The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle With A Sketch of his Life, by Leitch Ritchie |
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ELEGIAC STANZAS. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle |  |
165
ELEGIAC STANZAS.
Of thee to think—with thee to rove,
In fancy, through the gentle bowers
That witnessed once our vows of love,
In joyous youth's enchanted hours:
In fancy, through the gentle bowers
That witnessed once our vows of love,
In joyous youth's enchanted hours:
To picture manhood's ardent toils
By love's endearing looks repaid;
While fancy culled her fairest spoils
To deck thy home's domestic shade:
By love's endearing looks repaid;
While fancy culled her fairest spoils
To deck thy home's domestic shade:
To think how sweetly thy control
Had soothed the wound that aches unseen;
While griefs that waste the secret soul
Had passed—perhaps had never been!
Had soothed the wound that aches unseen;
While griefs that waste the secret soul
Had passed—perhaps had never been!
To dream of hours for ever past,
And all that ne'er again can be—
My best beloved; is this the last,
The only solace left to me?
And all that ne'er again can be—
My best beloved; is this the last,
The only solace left to me?
It must not be—I may not trust
My fancy with the fond review—
Go, perish in the silent dust,
Ye dreams, that bright with transport grew!
My fancy with the fond review—
Go, perish in the silent dust,
Ye dreams, that bright with transport grew!
Ay! vain regrets shall soon be o'er,
And sterner cares the tumult quell:
And this lone bosom throb no more
With love and grief's alternate swell.
And sterner cares the tumult quell:
And this lone bosom throb no more
With love and grief's alternate swell.
166
Silent and sad, I go to meet
What life may bring of woe or bliss;
No other hope can be so sweet,
No parting e'er so sad as this!
What life may bring of woe or bliss;
No other hope can be so sweet,
No parting e'er so sad as this!
Ambition's strife,—without an aim,—
No longer can allure me now—
I only sought the wreaths of fame
To bind them round thy gentle brow!
No longer can allure me now—
I only sought the wreaths of fame
To bind them round thy gentle brow!
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle | |