 | The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery |  |
A MOURNFUL TRUTH.
But, like the lustre of a broken dream,How soon the fairy grace of morning-life
Melts from the growing child! Corruptive airs
Breathed from an atmosphere where sin is bred,
Around them their contaminating spell
Exhale; and Custom, with its hateful load
Of mean observances, and petty rites,
Bends into dust those Instincts of the skies
In the pure heart of genuine Childhood seen,
And, so enchanting! Then, comes artful Trick,
With forced Appearance, and the feeling veil'd,
When Fashion's creed or Folly's plea forbids
A free expression. These, with blending force
The sweet integrities of Youth assail
For ever: mar the delicacy of mind,
And from the power intact of conscience take
Its holy edge; and soon the Child impress
With the coarse features of corrupted Man.
And, add to this, how omnipresent sin,
That from the womb of being to our grave
Infects our nature with a fiendish blight,
Will act on passions earthly, and desires
Malignant, base, or mutinously warp'd
From virtue,—and, alas, how quick we find
The vestal-bloom of Innocence depart!
Then, what remains of all that blessèd prime,
That blooming promise, which the fair-brow'd Child
Of beauty gave in home's domestic bowers?—
Lisping God's love beside parental knees,
And seeming oft, as if the Saviour's arms
Had compass'd them, and left a circling spell
Round his soft being! Where, oh! where is gone
The unworn freshness of that fairy Child?
| The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery | |