The peripatetic or, Sketches of the heart, of nature and society; In a series of politico-sentimental journals, in verse and prose, of the eccentric excursions of Sylvanus Theophrastus; Supposed to be written by himself [by John Thelwall] |
 | [I]. |
 | II. |
[Ah! witness thou, o'er whose untimely bier] |
| III. |
 | The peripatetic |  |
146
[Ah! witness thou, o'er whose untimely bier]
Ah! witness thou, o'er whose untimely bier,
Cropp'd in thy smiling beauty's gayest bloom,
My Lyre, responsive to the trickling tear,
Wak'd the lorn echoes; thou whose silent tomb
My early muse with dews and flow'rets deck'd:
Wild flowers, indeed, pluck'd from the lowly glade:
Yet such might serve to shew thy kindred shade
A pure remembrance, and a fond respect—
Cropp'd in thy smiling beauty's gayest bloom,
My Lyre, responsive to the trickling tear,
Wak'd the lorn echoes; thou whose silent tomb
My early muse with dews and flow'rets deck'd:
Wild flowers, indeed, pluck'd from the lowly glade:
Yet such might serve to shew thy kindred shade
A pure remembrance, and a fond respect—
Ah! witness thou to whom with early pride
I lisp'd in numbers, and I lisp'd of love;
For whom so oft my infant bosom sigh'd,
And breath'd its fondness to the list'ning grove—
How thrill'd my bosom when thy accent kind
Spoke gentle confidence? how stood the tear
Big trembling in my eye, if chance the fear
Of favour'd rivals stung my anxious mind?
I lisp'd in numbers, and I lisp'd of love;
For whom so oft my infant bosom sigh'd,
And breath'd its fondness to the list'ning grove—
How thrill'd my bosom when thy accent kind
Spoke gentle confidence? how stood the tear
Big trembling in my eye, if chance the fear
Of favour'd rivals stung my anxious mind?
147
Nor you, ye sages, with sarcastic smile
The infant dawn of sympathy deride!—
The honest throb of bosoms free from guile,
Unsway'd by interest,—unseduc'd by pride!
'Tis hence, perhaps,—from this etherial glow,
(Where grosser passion claims no sordid part)
That all the fine, extatic feelings flow,
That lift the fancy, and expand the heart!
Hence all the quick perceptions; hence the nerve
That feels alike for all the sentient sphere;
For every joy a transport can reserve,
For every sorrow shed the pitying tear.
Yes, hence the Poet's Soul its genuine fire
May catch;—each glowing charm, each polish'd art:
And ev'n divine Philanthropy aspire
To soothe the pangs of every throbbing heart.
This Shakespeare's rapid genius might bestow,
Stodart's warm tint, and Howard's generous glow.
The infant dawn of sympathy deride!—
The honest throb of bosoms free from guile,
Unsway'd by interest,—unseduc'd by pride!
'Tis hence, perhaps,—from this etherial glow,
(Where grosser passion claims no sordid part)
That all the fine, extatic feelings flow,
That lift the fancy, and expand the heart!
Hence all the quick perceptions; hence the nerve
That feels alike for all the sentient sphere;
For every joy a transport can reserve,
For every sorrow shed the pitying tear.
Yes, hence the Poet's Soul its genuine fire
May catch;—each glowing charm, each polish'd art:
And ev'n divine Philanthropy aspire
To soothe the pangs of every throbbing heart.
This Shakespeare's rapid genius might bestow,
Stodart's warm tint, and Howard's generous glow.
| The peripatetic | |