Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

As some lone redbreast, shivering from the storm,
Forsakes the precincts of the leafless grove,
And, while bleak winter nature's face deforms,
Still finds a shelter in some neat alcove:

118

II

Thus I, still travelling thro' this vale of tears,
And not unoft beset with tempests rude,
Here rest my weary steps, and hush my fears,
Wrapt in thy sacred haunt, blest solitude.

III

Ye walls, (for ye have witness'd oft my prayer)
Oh once again receive a transient guest!
A wanderer oft, and now the child of care,
Here let him steal a momentary-rest.

IV

Studious of truth, I sought your mild abode;
And wander'd still, tho' studious, far away:
Ah! could I think, as yet untaught, the road
So thorny was, that fancy painted gay?

119

V

Rich as the stream o'er thirsty Egypt pours,
Soft as the breeze o'er Libya's parched plain,
To me so rich are memory's fruitful stores,
Thus soft to me the Muse's plaintive strain.

VI

Remembrance brings to view the polish'd friend,
My youth's sweet pride, the patron of my song;
With grateful love at Askew's name I bend;
One hallow'd strain to Askew's name prolong.

120

VII

And long as reason holds its faithful seat,
Eliza's worth shall dwell within this breast;
Wisdom and beauty in Eliza met;
Deep on this heart her image lies impress'd.

VIIII

At Hope's vain dream how smil'd insidious death!
Ah! forms that live in wayward Fancy's eye!
Or hang but on a mortal's fleeting breath,
And with that mortal doom'd, ah! soon to die.

IX

But say, is Hope thus doom'd through life to dream?
Is Fancy, though a gay, yet faithless guide?
False as yon orb, reflected from the stream,
Light as the meteors, that thro' æther glide?

121

X

No—let Reflection try her native force;
Her aid let sage Experience duly lend;
So shall meek Patience smooth life's downward course,
And stern Affliction prove a faithful friend.

XI

Fair nature's volume, legible and plain,
Its ample page unfolds to all mankind;
Read by the sage, though often read in vain,
Read by the savage, deem'd by sages blind.

XII

The breeze, tho' light, that whispers thro' the dale,
The flower, tho' mean, that drinks the pearly dew,
The smallest insect, floating on the gale,
Give to their grief-worn cheek a brighter hue.

122

XIII

Yet are there, whom delights not Nature's green,
Nor sooths the melting songster's sweetest lay:
Mourners there are, who love the midnight scene,
And, like the night-bird, shun the face of day:

XIV

There are, who love the gothic aisle to tread,
The dark grove frowning round the hermit's stall,
The cloister'd pile, where sleep the noble dead,
And heroes bleed upon th' escutcheon'd wall.

XV

Nor dare, ye tribes, that frolic gay at noon,
Nor ye, who grieve in state, their woes deride;
E'en the hoarse night-bird screaming to the moon,
More sooths, than Folly's noise, or Folly's pride.

123

XVI

Nor vainly twinkle those fair orbs of light;
Nor vainly does yon moon's mild glory shine;
Nor the still waters shew the face of night:
Ah! scene, how well allied to cares like mine!

XVII

And e'en around this solitary room,
Kind visitant, to cheer my midnight song,
The same fair moon throws no unpleasing gloom,
Spreading athwart its shadows dark and long.

XVIII

For not alone complaining Love shall find
The magic stillness of the midnight scene;
Sorrows, if such there be, of heavier kind,
Lose their severer form, and grow serene.

124

XIX

Ah! think not Fate will only bliss bestow;
Pleasure and pain compose the motley plan:
Oh! may I learn to melt at human woe,
By knowing, what it is to feel like man!

XX

“To talk of truth, and miss it: to complain;
“To toil and pant for fame; with love to sigh;
“To count that loss, which once was reckon'd gain;—
“Then to grow weary, turn aside, and die.