I've seen the youth, whom pleasure's round Had early taught to stray;
And those that by intemperance found
The flowery, fatal way.
These I have seen, but never yet
Have marked the child of prayer,
Abandoned by his God, to eat
The bitter bread of care.
O THOU TO WHOM THE FIRES.
O THOU to whom the fires
Of poesy belong,
Whose bosom hope inspires
To pour the youthful song:
Unhappy bard, forbear!
O quench the generous flame,
"Tis but the torch of care,
A guide to want and shame.
Go, dream of by-past hours:
In retrospect, once more
Pluck fancy's gayest flowers,
And revel in thy store:
Go, seek thy native cot,
Scene of affection free,
Where pleasure cheered thy lot,
Where love was all to thee.
Do this, but never tell
The heartless world thy dream;
Its scorn would hope dispel,
Would crush the fairy theme;
Do this, but in thy breast.
Let each fond wish expire;
For sorrows unreprest
Are his who loves the lyre.
Full many, to whom was given
To weave the magic line,
Have fallen-by misery driven-
Victims at avarice' shrine;
Lo, where the fiend Despair
Gives Chatterton to death,
And dungeon damps appear
Where Savage yields his breath;
Untimely too, thy doom,
O White, thou son of song;
'Twas Virtue loved to bloom
Thy sweet wild flowers among;
Yet why their fate unroll?
Why give to these the sigh?
The Muse's fatal scroll
Is big with those that weep and die.
NEW JERSEY, THY BLUE HILLS.
NEW JERSEY, thy blue hills are fair to the vision,
Serene are the beauties thy vallies display;
Thy streams are romantic, thy gardens elysian,
But dear to this bosom thy sea-beat CAPE MAY.
How pleasant to wander whère naught but old Ocean
Is heard interrupting calm nature's repose;
Or gaily to mingle where pleasure in motion
Attends on the day-beam, and hallows its close.
Sweet Innocence, beauty and fashion uniting,
See the votaries of health and good-feeling appear;
Gay Wit wreaths the bowl with rich humour inviting,
And Pleasure is queen of the festival here.
How tranquil the scene, when Atlantic's proud billow
Sleeps calm 'neath the moon-ray,-When tempests de-
To thought how majestic, as roused from his pillow,
The god of the waters careens on the storm.
When "deep calls to deep" and the surge mocks the mountain,
When the voice of the shrill blast is heard on the main, When the storm-cloud, in anger, hath opened its foun
And the torrent hath deluged the valley and plain!
Now the gale dies in murmur, the waves gently bound
The moans of the tempest in sympathy cease;
Like enchantment, new beauties the prospect surrounding,
The heart is expanded to pleasure and peace.
Though thy blue hills, NEW JERSEY, are fair to the vision,
Unnumbered the beauties thy vallies display;
Though thy streams are romantic, thy gardens elysian,
Yet lovelier, far lovelier thy sea-beat CAPE MAY.
|
