THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. PART II. SWEET MEMORY! wafted by thy gentle gale, Ages and climes remote to thee impart The friends of Reason, and the guides of Youth, Whose language breath'd the eloquence of Truth; Whose life, beyond preceptive wisdom, taught The great in conduct, and the pure in thought; These still exist, by thee to fame consign'd, (a) Still speak and act, the models of mankind. From thee sweet Hope her airy colouring draws, And Fancy's flights are subject to thy laws; From thee that bosom spring of rapture flows, Which only Virtue, tranquil Virtue, knows. When Joy's bright sun has shed his evening ray, And Hope's delusive meteors cease to play; When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close, Still thro' the gloom thy star serenely glows: Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of night With the mild magic of reflected light. The beauteous maid, that bids the world adieu, Oft of that world will snatch a fond review; Oft at the shrine neglect her beads, to trace Some social scene, some dear familiar face, Forgot, when first a father's stern controul Chas'd the gay visions of her opening soul: And ere, with iron tongue, the vesper bell Bursts thro' the cypress walk, the convent cell, Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive, To love and joy still tremblingly alive; The whisper'd vow, the chaste caress prolong, And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly. But not till Time has calmed the ruffled breast, Are these fond dreams of happiness confest. Not till the rushing winds forget to rave, Is Heav'n's sweet smile reflected on the wave. From Guinea's coast pursue the lessening sail, And catch the sounds that sadden every gale. Tell, if thou canst, the sum of sorrows there; Mark the fixt gaze, the wild and frenzied glare, The racks of thought, and freezings of despair! But pause not then-beyond the western wave, Go, view the captive barter'd as a slave! Crush'd till his high heroic spirit bleeds, And from his nerveless frame indignantly recedes. Yet here, ev'n here, with pleasures long resign'd, Lo! MEMORY bursts the twilight of the mind: Her dear delusions sooth his sinking soul, When the rude scourge assumes its base controul; And o'er Futurity's blank page diffuse The full reflection of her vivid hues. 'Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more, Then will he wake on Congo's distant shore; Beneath his plantain's ancient shade, renew And chant the rude, traditionary verse; With those, the lov'd companions of his youth, Ah! why should Virtue dread the frowns of Fate? Hers what no wealth can win, no power create! A little world of clear and cloudless day, Nor wreck'd by storms, nor moulder'd by decay; A world with MEMORY'S ceaseless sunshine blest, The home of Happiness, an honest breast. But most we mark the wonders of her reign, And, as warm Fancy's bright Elysium glows, When the blithe son of Savoy, journeying round With humble wares, and pipe of merry sound, From his green vale and shelter'd cabin hies, But can her smile with gloomy Madness dwell? But, as he fondly snatch'd the wreath of Fame, Cold was her grasp, a withering scowl she wore; |