 | The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
125
TO THE Right Honourable LORD LYTTLETON.
As when, with empty purse, and tatter'd weed,
By superstition urg'd to pious deed,
An youthful pilgrim seeks some sacred fane,
Thro' many a lonely wood and pathless plain,
When sullen winter vents its stormy rage,
Beneath the feeble sun's contracted stage;
Till, glimm'ring in his just-departing light,
The gilded turrets catch the ravish'd sight.
But soon the treach'rous pilot disappears,
While hideous howls affright his trembling ears;
Then, swiftly back, with terror wing'd, he flies,
And soon his peaceful cell salutes his eyes;
There, stills his breast, within the safe abode,
Resolv'd, no more, to try the dang'rous road.
But when fair summer sheds his chearful beams,
His terrors past appear like empty dreams;
And while a brighter sun illumes the pole,
A steadier courage animates his soul.
By superstition urg'd to pious deed,
An youthful pilgrim seeks some sacred fane,
Thro' many a lonely wood and pathless plain,
When sullen winter vents its stormy rage,
Beneath the feeble sun's contracted stage;
Till, glimm'ring in his just-departing light,
The gilded turrets catch the ravish'd sight.
But soon the treach'rous pilot disappears,
While hideous howls affright his trembling ears;
Then, swiftly back, with terror wing'd, he flies,
And soon his peaceful cell salutes his eyes;
There, stills his breast, within the safe abode,
Resolv'd, no more, to try the dang'rous road.
But when fair summer sheds his chearful beams,
His terrors past appear like empty dreams;
And while a brighter sun illumes the pole,
A steadier courage animates his soul.
So my rash muse, by poverty oppress'd,
With fond pursuit of fame inspir'd my breast;
While Shenstone's kindness, like a wint'ry sun,
Too soon, with life, its shorten'd race had run;
And while the setting orb withdrew its rays,
The luring object caught my eager gaze.
By passion prompted, still the youthful muse,
Thro' paths untry'd the dazzling fair pursues:
But ignorance round me dreadful darkness spread,
And growling critics fill'd my soul with dread;
Till, lodg'd in calm contentment's humble dome,
In airy chace, resolv'd, no more to roam.
When you, like summer's sun, all-gracious rose,
My fairer hopes condemn'd such dull repose;
And, shelt'ring under your protecting name,
Again attempt the arduous heights of fame.
With fond pursuit of fame inspir'd my breast;
While Shenstone's kindness, like a wint'ry sun,
Too soon, with life, its shorten'd race had run;
And while the setting orb withdrew its rays,
The luring object caught my eager gaze.
By passion prompted, still the youthful muse,
Thro' paths untry'd the dazzling fair pursues:
But ignorance round me dreadful darkness spread,
And growling critics fill'd my soul with dread;
Till, lodg'd in calm contentment's humble dome,
In airy chace, resolv'd, no more to roam.
When you, like summer's sun, all-gracious rose,
My fairer hopes condemn'd such dull repose;
And, shelt'ring under your protecting name,
Again attempt the arduous heights of fame.
| The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |