 | The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison |  |
57
THE HOUR-GLASS.
As in my silent Study late I sate,
Intent on Poets poor precarious State,
Around my Sight a sudden Dimness play'd,
And ting'd the Taper with a blewy Shade;
When to my Eyes appear'd that watchful Power
Which measures out the sandy-streaming Hour,
An human Form the meagre Phantom wore,
And on its Brow a faded Laurel bore:
On me were fix'd its Looks, whilst thus it spoke,
And Sounds like these the solemn Silence broke.
Intent on Poets poor precarious State,
Around my Sight a sudden Dimness play'd,
And ting'd the Taper with a blewy Shade;
When to my Eyes appear'd that watchful Power
Which measures out the sandy-streaming Hour,
An human Form the meagre Phantom wore,
And on its Brow a faded Laurel bore:
On me were fix'd its Looks, whilst thus it spoke,
And Sounds like these the solemn Silence broke.
58
“At length the Time is come to tell a Truth
“To thee, to thee alone, O fated Youth!
“Then mark my Story well—in happier Days,
“Like thine, my Bosom panted after Praise;
“Foe to the grave Fatigues of Life, I strove
“To grow immortal in a Myrtle-Grove:
“Lost there, I lavish'd out my little Store,
“Destin'd to live poetically poor;
“What slender Gains my Labours brought, I spent,
“And thro' the Glass my luscious Profit went;
“From thence, with fictious Inspiration warm'd,
“A vain Eternity's Reversion charm'd;
“My Fate I bless'd,—for future Fame reserv'd!
“For that I glory'd! and for that I—starv'd!
“Thence, by some pow'rful Transmigration turn'd,
“In these repentant Streams my Folly mourn'd:
“Here, as you see, my fleeting Minutes pass,
“Still, as of old, devoted to the Glass.
“As once, too humble for proud Rooms of State,
“In homely Cottages I seek my Fate,
“And find my vast Poetic promis'd Land
“All dwindled to this little barren Sand;
“With which advise, ye youthful Sons of Rhime,
“In abler Studies to employ your Time;
“Warn'd by my Fate, to learn, for learn you must,
“That all your Fame, like mine, but turns to Dust.
“To thee, to thee alone, O fated Youth!
“Then mark my Story well—in happier Days,
“Like thine, my Bosom panted after Praise;
“Foe to the grave Fatigues of Life, I strove
“To grow immortal in a Myrtle-Grove:
“Lost there, I lavish'd out my little Store,
“Destin'd to live poetically poor;
“What slender Gains my Labours brought, I spent,
“And thro' the Glass my luscious Profit went;
“From thence, with fictious Inspiration warm'd,
“A vain Eternity's Reversion charm'd;
“My Fate I bless'd,—for future Fame reserv'd!
“For that I glory'd! and for that I—starv'd!
“Thence, by some pow'rful Transmigration turn'd,
“In these repentant Streams my Folly mourn'd:
59
“Still, as of old, devoted to the Glass.
“As once, too humble for proud Rooms of State,
“In homely Cottages I seek my Fate,
“And find my vast Poetic promis'd Land
“All dwindled to this little barren Sand;
“With which advise, ye youthful Sons of Rhime,
“In abler Studies to employ your Time;
“Warn'd by my Fate, to learn, for learn you must,
“That all your Fame, like mine, but turns to Dust.
| The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison | |