Smoothly they pursue their way, With even tenor and with equal breath, Alike through cloudy and through sunny day, Then sink in peace to death. II. 1. But, ah! a few there be whom griefs devour Repining Penury, and Sorrow sour, And these are Genius' favourites: these To realms where Fancy's golden orbits roll, Disdaining all but 'wildering Rapture's law, The captivated soul. III. 1. Genius, from thy starry throne, High above the burning zone, In radiant robe of light array'd, Oh! hear the plaint by thy sad favourite made, His melancholy moan. He tells of scorn, he tells of broken vows, Of sleepless nights of anguish-ridden days, Pangs that his sensibility uprouse To curse his being and his thirst for praise. Thou gav'st to him with treble force to feel The sting of keen neglect, the rich man's scorn; And what o'er all does in his soul preside I. 2. Lament not ye, who humbly steal through life, That Genius visits not your lowly shed; For, ah, what woes and sorrows ever rife Distract his hapless head! For him awaits no balmy sleep, He wakes all night, and wakes to weep; Or by his lonely lamp he sits At solemn midnight when the peasant sleeps, In feverish study, and in moody fits His mournful vigils keeps. II. 2. And, oh! for what consumes his watchful oil? For what does thus he waste life's fleeting breath? 'Tis for neglect and penury he doth toil, 'Tis for untimely death. Lo! where dejected pale he lies, Despair depicted in his eyes, He feels the vital flame decrease, He sees the grave wide-yawning for its prey, Without a friend to soothe his soul to peace, And cheer the expiring ray. III. 2. By Sulmo's bard of mournful fame, Will I thy pangs proclaim; For still to misery closely thou'rt allied, What though to thee the dazzled millions bow, And to thy posthumous merit bend them low, Though unto thee the monarch looks with awe, And thou at thy flash'd car dost nations draw, Yet, ah! unseen behind thee fly Corroding Anguish, soul-subduing Pain, Yes, Genius, thee a thousand cares await. Thee chill Adversity will still attend, Before whose face flies fast the summer's friend, And leaves thee all forlorn; While leaden Ignorance rears her head and laughs, And fat Stupidity shakes his jolly sides, 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, Now doubly dear as o'er my silent seat, It casts a mournful melancholy gleam, II. These feverish dews that on my temples hang, This quivering lip, these eyes of dying flame: These the dread signs of many a secret pang, 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; Come, kindred mourner, in my breast And breathe the soul of peace; Mild visitor, I feel thee here, It is not pain that brings this tear, 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, 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, But I, in vain, on thorny bed Shall woo the god of soft repose * |