 | Poems [1820] |  |
STANZAS, ADDRESSED TO GRANVILLE PENN, ESQ.
UPON HIS LINES TO CHILDE HAROLD.
And hast thou, Penn, with thine angelic note—
Only less sweet than his, Childe Harold lured
Back to his heaven? Right glad were he, I wot,
Of that celestial home to be assured,
Whate'er the ills his pilgrimage endured!
Oft has he quaff'd the cup of loose delight,
Long has he stray'd, to vulgar joys enured:
Thou to his lip, with truth's own nectar bright
Thy better chalice givest, the draught of life and light.
Only less sweet than his, Childe Harold lured
Back to his heaven? Right glad were he, I wot,
Of that celestial home to be assured,
Whate'er the ills his pilgrimage endured!
Oft has he quaff'd the cup of loose delight,
Long has he stray'd, to vulgar joys enured:
Thou to his lip, with truth's own nectar bright
Thy better chalice givest, the draught of life and light.
To bound his raptures to a world like this;
Poorly to ‘grovel in a sensual sty’;
To doat, ignobly duped, on dreams of bliss—
(A dream is all of bliss beneath the sky!)
To blaze the meteor of an hour, and die—
Was never meant for him: O bid him trace
In his own powers his immortality!
Are they of earth—that energy, that grace,
Those aspirations vast which reach the bounds of space?
Poorly to ‘grovel in a sensual sty’;
To doat, ignobly duped, on dreams of bliss—
(A dream is all of bliss beneath the sky!)
To blaze the meteor of an hour, and die—
Was never meant for him: O bid him trace
In his own powers his immortality!
Are they of earth—that energy, that grace,
Those aspirations vast which reach the bounds of space?
Pause, pause thee, Harold, ere it be too late;
Blest in thy guide, if thou his guidance own!
Before thee yawns, rash Boy, the gulf of fate:
Thou totter'st on the brink of worlds unknown,
Of bliss or bale eternal. Spurn the crown
Of transient bays, by vicious Folly twined:
Thine yet may be unperishing renown,
The Amaranth wreath to purity assign'd,
Which they, the Pure of Heart, and they alone shall find.
Blest in thy guide, if thou his guidance own!
Before thee yawns, rash Boy, the gulf of fate:
Thou totter'st on the brink of worlds unknown,
Of bliss or bale eternal. Spurn the crown
Of transient bays, by vicious Folly twined:
Thine yet may be unperishing renown,
The Amaranth wreath to purity assign'd,
Which they, the Pure of Heart, and they alone shall find.
And O his tutelary genius thou,
Still pour, blest Penn, thy soothing strain along:
As oil o'er troubled ocean, soft shall flow
O'er his calm'd soul the monitory song.
With Christian Survey teach his glance among
Ages announced by prophecy to rove—
To thee, of right, such glorious themes belong—
Point where thy Bioscope's sure fingers move,
And bear thy rescued charge to heaven's high courts above.
Still pour, blest Penn, thy soothing strain along:
As oil o'er troubled ocean, soft shall flow
O'er his calm'd soul the monitory song.
With Christian Survey teach his glance among
Ages announced by prophecy to rove—
To thee, of right, such glorious themes belong—
Point where thy Bioscope's sure fingers move,
And bear thy rescued charge to heaven's high courts above.
So shall thy brow, with brightest radiance bound,
Aye glitter in those blessed courts—afar
From each distressful sight, each deathful sound—
In lustre closed thy course of worldly war:
And thou—or Truth is false —a living star,
With him thy glowing satellite still near!
There shall no passions wake the' intestine jar;
But Love his robe of purest white shall wear,
And crown with endless peace heaven's ever-verdant year.
Aye glitter in those blessed courts—afar
From each distressful sight, each deathful sound—
In lustre closed thy course of worldly war:
And thou—or Truth is false —a living star,
With him thy glowing satellite still near!
There shall no passions wake the' intestine jar;
But Love his robe of purest white shall wear,
And crown with endless peace heaven's ever-verdant year.
| Poems [1820] | |