Poems on Various Subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now silence reigns, and thro' the misty cloud
The plaintive Moon displays her yellow face:
Her light diminish'd by the humid shrowd,
Which wimples o'er the wonted azure space.

Now thro' the leafless trees, her feeble rays
Illume my window with a dappled light,
And, fix'd in sober thought, my eye surveys
The dun appearance of the cheerless night.

Reflection whispers to my brooding thought,
“Thou pensive bard, survey thy shadow'd fate!
“Yon low'ring sky with serious truth is wrought:
“Strong emblem, youth, of thy untoward state.

115

“See all the sky a slaty cloud o'ershade;
“No spot is cheer'd with azure's splendid hue,
“Yet sullen darkness no where is display'd:
“In this thy state of mind distinctly view.

“No festive joys, no revels, no delights,
“No cheerful friends, no nymphs of form divine
“Thy days consume, or cheer thy lonely nights;
“No rays of Fortune on thy efforts shine.

“Yet may'st thou say, and 'tis no little boast,
“Tho' sportive joys thy mind but rarely bless,
“Yet art thou not in black Despondence lost:
“Few feel the gloom of Melancholy less.

“The moon whose palid rays so feebly beam,
“Dispelling darkness, yet scarce yielding light,
“Shews how thy feeble hopes just faintly gleam,
“To keep thy soul from Fear's desponding night.”

Hark! thro' the silent void the solemn bell
Tolls forth the knell of a departed day!
Ah, who that hears the awful sound can tell
That he shall hear another toll'd away?

116

How many now, with social glee who met
To hail with festal joy the new-born year,
Prolong the cheerful hour, and jocund yet
Push round the glass, while songs and pastimes cheer?

And I, who now the serious Muses woo,
And waste in pensive thought the sleepless night,
Have hail'd this gay, this sportive season too,
The social harbinger of loud delight.

Then pastimes bland, and songs of cheerful glee
Gave wings to time, and roll'd the hours away;
While sportive cranks, and harmless gambols free
Were interspers'd with flash of Humour gay.

But now has thrice revolv'd the various year,
Thrice has return'd the time of sport and glee—
—But ah! in vain the circling times appear,
Revolving seasons bring no joys to me.

The hapless sons of Penury and Care,
Alone, neglected and deserted pine;
No hours convivial they in revels share,
Where wit, where beauty, and where affluence shine.

117

For who so dull, in this sagacious age—
This age of worldly prudence and of pride—
To court the humble, or the youth engage,
Who, saving Genius, has no wealth beside?

Yet thus neglected by the proud and gay,
Repine I will not at my stars unkind,
But rather far my gratitude display
For inward wealth, which gilds my tranquil mind.

Does not the Muse my raptur'd bosom fill?
Does not gay Fancy bless my lonely hours?
Does not Content her soothing lore instil,
And Health come tripping from her roseate bow'rs?

Bless'd is the youth who boasts a Poet's name!
He, independent, Fortune may despise:
Others their bliss from outward objects claim;
He, in his bosom bears the source of joys.

Ye gilded sons of Grandeur, vainly great!
Ye painted flies, who glitter at the ball!
Ye feather'd fops, who vaunt in tinsel state!
Know I, vain things! am richer than ye all!

118

Can all the wealth of both the Indies join'd,
And all the stores thro' fertile Nilus sent,
Procure such rich enjoyment for the mind
As Muse, as Fancy, Health, and young Content?

“It is the knell of my departed hours.” Young.