosom,
In thinking on the shivering woods,
And vales without a blossom.
All shagg'd with bending thistle,
The homeless wind comes with a swell,
141
Till brightlier glows the cosy fire,
And cheerier my bosom,
In thinking on the shivering woods,
And vales without a blossom.
You know the Luggie, natal stream!—
On earth to us none dearer—
Where Lady Luna, mirror'd, burns,
With all her handmaids near her.
The time may come when haughty Fame
With laurel shall console us;
Then we shall halo it with song
Till it outflow Pactolus!
On earth to us none dearer—
Where Lady Luna, mirror'd, burns,
With all her handmaids near her.
The time may come when haughty Fame
With laurel shall console us;
Then we shall halo it with song
Till it outflow Pactolus!
The woods, the vales, the hawthorn dales,
The hoary hamlet Caurnie
Shall be of goodlier report
Than genius-hallowed Ferney.
And though I speak like boaster vain,
I speak not without thinking;
Already on thy noble brow
I see a chaplet twinkling!
The hoary hamlet Caurnie
Shall be of goodlier report
Than genius-hallowed Ferney.
142
I speak not without thinking;
Already on thy noble brow
I see a chaplet twinkling!
Heaven knows! amid the march of Time
I am a simple dreamer;
Can see more in the patient moon—
Yon radiant crescent-gleamer—
Than all the banner'd pomp of war,
Or progress politician;
Than all the mockeries of rank,
And haughtiness patrician.
I am a simple dreamer;
Can see more in the patient moon—
Yon radiant crescent-gleamer—
Than all the banner'd pomp of war,
Or progress politician;
Than all the mockeries of rank,
And haughtiness patrician.
No golden key, however bright,
Can pass the fragrant portal
Of Fame's grand temple-dome, or make
A simpleton immortal.
Then what is wealth to our desire?
(A burning tear-drop pays us)
A rushlight to the morning star,
To Homer but a Croesus.
Can pass the fragrant portal
Of Fame's grand temple-dome, or make
A simpleton immortal.
Then what is wealth to our desire?
143
A rushlight to the morning star,
To Homer but a Croesus.
Then, Willie, though a careless dog,
In brotherhood excuse me,
Nor with neglect, and haughty look,
Most wantonly abuse me.
I've suffer'd much and suffer'd long,
Dear heart! since last we ponder'd
On gentle love, within that hall
Where ancient ivies wander'd.
In brotherhood excuse me,
Nor with neglect, and haughty look,
Most wantonly abuse me.
I've suffer'd much and suffer'd long,
Dear heart! since last we ponder'd
On gentle love, within that hall
Where ancient ivies wander'd.
Nor think my love one jot the less—
Than love I sought in passion—
Because I thus have treated thee
In unpoetic fashion.
Let this suffice for evermore:
I plead a self-conviction,
And thy frank spirit never shall
Increase my sad affliction.
Than love I sought in passion—
Because I thus have treated thee
In unpoetic fashion.
Let this suffice for evermore:
I plead a self-conviction,
144
Increase my sad affliction.
Then sure I'll see thee yet again,
Before another morrow
Steals up the east—shall see thee, friend!
In a delightful sorrow.
With silent gratitude, I speak
A blessing on our meeting,
And may the light of friendship touch
Our spirits at the greeting!
Before another morrow
Steals up the east—shall see thee, friend!
In a delightful sorrow.
With silent gratitude, I speak
A blessing on our meeting,
And may the light of friendship touch
Our spirits at the greeting!
| The Poetical Works of David Gray | |