AFTER VISITING THE CONVENT OF ARRABIDA. 227
Pale Misery's asking eye, nor roam about
Those huge and hateful haunts of crowded men,
Where Wealth and Power have built their palaces,
Fraud spreads his snares secure, man preys on man,
Iniquity abounds, and rampant Vice,
With an infection worse than mortal, taints
The herd of humankind.
Ye tenants of this sacred solitude,
Here to abide, and when the sun rides high
Seek some sequestered dingle's coolest shade;
And at the breezy hour, along the beach
Stray with slow step, and gaze upon the deep,
And while the breath of evening fann'd my brow,
And the wild waves with their continuous sound
Soothed my accustom'd ear, think thankfully
That I had from the crowd withdrawn in time,
And found an harbour... Yet may yonder deep
Suggest a less unprofitable thought,
Monastic brethren. Would the mariner,
Though storms may sometimes swell the mighty waves,
And o'er the reeling bark with thundering crash
Impel the mountainous surge, quit yonder deep,
And rather float upon some tranquil sea,
Whose moveless waters never feel the gale,
In safe stagnation? Rouse thyself my soul!
No season this for self-deluding dreams;
It is thy spring time; sow, if thou would'st reap;
Then, after honest labour, welcome rest,
In full contentment not to be enjoy'd
Unless when duly earn'd. Oh happy then
To know that we have walked among mankind More sinn'd against than sinning! Happy then To muse on many a sorrow overpast,
And think the business of the day is done, And as the evening of our lives shall close, The peaceful evening, with a Christian's hope Expect the dawn of everlasting day.
ON MY OWN MINIATURE PICTURE,
TAKEN AT TWO YEARS OF AGE.
AND I was once like this! that glowing cheek
Was mine, those pleasure-sparkling eyes; that brow
Smooth as the level lake, when not a breeze
Dies o'er the sleeping surface!.. Twenty years
Have wrought strange alteration! Of the friends
Who once so dearly prized this miniature,
And loved it for its likeness, some are gone
To their last home; and some, estranged in heart,
Beholding me, with quick-averted glance
Pass on the other side. But still these hues
Remain unalter'd, and these features wear
The look of Infancy and Innocence.
I search myself in vain, and find no trace
Of what I was those lightly arching lines
Dark and o'erhanging now; and that sweet face
Settled in these strong lineaments!.. There were
Who form'd high hopes and flattering ones of thee,
Young Robert! for thine eye was quick to speak
Each opening feeling: should they not have known,
If the rich rainbow on a morning cloud
Reflects its radiant dyes, the husbandman
Beholds the ominous glory, and foresees
Impending storms!.. They augured happily,
That thou didst love each wild and wonderous taleOf faery fiction, and thine infant tongue
Lisp'd with delight the godlike deeds of Greece And rising Rome; therefore they deem'd, forsooth, That thou shouldst tread Preferment's pleasant path. Ill-judging ones! they let thy little feet
Stray in the pleasant paths of Poesy,
And when thou shouldst have prest amid the crowd,
There didst thou love to linger out the day,
Loitering beneath the laurel's barren shade.
SPIRIT OF SPENSER! was the wanderer wrong?
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE OLD SPANIEL.
AND they have drown'd thee then at last! poor Phillis! The burden of old age was heavy on thee,
And yet thou should'st have lived! What though
Was dim, and watch'd no more with eager joy
The wonted call that on thy dull sense sunk
With fruitless repetition, the warm Sun
Might still have cheer'd thy slumbers; thou didst love
To lick the hand that fed thee, and though past
Youth's active season, even Life itself
Was comfort. Poor old friend, how earnestly
Would I have pleaded for thee! thou hadst been
Still the companion of my boyish sports;
And as I roam'd o'er Avon's woody cliffs,
From many a day-dream has thy short quick bark
Recall'd my wandering soul. I have beguiled
Often the melancholy hours at school,
Sour'd by some little tyrant, with the thought
Of distant home, and I remember'd then
Thy faithful fondness; for not mean the joy,
Returning at the happy holydays,
I felt from thy dumb welcome. Pensively
Sometimes have I remark'd thy slow decay,
Feeling myself changed too, and musing much
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