Yet for awhile let the bewilder'd soul O yield awhile to Friendship's soft control; Come, then, Philander, whose exalted mind great; For thou canst bear, unshaken and resign'd, Come thou, whose love unlimited, sincere, Who know'st man's frailty; with a favouring eye, And bring thy Delia, sweetly-smiling fair, Whose spotless soul no rankling thoughts deform; >Her gentle accents calm each throbbing care, And harmonize the thunder of the storm: Though blest with wisdom, and with wit refin'd, She courts no homage, nor desires to shine; In her each sentiment sublime is join'd To female softness, and a form divine. Come, and disperse th' involving shadows drear; Let chasten'd mirth the social hours employ ; O catch the swift-wing'd moment while 'tis near, On swiftest wing the moment flies of joy. Even while the careless disencumber'd soul Can Gaiety the vanish'd years restore, Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed, Or soothe the sad inevitable hour, Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead? Still sounds the solemn knell in fancy's ear, To her how jocund roll'd the sprightly year! bloom! Ah! Beauty's bloom avails not in the grave, Youth's lofty mien, nor age's awful grace ; Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave, Whelm'd in th' enormous wreck of human race. The thought-fix'd portraiture, the breathing bust, Fancy from joy still wanders far astray. Ah, Melancholy! how I feel thy power! Long have I labour'd to elude thy sway! But 'tis enough, for I resist no more. The traveller thus, that o'er the midnight-waste Through many a lonesome path is doom'd to roam, Wilder'd and weary sits him down at last; For long the night, and distant far his home. ELEGY. TIR'D with the busy crowds, that all the day Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame, My languid powers dissolve with quick decay, 'Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame. Hail, kind reviver! that canst lull the cares, Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow Drops the gay plume; he pines a lowly clown; And on the cold earth stretch'd the son of Woe Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancied crown. When rous'd by thee, on boundless pinions borne Or skims the main, and listens to the storms, Marks the long waves roll far remote away; Or mingling with ten thousand glittering forms, Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day. Haply, ere long, pierc'd by the howling blast, Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam, Plunge down th' unfathom'd deep, or shrink aghast Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb: Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale, Where Mirth's light freaks th' unheeded hours beguile, And airs of rapture warble in the gale. Instructive emblem of this mortal state! Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys, Thy boasted grandeur, and thy glittering store; Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys, Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more. And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm Of angry Fortune overhang awhile, Let not her frowns your inward peace deform; Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile. Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn, 'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife; But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn, When Death awakes us to immortal life. |