 | Miscellaneous poems |  |
29
ODE TO SENSIBILITY.
Hail, Sensibility! thou angel dear,
Who breath'st the sigh or drop'st the silent tear
At other's grief;
Who guid'st the generous liberal hand,
To give relief.
Without thee, say, what had we been?
Unfeeling brutes, who scarce deserve the name of men.
Come, fill my heart, and let it overflow,
Exult in other's joys—or bleed at other's woe.
Who breath'st the sigh or drop'st the silent tear
At other's grief;
Who guid'st the generous liberal hand,
To give relief.
Without thee, say, what had we been?
Unfeeling brutes, who scarce deserve the name of men.
Come, fill my heart, and let it overflow,
Exult in other's joys—or bleed at other's woe.
See yon poor wretch with hunger starv'd,
Eager he eyes his precious grain of food;
What, tho' tis tainted, mouldy, dry or hard,
His famish'd appetite still thinks it good.
There was a pang shot through my very heart;
At thy command, my ready hand
Of my small portion hastes to give a part,
While from my eye th' unbidden tear will start,
That such keen mis'ry should afflict mankind.
Yet as I gently grieve,
I bless the hour, Benignant Pow'r,
That gave the means those sorrows to relieve.
Eager he eyes his precious grain of food;
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His famish'd appetite still thinks it good.
There was a pang shot through my very heart;
At thy command, my ready hand
Of my small portion hastes to give a part,
While from my eye th' unbidden tear will start,
That such keen mis'ry should afflict mankind.
Yet as I gently grieve,
I bless the hour, Benignant Pow'r,
That gave the means those sorrows to relieve.
How can the stoic think it bliss
To know no joy, to feel no woe;
Mine is a happier state than his,
Who both these passions know.
Whose pulse can beat to joy's light measure,
And dance the revel round of pleasure;
Or drop th' excruciating tear
O'er sacred friendship's hallow'd bier.
To know no joy, to feel no woe;
Mine is a happier state than his,
Who both these passions know.
Whose pulse can beat to joy's light measure,
And dance the revel round of pleasure;
Or drop th' excruciating tear
O'er sacred friendship's hallow'd bier.
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Sweet Sensibility be mine,
And I'd not change my lowly cot,
Queen of the eastern world to shine,
And share the proudest monarch's lot.
What if thou hast a thousand darts?
I will not once repine.
Oh, might I be allowed to share
The raptures which thy smile imparts!
Empty thy quiver without fear,
Wring from my tortur'd heart its every tear,
If thinly scattered here and there
Thy sweetest joys are mine.
And I'd not change my lowly cot,
Queen of the eastern world to shine,
And share the proudest monarch's lot.
What if thou hast a thousand darts?
I will not once repine.
Oh, might I be allowed to share
The raptures which thy smile imparts!
Empty thy quiver without fear,
Wring from my tortur'd heart its every tear,
If thinly scattered here and there
Thy sweetest joys are mine.
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