Poems to Thespia :: :: University of Virginia Library

O Thespia, what calamity is theirs,
Who with no soft companion of their way,
Are doom'd to struggle with conflicting cares,
And through adversity's dark paths to stray!

Who sunk from affluence, are condemn'd to prove
The loss of friends, necessity's sharp fang,
It's rankling wound ne'er soothed by tender love,
Exposed without resource to every pang!

Their ruin'd fortune how can they sustain?
And all the blasted hopes of life resign?
Support the stroke of agonizing pain?
And on it's dreary bed for months recline?

Still Passion's slaves, with wild reflections fraught,
Can they the fierce heart-rending tumult bear!
Who shall the sallies curb of frantic thought
Who from their tortur'd bosoms chace despair?

104

With what complacence, what serene delight
The pleasing contrast of my lot I view!
With thee, my Thespia, every care is light,
And adverse fate assumes a different hue.

Close on the verge of want, with thee I taste
Joys which exhaustless mines would fail to give,
No idle wish on former prospects waste,
And scorning riches, prodigally live.

For in thy soul my countless wealth is stored,
To me by partial fate the key was given,
Mine is alone the pure refulgent hoard,
The coin which bears the genuine stamp of Heaven.

While I this sacred treasure may command,
On it's vague plumes let fickle friendship fly,
Let cold esteem unmoved at distance stand,
Affected pity wipe her tearless eye.

105

'Tis thine anxiety and grief to charm,
To soothe the lingering torments of disease,
Thine every raging passion to disarm,
As when the breath of zephyr calms the seas.

O wedded Love! true Fosterer of the heart!
How did I lately feel thy magic power,
When all the boasted remedies of art
Were vain and fruitless in the afflictive hour!

Thy influence, piercing like the solar ray,
Cherish'd the latent germs of strength within,
Gave them to shoot, as when the buds of May
From the dried bark their vernal growth begin.

By thee upraised, attentive to thy voice,
I sought the rills, the lawns, the blooming vale
Where frolic childhood bade my soul rejoice,
Where first my lips essay'd the tender tale.

106

Invoked by thee—again young Fancy came
And met my steps by Alphin's willow'd side,
Memory renew'd her weak diminish'd flame,
And Health allured me toward the hills of Ide.

I felt the tepid breezes of the spring,
I saw with cheerful looks the village throng,
I heard the early lark on soaring wing,
And raised once more the involuntary song.

Ye scenes long lost! scenes of my boyish years!
Ye scenes where pleasure and where love I found!
Thou babbling brook, whose stream my bosom cheers!
Ye verdant lawns, ye orchards blooming round!

Witness, beholding you, whose charms I trace!
For here in affectation unarray'd,
I saw my Thespia rich in native grace,
And wooed the Muse to sing my favourite Maid.

107

Oh! be your power ye gentle scenes confest!
On the tired soul refreshing balm you shed,
By you with new-born vigour glows the breast,
By you content drops roses on the head.

Still lovely vale, and still ye hills of Ide
Shall you by me with grateful note be sung,
And exercise, and wedded love my guide,
And health's alluring smile, and fancy young.

But to preserve the blessings they bestow,
All, all, my Thespia, must on thee depend,
My song, nay more, my life to thee I owe,
Unwearied Guardian! Tutoress! Lover! Friend!