Poems, on various subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Bristol, my soul hangs back on thee, and breathes
Her sorrows o'er the past; yet while I droop,
Thy gentle voice sounds in each passing hour,
Till Melancholy lull'd, gives transient ease.
Ah, who shall sit on Meditation's height,
With stoic firmness, when the piercing shriek

167

Of Agony is heard? In vain we boast
A fortitude of soul, in vain we turn
From sad obtruding Mem'ry. Oh, my friend!
Thine are the stores of ev'ry classic sage,
Thine ev'ry virtue which the mind can own,
When strong Resolve would fix—but all is weak,
Oppos'd to latent Woe; yet shall my soul
Sing ever-mournful notes o'er Mis'ry's stream,
Frighting soft Peace? No, Bristol's arm has borne
My spirit from the scene, placing it high
On Hope's unmeasur'd height; and here I'll stand
Till Time shall roll his thousand worlds, in rage,
Down vast Eternity: in that loud hour,
When Nature throws her dark foundations up
To meet the liquid skies, thy form rever'd
Shall strike my grateful soul; no livid glare,

168

Mingled convulsion, element unhing'd,
Swift-falling orb, when old Creation reels,
Shall hide thee from my view; of essence form'd,
More pure than ether in its finest sphere.
I then may hail thee; but till then accept
The language faint of an untutor'd mind,
Whose pow'rs have found their best support in thee.