By heaven's own influence bless'd, inform'd, in spired, On human reasonings darken'd and forlorn, On minds, like mine, by endless mazes tired, Oh look ye down in pity or in scorn? Eternal Being; thou that midst the blaze Of seraph hosts-what sudden tremors chill? Oh! lift not up, my soul, thy venturous gaze, Down-sink into thyself-be mute-be still. SMYTH. TO WISDOM. BESIDE this russet heath, this forest drear, plain; [here Here, where the green path winds, ah Wisdom! Did once my darling lyre to thee complain. Soft was the midnight air that soothed my frame; Calm, silent all-I seem'd with step forlorn I started when the bird first hail'd the morn, furl'd. Returning seasons since have pass'd away; In youth's bright morn how boldly on the mind Rise the wild forms of thought in colours new; 'Tis time, and time alone, whose skill refined The picture slowly gives to nature true. Thee, Wisdom, could I chide, thy gifts decry! Turn from thy bliss by restless ardour fired! How like these idle leaves that withered lie, Seem now the fancies that my soul inspired! Who smile at fortune and who conquer pain? Whose is the world in fame's bright vision shown? Who wake the' unconscious mind, the barren plain, And wield great nature's strength from reason's throne? If thy bless'd votaries mourn, oh, where shall end Man's wayward sorrows, and his wishes blind; If from thy sacred paths his steps he bend, What rest, what refuge shall his wanderings find? Not like the sage my daring mind I wing Aloft to bear the ensigns of thy power; Yet, Wisdom, come, and all thy pleasures bring To bless the silence of my lonely hour. Come, to my chasten'd mind thy realms reveal (The glimmering path, the thorny maze I leave), Calm realms, where life a modest bliss may steal, Nor reason toil in vain nor hope deceive. Scare thou the finer dreams that idly please; Oh let not studious pride its strength abuse, Nor lofty indolence in selfish ease, In passive thought, the golden moments lose. When roams the mind to worlds in darkness closed, When sinks the humbled heart, and sighs to thee; Tell thou of manly faith on God reposed, And Hope shall picture what thou canst not see. SMYTH. THE FATE OF SENSIBILITY. Fatis contraria fata rependens. Virg. O THOU, of Nature's mental works the pride! Doubtful or to lament or hail thy doom, The Muse, prophetic, marks thy bosom's glow: She sees the Fates surround the mystic loom; They weave thee transports keen and pungent woe. Anxious, she hovers o'er the web the while, Thine is the eye, in earth and air and sea, For thee the dawn's fine rose-suffusion glows; For thee the purple cloud of evening shines; Flushing, for thee, the vernal blossom blows; Yellowing, for thee, the sickly year declines. "Tis thine to draw refined and rich delight Or from the shaggy wild or cultured plain; Heaven's smiling beams or shoots of angry light; The' expansive peace or tumult of the main. Thine are the sprightly scenes of laughing day; Thine awful midnight's solemn starry hour; Thine the fresh dome on glossy pillars gay; And thine the ivy-vested mouldering tower. To please thine ear soft notes the linnet pours; And, with grand peal, the deep toned thunder rolls; The streamlet murmurs, and the torrent roars; The zephyr whispers, and the tempest howls. From each or lofty or mellifluous sound, Each fair or awful form that strikes the sight, In Art's wide sphere or Nature's ample round, "Tis thine to draw refined and rich delight. Thine is the eye that with sweet fury rolls O'er the bright page where heroes shine again! Where the great energies of virtuous souls Repeat their glorious scorn of Death and Pain! By Vice's side when Virtue's form is shown; When bold she struggles with a heat divine; Or on her victor looks superior down; Thine is the page! the glowing leaf is thine! Nor thy bold joys can Nature's self confine: Each shade of bliss thou own'st-to thee belongs Bless'd is thy commerce with a kindred mind! Shouldst thou, thy fund of softer soul to prove, Find Beauty's seal impress'd on Virtue's shrine; And should the brilliant eye that lights thy love On thy young hopes let fall a ray benign; Then shalt thou throw around the earth thine eye, Fair, in thy field of life, these joys appear: Lo! in her cave grim Want awaits her prey! And thoughtless whither each rash footstep leads. |