Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
III.
Full many live without an aim;
But many views young Mopus had,
Still searching for the path to fame,
Yet missing which still made him sad.
But many views young Mopus had,
Still searching for the path to fame,
Yet missing which still made him sad.
Not like the son of sloth was he,
Who on the field of ease did hover;
Mopus of indolence was free,
But yet he was a fickle rover.
Who on the field of ease did hover;
Mopus of indolence was free,
But yet he was a fickle rover.
In hopeful youth he thought to gain
Wealth, fame, and popular applause,
By Poetry in many a strain;
And well he knew all music's laws.
Wealth, fame, and popular applause,
By Poetry in many a strain;
And well he knew all music's laws.
Soon did he find the heedless world
Untouched by his mellow lyre;
Then he, to disappointment hurl'd,
No more would court the Muse's fire.
Untouched by his mellow lyre;
Then he, to disappointment hurl'd,
No more would court the Muse's fire.
To Painting next he did betake
Himself—for nature charm'd his soul;
Gay fancy's arts could he forsake?
Ah no! she ruled without control.
Himself—for nature charm'd his soul;
Gay fancy's arts could he forsake?
Ah no! she ruled without control.
But what avail'd his skill in this,
When all his gain was empty praise?
Despairing now to find out bliss
He dropp'd his pencil like his lays.
When all his gain was empty praise?
Despairing now to find out bliss
He dropp'd his pencil like his lays.
55
How many in this world would shine,
And drown all others with their glare,
Who are unheeded, left to whine
Through life in hopeless black despair?
And drown all others with their glare,
Who are unheeded, left to whine
Through life in hopeless black despair?
Of these, young Mopus would have met
This fate severely, much I ween,
Had not kind heaven with love beset
His track, and rightly it beseen.
This fate severely, much I ween,
Had not kind heaven with love beset
His track, and rightly it beseen.
Disconsolate, he roam'd alone
By yonder smooth reed-border'd Lake:
In disappointment's wailing tone,
To vent his grief, he thus outspake.
By yonder smooth reed-border'd Lake:
In disappointment's wailing tone,
To vent his grief, he thus outspake.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |