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why will Reason intervene

      Me and my promis’d joys between!

      She stops my course, she chains my speed,

      While thus her forceful words proceed: —

      Ah! listen, Youth, ere yet too late, 20

      What evils on thy course may wait!

      To bow the head, to bend the knee,

      A minion of Servility,

      At low Pride’s frequent frowns to sigh,

      And watch the glance in Folly’s eye; 25

      To toil intense, yet toil in vain,

      And feel with what a hollow pain

      Pale Disappointment hangs her head

      O’er darling Expectation dead!

       ‘The scene is changed and Fortune’s gale 30

      Shall belly out each prosperous sail.

      Yet sudden wealth full well I know

      Did never happiness bestow.

      That wealth to which we were not born

      Dooms us to sorrow or to scorn. 35

      Behold yon flock which long had trod

      O’er the short grass of Devon’s sod,

      To Lincoln’s rank rich meads transferr’d,

      And in their fate thy own be fear’d;

      Through every limb contagions fly, 40

      Deform’d and choked they burst and die.

       ‘When Luxury opens wide her arms,

      And smiling wooes thee to those charms,

      Whose fascination thousands own,

      Shall thy brows wear the stoic frown? 45

      And when her goblet she extends

      Which maddening myriads press around,

      What power divine thy soul befriends

      That thou should’st dash it to the ground? —

      No, thou shalt drink, and thou shalt know 50

      Her transient bliss, her lasting woe,

      Her maniac joys, that know no measure,

      And Riot rude and painted Pleasure; —

      Till (sad reverse!) the Enchantress vile

      To frowns converts her magic smile; 55

      Her train impatient to destroy,

      Observe her frown with gloomy joy;

      On thee with harpy fangs they seize

      The hideous offspring of Disease,

      Swoln Dropsy ignorant of Rest, 60

      And Fever garb’d in scarlet vest,

      Consumption driving the quick hearse,

      And Gout that howls the frequent curse,

      With Apoplex of heavy head

      That surely aims his dart of lead. 65

       ‘But say Life’s joys unmix’d were given

      To thee some favourite of Heaven:

      Within, without, tho’ all were health —

      Yet what e’en thus are Fame, Power, Wealth,

      But sounds that variously express, 70

      What’s thine already — Happiness!

      ‘Tis thine the converse deep to hold

      With all the famous sons of old;

      And thine the happy waking dream

      While Hope pursues some favourite theme, 75

      As oft when Night o’er Heaven is spread,

      Round this maternal seat you tread,

      Where far from splendour, far from riot,

      In silence wrapt sleeps careless Quiet.

      ‘Tis thine with Fancy oft to talk, 80

      And thine the peaceful evening walk;

      And what to thee the sweetest are —

      The setting sun, the Evening Star —

      The tints, which live along the sky,

      And Moon that meets thy raptur’d eye, 85

      Where oft the tear shall grateful start,

      Dear silent pleasures of the Heart!

      Ah! Being blest, for Heaven shall lend

      To share thy simple joys a friend!

      Ah! doubly blest, if Love supply 90

      His influence to complete thy joy,

      If chance some lovely maid thou find

      To read thy visage in thy mind.

       ‘One blessing more demands thy care: —

      Once more to Heaven address the prayer: 95

      For humble independence pray

      The guardian genius of thy way;

      Whom (sages say) in days of yore

      Meek Competence to Wisdom bore,

      So shall thy little vessel glide 100

      With a fair breeze adown the tide,

      And Hope, if e’er thou ‘ginst to sorrow,

      Remind thee of some fair tomorrow,

      Till Death shall close thy tranquil eye

      While Faith proclaims “Thou shalt not die!”’ 105

1792

       A WISH

       Table of Contents

      WRITTEN IN JESUS WOOD, FEB. 10, 1792

      Lo! through the dusky silence of the groves,

      Thro’ vales irriguous, and thro’ green retreats,

      With languid murmur creeps the placid stream

       And works its secret way.

      Awhile meand’ring round its native fields 5

      It rolls the playful wave and winds its flight:

      Then downward flowing with awaken’d speed

       Embosoms in the Deep!

      Thus thro’ its silent tenor may my Life

      Smooth its meek stream by sordid wealth unclogg’d, 10

      Alike unconscious of forensic storms,

       And Glory’s bloodstain’d palm!

      And when dark Age shall close Life’s little day,

      Satiate of sport, and weary of its toils,

      E’en thus may slumbrous Death my decent limbs 15

       Compose with icy hand!

      AN ODE IN THE MANNER OF ANACREON

      As late, in wreaths, gay flowers I bound,

      Beneath some roses Love I found;

      And by his little frolic pinion

      As quick as thought I seiz’d the minion,

      Then in my cup the prisoner threw, 5

      And drank him in its sparkling dew:

      And sure I feel my angry guest

      Fluttering his wings within my breast!

      TO DISAPPOINTMENT

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