 | Poems, on various subjects |  |
23
FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,
Who appeared hurt on the Author's desiring him to Live “upon Remembrance.”
Lucius, suppress the sigh, nor let the pang
Rend thy too soften'd bosom: from my tongue
No accent, that envenom'd meaning bears,
Shall ever cut its passage to thine heart.
Rend thy too soften'd bosom: from my tongue
No accent, that envenom'd meaning bears,
Shall ever cut its passage to thine heart.
Why then this keen sensation? Why on earth
Fix thy late chearful eye, whose beams were wont
To light fresh rapture in the soul refin'd?
Fix thy late chearful eye, whose beams were wont
To light fresh rapture in the soul refin'd?
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Thy mind so nice, starts at a feign'd alarm,
And shudders at an injury suppos'd.
Fatal mistake! for who would wound thy breast,
That feel by sympathy the pangs they give?
And shudders at an injury suppos'd.
Fatal mistake! for who would wound thy breast,
That feel by sympathy the pangs they give?
The subject was peculiar, and my friend
Sullenly trembled for his well-earn'd fame;
Yet why?—no vict'ry was by me pursued,
Nor would I, for her trophies, bid thee yield.
Sullenly trembled for his well-earn'd fame;
Yet why?—no vict'ry was by me pursued,
Nor would I, for her trophies, bid thee yield.
Ah! Lucius, think how rich the hoarded joys
Of dear remembrance! think when jocund youth
Sate on the cheek of Delia, how her eye,
Struck silent on thy heart, bidding it heave
With transport undefin'd, while mutual love
Taught her soft bosom to return thy sigh,
Soothing the guiltless rapture. Mem'ry holds
The charts of Innocence, when, through the shade,
Relying on thy virtue, and her own,
The Virgin, fearless, wander'd; Truth, like thine,
Chac'd ev'ry horror from the midnight hour;
Nor could the surly future blast your scene.
Of dear remembrance! think when jocund youth
Sate on the cheek of Delia, how her eye,
Struck silent on thy heart, bidding it heave
With transport undefin'd, while mutual love
Taught her soft bosom to return thy sigh,
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The charts of Innocence, when, through the shade,
Relying on thy virtue, and her own,
The Virgin, fearless, wander'd; Truth, like thine,
Chac'd ev'ry horror from the midnight hour;
Nor could the surly future blast your scene.
'Tis past! Time leaves the tender hour behind,
When Delia, borne upon the blasts of Fate,
Reluctant, left thine arms—nor fills them more.
When Delia, borne upon the blasts of Fate,
Reluctant, left thine arms—nor fills them more.
Thus rent the fabric of thy promis'd joys,
E'er thy young mind could form her little plan.
E'er thy young mind could form her little plan.
Yet, shall poor Memory clasp thy Delia's form,
When stealing on thee, in the pensive hour,
She leads thee back to pure, untainted bliss.
When stealing on thee, in the pensive hour,
She leads thee back to pure, untainted bliss.
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The present is not valu'd; restless man
Lives for the past, and future, fix'd his eye
On op'ning prospects that shall never end,
Till, in the vast pursuit, the rover falls.
Lives for the past, and future, fix'd his eye
On op'ning prospects that shall never end,
Till, in the vast pursuit, the rover falls.
And would the future tempt the ardent wish
Did not completion live within the past?
Ask the old miser if he'd grasp at wealth,
Cou'd he but once forget it? “Ask the youth,
Who melts in softest languishment of woe,
Why he adores the maid? Ah! he shall own
His soul can ne'er forget her.” Would the sage
Tempt Nature's mineral depths, or trace the stars
Thro' their nocturnal course, was he deny'd
The joys of memory? Would the hero glow
Amid the mingled sound of Death and War?
Did he not hope to conquer, and reflect
On danger, bravely dar'd?—or could my soul
Keep up her friendly intercourse with thine,
Was bright remembrance lost? With pleasing strength
She bears me back, thro' Time's once beaten path,
Again to thee, and to thy social hearth.
Did not completion live within the past?
Ask the old miser if he'd grasp at wealth,
Cou'd he but once forget it? “Ask the youth,
Who melts in softest languishment of woe,
Why he adores the maid? Ah! he shall own
His soul can ne'er forget her.” Would the sage
Tempt Nature's mineral depths, or trace the stars
Thro' their nocturnal course, was he deny'd
The joys of memory? Would the hero glow
Amid the mingled sound of Death and War?
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On danger, bravely dar'd?—or could my soul
Keep up her friendly intercourse with thine,
Was bright remembrance lost? With pleasing strength
She bears me back, thro' Time's once beaten path,
Again to thee, and to thy social hearth.
Hail, happy spot! where Friendship strove to heal
The wound of recent woe, and to my soul
Apply'd her softest balm. Oh! 'twas the tear
Of Sympathy that fill'd thy manly eye,
When Mem'ry brought thy long-lost smiling boy,
In haste to thy fond mind, bidding thee feel
For sorrows like thy own. Sink! sink! my pen,
Nor jar the soul with unavailing strains.
May dark Oblivion's widest cavern ope,
And all our mis'ries hail the deep profound;
But Memory, keep thy more than vestal fire,
Burning eternal at the shrine of joy!
The wound of recent woe, and to my soul
Apply'd her softest balm. Oh! 'twas the tear
Of Sympathy that fill'd thy manly eye,
When Mem'ry brought thy long-lost smiling boy,
In haste to thy fond mind, bidding thee feel
For sorrows like thy own. Sink! sink! my pen,
Nor jar the soul with unavailing strains.
May dark Oblivion's widest cavern ope,
28
But Memory, keep thy more than vestal fire,
Burning eternal at the shrine of joy!
| Poems, on various subjects | |