Poetics :: :: University of Virginia Library

What time by Granta's classic stream,
I tried some idle, fitful theme;
Or, as in Zion's sacred grove,
Where bards ecstatic wont to rove,
I wak'd, as friendship deign'd to call my lyre,
And felt, or seem'd to feel, some prophet's holy fire.

We saw no Alps in grandeur climb;
Nor ocean rous'd to thought sublime;
No mountain-torrent roll'd around;
No rock gave out the mystic sound:
Yet clear was morning's trembling light,
Purpling the heav'ns with colours bright;
And lofty on his mid-day throne,
The sun in beauty glorious shone;
Even Gogmagog could smile, and sacred seem,
Tho' but with sedges crown'd, old Camus'ling'ring stream.

You mark'd along th'æthereal plain,
When Hesper led the starry train;
How glitter'd in his southern sphere
Sirius; how shone the northern bear;
How mov'd the hosts round either pole;
By what sure rule the comets roll;
And by the moon's reflected ray
Mark'd out each planet's shining way;
With Newton all the heav'nly orbs would trace,
Point out their wondrous laws, and fix their certain place.

For me, like fond enthusiast blest,
I worshipp'd earth: yet did my breast
Soon learn to burn with Milton's rage,
I look'd with pride on Nature's page:
“Minds should be free,” in scorn I cried;
“Who shall the boundless ocean guide?
“An honest mind, unaw'd by schools,
“Is to itself the best of rules.
“I may be poor, but free shall be my mind;
“For he who freedom knows, in that shall riches find.”

Yet mov'd one humble willow tree,
Which did not speak some charm to me?
I hail'd each swallow twittering by,
And blest the redbreast trilling nigh:
These simple fields to me were gay;
In these lorn groves I lov'd to stray;
And Cam, all silent, soft, and slow,
Suiting the scene, appear'd to flow:
Friendship's sweet magic thro' my bosom stole:
Hence towards these fields I felt with Cowley's softer soul.

But now no more—Lo! time has sped;
And many a golden day-dream fled;
While backward, as my eyes I turn,
For friends who lov'd these fields I mourn;

For ah! as swift the rivers glide,
To lose themselves in ocean's tide;
And as the birds forget to sing,
And trees put off the dress of spring;
So have they left this transitory scene,
Tho' fond remembrance oft reminds us, they have been.

But rise some scenes of new delight!
Still let some vision daze my sight!
Yes—long as ought of life shall last,
Let some new day-dream chace the past:
And fire me, Freedom's ardent throng!
And fill my soul, enchanting song!
Still Friendship, love with me to rest,
And raise your altar in my breast!
But when the nobler virtues cease to fire,
Ah! then ye visions, close; each charm of life expire.