 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
I Blame thee not, World!
1839.
I blame thee not, World! that thy judgments refuse me
The laureate wreath I have coveted long;
I have rather to thank the kind hearts that excuse me
The times I have teased them with efforts in song.
The vision that lured me of Glory's effulgence
Hath passed—like the bow from the cloud of the shower;
I find, after years of self-cheating indulgence,
That the wish to be great I mistook for the pouer.
Then adieu to the hope, to my bosom so pleasing,
Of being remembered and talked of when gone;
And adieu to the hope, more ambitious, of seizing
The mind of the future, and moulding its tone!
The laureate wreath I have coveted long;
I have rather to thank the kind hearts that excuse me
The times I have teased them with efforts in song.
The vision that lured me of Glory's effulgence
Hath passed—like the bow from the cloud of the shower;
I find, after years of self-cheating indulgence,
That the wish to be great I mistook for the pouer.
Then adieu to the hope, to my bosom so pleasing,
Of being remembered and talked of when gone;
And adieu to the hope, more ambitious, of seizing
The mind of the future, and moulding its tone!
266
Adieu to those fond aspirations, but never—
While breath is within me—farewell to the Muse!
It were easier to turn from its channel yon river,
Than me from the course that she taught me to choose.
I must still feel the changes of sky and of season,
Be alive, like the birds, to each impulse they bring;
And, heard or not heard by the children of reason,
Must at times, like those wild-birds, full-heartedly sing!
But adieu to the hope, to my bosom so pleasing,
Of being remembered and talked of when gone;
And adieu to the hope, more ambitious, of seizing
The mind of the future, and moulding its tone!
While breath is within me—farewell to the Muse!
It were easier to turn from its channel yon river,
Than me from the course that she taught me to choose.
I must still feel the changes of sky and of season,
Be alive, like the birds, to each impulse they bring;
And, heard or not heard by the children of reason,
Must at times, like those wild-birds, full-heartedly sing!
But adieu to the hope, to my bosom so pleasing,
Of being remembered and talked of when gone;
And adieu to the hope, more ambitious, of seizing
The mind of the future, and moulding its tone!
Perchance with myself lies the blame of bereavement
Of the long-cherished dream of celebrity won:
Like the birds I have lived, and no worthy achievement,
They say, without care—without labour—is done.
Hence in song, as in life, I too nearly resemble
The light-hearted lyrists that sing in the glen,
Whose note, though it may bid the young bosom tremble,
Wants the bold trumpet-tone that electrifies men.
Then adieu to the hope, to my bosom so pleasing,
Of being remembered and talked of when gone;
And adieu to the hope, more ambitious, of seizing
The mind of the future, and moulding its tone!”
Of the long-cherished dream of celebrity won:
Like the birds I have lived, and no worthy achievement,
They say, without care—without labour—is done.
Hence in song, as in life, I too nearly resemble
The light-hearted lyrists that sing in the glen,
Whose note, though it may bid the young bosom tremble,
Wants the bold trumpet-tone that electrifies men.
Then adieu to the hope, to my bosom so pleasing,
Of being remembered and talked of when gone;
And adieu to the hope, more ambitious, of seizing
The mind of the future, and moulding its tone!”
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |