 | I. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| II. |
|
|
|
|
 | The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson |  |
No more of pleasure's airy round!
Too long I've slept in rose-leaf'd bow'rs;
And trod on fairy ground,
With folly by my side;
Nor number'd e'er the passing hours.
For hope, delusive flatterer, was my guide;
And with her fairest flow'rs,
That blossoming did decay,
She, smiling, strew'd my way;
And life's short morn was nought but empty pride.
By hope a willing victim led,
Soon reason from me fled;
Then pleas'd, each distant prospect fair
With partial eye I view'd;
And mock'd the busy spoiler care,
And laugh'd to hear of man's ingratitude.
Now wak'd, as from a dream,
How sad, alas! I seem!
While meek religion whispers, Heav'nwards turn!
Then, O my thoughts surmount the sky,
And from all worldly follies fly;
Ere dim life's lamp begins to burn!
While others vainly study how to live,
Let me the hours to meditation give;
And study how to die!
Too long I've slept in rose-leaf'd bow'rs;
And trod on fairy ground,
With folly by my side;
Nor number'd e'er the passing hours.
For hope, delusive flatterer, was my guide;
And with her fairest flow'rs,
That blossoming did decay,
She, smiling, strew'd my way;
And life's short morn was nought but empty pride.
By hope a willing victim led,
Soon reason from me fled;
Then pleas'd, each distant prospect fair
With partial eye I view'd;
And mock'd the busy spoiler care,
And laugh'd to hear of man's ingratitude.
209
How sad, alas! I seem!
While meek religion whispers, Heav'nwards turn!
Then, O my thoughts surmount the sky,
And from all worldly follies fly;
Ere dim life's lamp begins to burn!
While others vainly study how to live,
Let me the hours to meditation give;
And study how to die!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson | |