The poetical wanderer containing, dissertations On the early poetry of Greece, On tragic poetry, and on the power Of noble actions on the mind. To which are added, several poems |
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The Author's Elegy over the remains of his Pen.
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 | The poetical wanderer |  |
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The Author's Elegy over the remains of his Pen.
Farewell kind friend who zealous in thy trust,
Hast trac'd the wanderings of a youthful heart,
Thy worn remains I now bestow the dust,
And sadly mourn that we are forc'd to part.
Hast trac'd the wanderings of a youthful heart,
Thy worn remains I now bestow the dust,
And sadly mourn that we are forc'd to part.
How patient thou hast borne thy tiresome lot,
And faithful follow'd where I chose to lead!
Mark'd what was passing in my busy thought,
And told the world what they will never read!
And faithful follow'd where I chose to lead!
Mark'd what was passing in my busy thought,
And told the world what they will never read!
Dull lines or not, 'twas all the same to thee,
Thou follow'd on unknown to any fear;
Thy zeal was guided by a love for me,
Who car'd as little for a cynic's sneer.
Thou follow'd on unknown to any fear;
Thy zeal was guided by a love for me,
Who car'd as little for a cynic's sneer.
Thou wast alone the solitary friend
That watch'd my musing in my little cot;
And not like some—thou didst thy comfort lead,
Upon a WIGHT whom honors never sought.
That watch'd my musing in my little cot;
And not like some—thou didst thy comfort lead,
Upon a WIGHT whom honors never sought.
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Now in my service thou art sad decay'd,
Perhaps I've been a master too severe;
Who much too often has requir'd thy aid,
And yet may mourn this usage with a tear.
Perhaps I've been a master too severe;
Who much too often has requir'd thy aid,
And yet may mourn this usage with a tear.
Farewell thou pen—a tender last farewell!
Thou must for ever leave this musing eye.
We all must part and seek the mouldering cell,
We all must sicken, and we all must die.
Thou must for ever leave this musing eye.
We all must part and seek the mouldering cell,
We all must sicken, and we all must die.
How long the WIGHT who mourns o'er thy remains,
Will live beyond thee none on earth can tell;
Perhaps thy elegy may close his strains,
And no more Pens he'll ever bid farewell!
Will live beyond thee none on earth can tell;
Perhaps thy elegy may close his strains,
And no more Pens he'll ever bid farewell!
| The poetical wanderer | |