 | Poems |  |
48
TIMON;
OR, THE MAN-HATER.
Ye comrades, who, when life was young,
When Hope was warm, and Fancy gay,
How are ye fled, ye fluttering throng,
Mere insects of a summer's day!
When Hope was warm, and Fancy gay,
How are ye fled, ye fluttering throng,
Mere insects of a summer's day!
False world, I now defy thy frown;
Friendship, I court no more thy smile!
This heart, now dead, or senseless grown,
Where could ye torture, how beguile?
Friendship, I court no more thy smile!
This heart, now dead, or senseless grown,
Where could ye torture, how beguile?
49
Ye books, that cheer'd my lonesome hours,
Ye songs, that charm'd a lover's breast,
Fled, fled is all your boasted power—
Talk ye,—ye once could talk,—of rest?
Ye songs, that charm'd a lover's breast,
Fled, fled is all your boasted power—
Talk ye,—ye once could talk,—of rest?
Deceitful books, that preach of truth,
Your folemn lectures all are lies:
Ye songs, that could beguile my youth,
Can ye relieve a heart, that sighs?
Your folemn lectures all are lies:
Ye songs, that could beguile my youth,
Can ye relieve a heart, that sighs?
Oh! sun, why sparkle bright thy beams?
Thy marching, why so stately-slow?
Quick-fly, as glides the mountain-stream;—
Why linger thus o'er tents of woe?
Thy marching, why so stately-slow?
Quick-fly, as glides the mountain-stream;—
Why linger thus o'er tents of woe?
Ye lightnings, flash your sires along;
Ye heav'ns, assume your deadliest form;
Ye thunders, mutter deep, and strong,
And let me perish in the storm.
Ye heav'ns, assume your deadliest form;
50
And let me perish in the storm.
Or, if some gods preside above,
Oh! bear me far from human race;
Wild 'mid some desart let me rove,
And view no smiling fellow face.
Oh! bear me far from human race;
Wild 'mid some desart let me rove,
And view no smiling fellow face.
Or, on some mountain's side of rock,
Where stray the wild sheep, whistling near,
I'll sit like straggler from the flock,
And surly view the prospect drear.
Where stray the wild sheep, whistling near,
I'll sit like straggler from the flock,
And surly view the prospect drear.
And, when grey ev'ning's mists arise,
Some lonely ghost shall be my guest,
Whose body now unburied lies,
Who sighs, like me, in vain for rest.
Some lonely ghost shall be my guest,
Whose body now unburied lies,
Who sighs, like me, in vain for rest.
51
Oh! Nature, by what art combin'd,
Didst thou contrive thy monstrous plan?
I loathe my fellows of mankind;
I hate myself for being man.
Didst thou contrive thy monstrous plan?
I loathe my fellows of mankind;
I hate myself for being man.
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