 | Poetical remains (1872) |  |
On going to Oxford.
Adieu, O ye thoughtless gay train!
That tread pleasure's flowery path,
Where sloth, idly busy, in vain
Ever seeks fresh enjoyments at Bath.
Adieu! That from you I retire,
No tear shall swell into my eye;
Nor, pining with hopeless desire,
For your joys shall I heave one loud sigh.
That tread pleasure's flowery path,
Where sloth, idly busy, in vain
Ever seeks fresh enjoyments at Bath.
Adieu! That from you I retire,
No tear shall swell into my eye;
Nor, pining with hopeless desire,
For your joys shall I heave one loud sigh.
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Adieu, O ye seats still so loved!
Dear scenes of my childhood, adieu!
Ye vales, too, where happy I roved,
Ere the sharpness of sorrow I knew!
No more on his willowy shore
Avon sees me lone-wandering at eve;
Avon hears me deep-musing no more;—
These meads, and these plains, I must leave.
Dear scenes of my childhood, adieu!
Ye vales, too, where happy I roved,
Ere the sharpness of sorrow I knew!
No more on his willowy shore
Avon sees me lone-wandering at eve;
Avon hears me deep-musing no more;—
These meads, and these plains, I must leave.
Hark! Isis now calls me away;
“Haste! spurn these soft pleasures,” she cries;
“Oh! why dost thou fondly delay?
“Oh! why turn so often thine eyes?
“Amid the bright circle to shine,
“Each varying fashion to guide,
“To warm the fair breast is not thine;
“Haste, spurn these soft pleasures aside.
“Haste! spurn these soft pleasures,” she cries;
“Oh! why dost thou fondly delay?
“Oh! why turn so often thine eyes?
“Amid the bright circle to shine,
“Each varying fashion to guide,
“To warm the fair breast is not thine;
“Haste, spurn these soft pleasures aside.
“If yet the green mead can delight;
“If Philomel sweetly can sing;
“If the distant stream glittering bright
“Amid the gay landscape of spring;
“Or the spires, that high-bosom'd in trees
“Reflect the sloped sun's golden ray,
“Have yet aught of beauty to please;
“O haste, to my banks haste away.
“If Philomel sweetly can sing;
“If the distant stream glittering bright
“Amid the gay landscape of spring;
“Or the spires, that high-bosom'd in trees
“Reflect the sloped sun's golden ray,
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“O haste, to my banks haste away.
“Say, where smile the meadows more green?
“Where does Philomel warble more sweet?
“What stream rolls more pure through a scene
“Where Spring's various treasures so meet?
“O say what can Avon compare
“To the towers that crown my proud side?
“Or when did the muses sport there?
“When deigned Phœbus to bathe in his tide?
“Where does Philomel warble more sweet?
“What stream rolls more pure through a scene
“Where Spring's various treasures so meet?
“O say what can Avon compare
“To the towers that crown my proud side?
“Or when did the muses sport there?
“When deigned Phœbus to bathe in his tide?
“Erewhile thou to Phœbus wast dear
“When Itchin was calmed by thy strains;
“And fondly I deemed I should hear
“Thy pipe echoing shrill through my plains.
“Go, Corydon, throw that pipe down;
“Thy lips now no longer it breathes:
“Go, Corydon, pluck off that crown;
“Those laurels ill brook pleasure's wreaths.”
“When Itchin was calmed by thy strains;
“And fondly I deemed I should hear
“Thy pipe echoing shrill through my plains.
“Go, Corydon, throw that pipe down;
“Thy lips now no longer it breathes:
“Go, Corydon, pluck off that crown;
“Those laurels ill brook pleasure's wreaths.”
Oh Isis! thy taunts are in vain;
Far other cares tear my sad heart!
Nor can Phœbus e'er soothe my fix'd pain:—
Ah me! love but laughs at his art.
In vain nature pours o'er the ground
Her beauties,—no beauties to me;
If, wherever I roll them around,
These eyes can no Maryanne see.
Far other cares tear my sad heart!
Nor can Phœbus e'er soothe my fix'd pain:—
Ah me! love but laughs at his art.
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Her beauties,—no beauties to me;
If, wherever I roll them around,
These eyes can no Maryanne see.
| Poetical remains (1872) | |