There melancholy loves to dwell, That speaks our mortal doom; With pensive form, and haggard stare, She, with her sister madness, oft But when in some secluded cell, Hark! music strikes the list'ning ear, Glory to thee, in holy hymn, My God, my Father, and my Friend! Before thine awful throne! If e'er in deed, in word, or thought, O let me to thy throne repair Nor thou refuse to hear. Incline my heart to wisdom's rule, And try me in affliction's school, And teach my erring mind To know that pleasure, glitt'ring toy, Yields but a transitory joy, And leaves a sting behind. Tho' light'nings flash, and tempests low'r, He shall outlive the dreadful hour Who stands in worth securePure as the current of the rills, Firm as the everlasting hills, Shall virtue's self endure. And now, with earthly care opprest, 'Tis Mona's bard—with magic sweep,— Who rais'd the spirits of the deep In Fingal's dreary cave; High on a mountain's tow'ring spire, O'er many a warrior's grave. When wand'ring ghosts, as Legends tell, Forsook the dismal caves of hell, To haunt the midnight gloom; And while the distant thunder roll'd, Hail holy shade! whose harp divine, No more thine airy music floats In solemn, sad, and swelling notes Hail, Melancholy, Pow'r sublime! Which naught but all-consuming time Shall vanquish, or destroy! When earth shall melt, and sea, and skies, O may thy troubled Spirit rise To everlasting joy. ODE. NIGHT. THE Sun with mild declining ray, The swain his ev'ning carol sings, The lover mourns beneath the shade, And bathes the laurell'd urn. Now, while the thoughtless and the gay, Life's fleeting moments pass away In festive hall, or bow'r; Let me, while nightly dews descend, The solitary hour. |