By him, the youth, who smil'd at death, For still to misery closely thou'rt allied, What though to thee the dazzled millions bow, Corroding anguish, soul-subduing pain, Yes, Genius, thee a thousand cares await, Mocking thy deriding state; Thee, chill Adversity will still attend, Before whose face flies fast the summer's friend, While leaden Ignorance rears her head and laughs, And while the cup of affluence he quaffs With bee-eyed wisdom, Genius derides, Who toils, and every hardship doth outbrave, To gain the meed of praise, when he is mouldering in his grave. FRAGMENT OF AN ODE TO THE MOON. I. MILD orb who floatest through the realm of night, A pathless wanderer o'er a lonely wild; Welcome to me thy soft and pensive light, Which oft in childhood my lone thoughts beguil'd. Now doubly dear as o'er my Nocturnal study's still retreat, silent seat, It casts a mournful melancholy gleam, II. These feverish dews that on my temples hang, These are the meed of him who pants for fame! Pale Moon, from thoughts like these divert my soul; Lowly I kneel before thy shrine on high; My lamp expires;-beneath thy mild control, Come kindred mourner, in my breast, And breathe the soul of Mild visitor, I feel thee here, peace; It is not pain that brings this tear, For thou hast bid it cease. Oh! many a year has pass'd away, Attun'd my infant reed; When wilt thou, Time, those days restore, Those happy moments now no more, When on the lake's damp marge I lay, And mark'd the northern meteor's dance; Twin sisters faintly now ye deign, And art thou fled, thou welcome orb, So to mankind in darkness lost, The beam of ardour dies. Wan Moon thy nightly task is done, Thou sinkest into rest; But I, in vain, on thorny bed, Shall woo the god of soft repose FRAGMENT. OH! thou most fatal of Pandora's train, Nor mark'st thy course with Death's delusive dye, But silent and unnoticed thou dost lie; O'er life's soft springs thy venom dost diffuse, And, while thou givest new lustre to the eye, While o'er the cheek are spread health's ruddy hues, E'en then life's little rest thy cruel power subdues. Oft I've beheld thee in the glow of youth, Hid 'neath the blushing roses which there bloom'd; And dropt a tear, for then thy cankering tooth I knew would never stay, till all consum'd, In the cold vault of death he were entomb'd. But oh! what sorrow did I feel, as swift, Yet soon did languid listlessness advance, And soon she calmly sunk in death's repugnant trance. |