Poetics :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now cease, my song, the plaintive strain;
Now hush'd be Pity's tender sigh;
While Mem'ry wakes her fairy-train,
And young Delight sits laughing by:
Return, each hour of rosy hue,
In smiles, and pranks, and garlands gay,
Playful of wing as when ye flew,
Ev'ry month then seeming May;
While, as Invention wak'd the mimic powers,
Genius, still wand'ring wild, sigh'd for enchanted bowers.

Then, too, in antic vestment drest,
Pastime would lightly trip along,
Throwing around the ready jest,
Satire and sting, or simple song;
And merry Mischief oft would weave
The wanton trick for little hearts;
Nor Love a tender vot'ry grieve;
Soft were his hands, nor keen his darts:
While Friendship, with a gay enthusiast glow,
Gave her full half of bliss, and took her share of woe.

And, what tho' round a youthful spring
A lowering storm may sometimes rise?
Hope her soul-soothing strain can sing,
Quickly can brighten up the skies.
How sweetly pass'd my youth's gay prime!
For not untuneful was my tongue:
And, as I tried the classic rhime,
The critic school-boy prais'd my song:
Nor did mine eye not catch the orient ray,
That promis'd fair to gild Ambition's distant day.

Ah! pleasing, gloomy cloyster-shade,
Still, still this wavering breast inspire!
Here, lost in rapt'rous trance, I stray'd,
Here saw with horror spectres dire!
For, soon as day dark-veil'd its head,
With hollow cheek and haggard eye,
Pale ghosts would flit from yon death-bed,
And stalk with step terrific by!

Till the young heart would freeze with wild affright,
And store the dismal tale to cheer a winter's night!

How like the spirit of the place,
Good Edward's form here seem'd to move!
As lingering still its growth to trace,
With all a Founder's, Guardian's love!
How of his name each syllable
Repeated oft, on youthful ears
Like no unholy charm would dwell,
And mingle fondness with the prayers!
While still the day, made sacred by his birth,
Brought with the rolling year memorials of his worth.

Yet, what avails the school-boy's praise,
Tho' taking Gratitude's sweet name,
The stately monument to raise
Of royal Edward's lasting fame?
Tho' never on thy youthful brow
Flaunted the helmet's towering crest,
Tho' ne'er, as martial Glory led,
The corslet sparkled on thy breast;
Yet, blameless youth, to worth so true as thine,
Virtue herself might weave her purest virgin line.

But, ah! what means the silent tear?
Why e'en mid joy my bosom heave?
Ye long-lost scenes, enchantments dear!
Lo! now I linger o'er your grave!
—Fly, then, ye hours of rosy hue,
And bear away the bloom of years!
And quick succeed, ye sickly crew
Of doubts and sorrows, pains and fears!
Still will I ponder Fate's unalter'd plan,
Nor tracing back the child forget that I am man.