Last came Joy's ecstatic trial. He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd, But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing; While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, As if he would the charming air repay, O Music! sphere-descended maid, Had more of strength, diviner rage, DESPONDENCY. OPPRESSED with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear, I sit me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, Too justly I may fear! Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom; Happy! ye sons of busy life, Ev'n when the wished end's denied, Yet, while the busy means are plied, Meet every sad returning night And joyless morn the same. K You bustling and justling, Find every prospect vain. How blest the Solitary's lot, Who, all-forgetting, all forgot, The cavern wild with tangling roots, Or haply to his evening thought, The ways of man are distant brought, A faint-collected dream: While praising, and raising His thoughts to Heaven on high, As wand'ring, meand'ring, He views the solemn sky. Than I, no lonely Hermit plac'd The lucky moment to improve, And just to stop, and just to move, But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys, Which I too keenly taste, The Solitary can despise, Can want, and yet be blest! He needs not, he heeds not, Oh! enviable early days, When dancing thoughtless Pleasure's maze, To feel the follies or the crimes Of others, or my own! Ye tiny elves, that guiltless sport Ye little know the ills ye court, That active man engage, |