 | Poems |  |
42
FAREWELL TO MY HARP.
1
Thus far, I've ventur'd on the dangerous way,That distantly points out the path to fame:
Thus long, with thee, beguil'd each lingering day—
Companion of my griefs and joys, the same,
The greatest solace—only friend, I claim!
And what avails, though Fortune should bestow
Her dazzling honours on an humble name?
Oh, can it add to pleasure—exile woe?
Then far be Pomp's proud glare—I envy not its glow!
2
Should friendship pass our faults in silence by,Or partial praise sit smiling on our song;
I'll thank each bosom for it's generous sigh,
Yet fain relinquish the seductive throng,
43
Remote from strife, I'll pass the lonely hour,
Retiring from such giddy scenes, among!
Cherish, awhile, this frail life-emblem's flower,
Then woo the scythe of Fate, and bend beneath its power!
3
Farewell my Harp—while Memory holds her swayO'er the past fondness of my fancy's dream,
It's grateful due to thee it long shall pay,
Dwell with delight, and oft with rapture teem,
At the wild softness of thy wandering theme!
Farewell—the fire that warm'd thee, now is chill—
Dimly o'ershadowing pleasure's fading beam;
Hark, to the last faint cadence of thy thrill—
Now, fare thee well again—for, lo, 'tis mutc and still!
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