No from Grandeur's gilded car, ray Flash on the startled eye. But if some pilgrim through the glade, Thy hallowed bowers explore, O guard from harm his hoary head, And listen to his lore; For he of joys divine shall tell, That wean from earthly woe, And triumph o'er the mighty spell, That chains this heart below. For me, no more the path invites Ambition loves to tread ; No more I climb those toilsome heights By guileful Hope misled; Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more To Mirth's enlivening strain ; For present pleasure soon is o'er, And all the past is vain. ELEGY. STILL shall unthinking man substantial deem The forms, that fleet through life's deceitful dream ? Till at Death's touch the fairy visions fly, And real scenes rush dismal on the eye; And, from Elysium's balmy slumber torn, O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance, O, yet while Fate delays the impending woe, Lest, thus encompassed with funereal gloom, Yet, why with these compared? What tints so fine, Still let me gaze, and every care beguile, Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile; Where meekness beams ineffable delight; That brow, where Wisdom sits enthroned serene, Each feature forms, and dignifies the mein: Still let me listen, while her words impart The sweet effusions of the blameless heart, By thee inspired, O Virtue! Age is young, Love, Wonder, Joy, alternately alarm, Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd; Left all its beauties withering in the dust! All cold the hand, that soothed Woe's weary head! And quenched the eye, the pitying tear that shed! And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole, Infusing balm into the rankled soul! O Death! why arm with cruelty thy power, Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven? But peace, bold thought! be still my bursting heart! We, not ELIZA, felt the fatal dart. Scaped the dark dungeon, does the slave complain, Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain? Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn, On this dark wild condemned to roam forlorn? |