Juvenilia or, A collection of poems. Written between the ages of twelve and seventeen, by J. H. L. Hunt ... Fourth Edition |
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TO GENIUS.
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 | Juvenilia |  |
TO GENIUS.
O thou, to all the vulgar blind,
Who fill'st the Poet's ample mind
With rapture, such as Shakespeare felt,
When at thy sacred shrine he knelt;
Such as inspires, in lofty strain,
To tell of agony and pain;
Or, o'er the harp, as the slow fingers move,
The gentler, soft, sooth'd mind inspires
With silent, yet more glowing fires,
While the loud numbers melt to strains of breathing love.
Who fill'st the Poet's ample mind
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When at thy sacred shrine he knelt;
Such as inspires, in lofty strain,
To tell of agony and pain;
Or, o'er the harp, as the slow fingers move,
The gentler, soft, sooth'd mind inspires
With silent, yet more glowing fires,
While the loud numbers melt to strains of breathing love.
O with that glow whose modest flush
Gives Thomson's muse her chaster blush,
Or with th' expanding flames that silent lie,
To burst more bright from Collins' eye;
Or with the voice of Milton's song,
Pure as the heav'n, and as its thunder strong;
O fill my mind with all thy strength,
Like thy ideas without length;
Pour thro' my soul thy beaming light,
Within be glorious day, tho' all without is night!
Gives Thomson's muse her chaster blush,
Or with th' expanding flames that silent lie,
To burst more bright from Collins' eye;
Or with the voice of Milton's song,
Pure as the heav'n, and as its thunder strong;
O fill my mind with all thy strength,
Like thy ideas without length;
Pour thro' my soul thy beaming light,
Within be glorious day, tho' all without is night!
Yet to that day, so bright begun,
O grant there be no setting sun;
Let not Distraction's hurrying storm,
Or idiot Madness, restless form,
Deface thy lively ray;
Long, Genius, let thy suppliant view
Thy airy robes of varying hue,
And eyes that dazzle day.
But if thy warm inspiring breath
Grow cold at the approach of Death;
If at his wintry grasp thy fire
But faint my lonely breast inspire;
Grant to the coming night, O youth divine,
One ray may linger yet, one cheering beam may shine!
O grant there be no setting sun;
Let not Distraction's hurrying storm,
Or idiot Madness, restless form,
Deface thy lively ray;
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Thy airy robes of varying hue,
And eyes that dazzle day.
But if thy warm inspiring breath
Grow cold at the approach of Death;
If at his wintry grasp thy fire
But faint my lonely breast inspire;
Grant to the coming night, O youth divine,
One ray may linger yet, one cheering beam may shine!
| Juvenilia | |