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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A Dream.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
A Dream.
The silver-leaf'd willow
Did wave in the breeze;
On Flora's soft pillow
I lay at my ease:
I mused on the folly
Of gay thoughtless youth,
Which brings melancholy—
Oh heart-rending truth!
Did wave in the breeze;
On Flora's soft pillow
I lay at my ease:
I mused on the folly
Of gay thoughtless youth,
Which brings melancholy—
Oh heart-rending truth!
Thus lonely I ponder'd
Beside a clear stream,
Till, in reasoning wander'd,
I slept, and did dream;
A nymph stood beside me,
In full bloom of youth,
Who said, she would guide me
To unerring truth.
Beside a clear stream,
Till, in reasoning wander'd,
I slept, and did dream;
119
In full bloom of youth,
Who said, she would guide me
To unerring truth.
Amazed at her kindness,
I knelt at her feet;
A leader to find thus
I grateful did greet:
For long I in error
And darkness had stray'd;
And heart-burning terror
Threw life all in shade.
I knelt at her feet;
A leader to find thus
I grateful did greet:
For long I in error
And darkness had stray'd;
And heart-burning terror
Threw life all in shade.
She quickly upraised me,
And soon she did show,
That virtue should praised be
For banishing woe.
I listen'd her story,
Convincing and clear,
Was downcast and sorry,
And dropp'd a sad tear.
And soon she did show,
That virtue should praised be
For banishing woe.
I listen'd her story,
Convincing and clear,
Was downcast and sorry,
And dropp'd a sad tear.
The tale, dearest reader,
Is simple and true;
The tale of my leader;
I'll tell it to you.
She lean'd on a hawthorn
And did it rehearse;
Then hear 't without scorn,
In Pindaric verse.
Is simple and true;
The tale of my leader;
I'll tell it to you.
She lean'd on a hawthorn
And did it rehearse;
Then hear 't without scorn,
In Pindaric verse.
“A sage dwelt by yon shady wood,
His clay-built cot was thatch'd with rushes;
All could declare the hermit good,
Who lived obscurely 'mong the bushes.
But they as uniformly led
A counter life: they would not tread
The path to joy; for they did dread
The power that sensual pleasure crushes.
His clay-built cot was thatch'd with rushes;
All could declare the hermit good,
Who lived obscurely 'mong the bushes.
But they as uniformly led
A counter life: they would not tread
The path to joy; for they did dread
The power that sensual pleasure crushes.
“O Vanity! thou enemy
To all internal peace;
Where thou dost rule we find a fool,
And wisdom's quick decrease.
“Well: on a day this hermit lay
Beneath a hawthorn fair,
Rapt in deep adoration;
To Him, whose is creation,
He breathed a fervent prayer:
When forth stepp'd a young libertine,
Who cried, ‘Why dost thou groan and whine,
Reclusely, in this wild?
What will avail thy abstinence,
Thus curbing all the joys of sense,
When death thy days hath foil'd?’
To all internal peace;
Where thou dost rule we find a fool,
And wisdom's quick decrease.
120
Beneath a hawthorn fair,
Rapt in deep adoration;
To Him, whose is creation,
He breathed a fervent prayer:
When forth stepp'd a young libertine,
Who cried, ‘Why dost thou groan and whine,
Reclusely, in this wild?
What will avail thy abstinence,
Thus curbing all the joys of sense,
When death thy days hath foil'd?’
“The sage was struck with great surprise,
And on the youngster fix'd his eyes,
And thus, laconical, did say
What made the stripling slide away.
And on the youngster fix'd his eyes,
And thus, laconical, did say
What made the stripling slide away.
“‘If that within the human soul
Eternity's clear tide doth roll,
Then am I bless'd with endless life,
Whilst thou art plunged in deathless strife.
Eternity's clear tide doth roll,
Then am I bless'd with endless life,
Whilst thou art plunged in deathless strife.
“‘But if, beyond life's fatal sigh,
All be but blank nonentity,
I'm still the gainer, for I've shunn'd
Rude riot's sting, that oft thee stunn'd.’
All be but blank nonentity,
I'm still the gainer, for I've shunn'd
Rude riot's sting, that oft thee stunn'd.’
“So spake the sire; the youth withdrew,
And own'd his reasoning was true:
So deep did passion's fangs him fix on,
The wise reply but wrought conviction;
The rede he did regard no more,
So lived as he had done before.
And own'd his reasoning was true:
So deep did passion's fangs him fix on,
The wise reply but wrought conviction;
The rede he did regard no more,
So lived as he had done before.
“But profit thou by his advice,
And prize the talent Time;
Make true religion now thy choice,
While yet in youthful prime:
Submit to heaven's high behest,
Which will thee lead to endless rest;
The road is smoothest, surest, best—
It winds through Zion's clime.”
And prize the talent Time;
Make true religion now thy choice,
While yet in youthful prime:
Submit to heaven's high behest,
Which will thee lead to endless rest;
The road is smoothest, surest, best—
It winds through Zion's clime.”
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |