Poems on various subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

The tranquil Master of this small domain,
Cast o'er Creation his enquiring gaze
In quest of Peace he view'd the simple plain,
He view'd the palace proud in splendour's blaze.

With anxious soul each busy haunt he rang'd,
With earnest heart each nameless hut he spies,
Still as he urg'd his search, Opinion chang'd
Her fruitless aim, and still the phantom flies.

Tir'd and forlorn, he cheerlessly resolv'd
No more in quest of Peace to roam in vain,
Much in his mind each system he revolv'd,
And much he thought, and much he wish'd t'obtain.

'Twas on a summer's eve—each simple bird
Pour'd the soft requiem to the parted beam,
And thro' the twilight vale were faintly heard
Such sounds as soothe, and prompt the Poet's dream.

103

As o'er the view he cast his anxious eye,
While trembling twilight wove her fairy veil,
A toil-worn Pilgrim journey'd slowly by,
Plying his meek steps thro' the shadowy dale.

A soul resign'd beam'd in his face serene,
His eyes uplifted spurn'd at earthly woe,
With chasten'd gestures towards this favour'd scene
He bent his way—while thus his accents flow.

“My name is Peace—in that fam'd age of gold
“A youthful grace adorn'd my youthful form,
“Then o'er the world my sway was uncontroul'd,
“Each mind was lightsome, and each heart was warm.

“But now alas! Ambition, Imp of Hell,
“Moves the hard thought, and prompts the dark desire,
“Where Innocence and Truth were wont to dwell,
“Cold Interest scowls, and Discord lights her fire.

“Wounded, dejected, spurn'd from every soil,
“O'er the wide world a Pilgrim now I roam,
“Yet sometimes still I bless the sons of Toil,
“And make the clayey cot my humble home.

104

“I've heard of thee—thou spurn'st the pomp of Wealth,
“I've heard of thee—thou mock'st the glare of Art,
“I'll be thy guest, and give thee mental health,
“Subdue thy wishes, and exalt thy heart.”

Whoe'er ye are that tread the humble grot,
Attend!—and every vain enquiry cease—
Still to commemorate the hallow'd spot,
This hut was built, and call'd,—“The cell of Peace.”

And if, as passing Life's eventful day,
Perchance ye drop the agonizing tear,
Oh! think sometimes, (and hither bend your way)
The Pilgrim Peace, became a Hermit here!