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The Minstrel; or the Progress of Genius
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Though blest with wisdom, and with wit refined,
She courts no homage, nor desires to shine;
In her each sentiment sublime is joined
To female softness, and a form divine.
Come, and disperse the involving shadows drear;
Let chastened mirth the social hours employ.
O catch the swift-winged moment while ’tis near —
On swiftest wing the moment flies of joy.
Even while the careless disencumbered soul
Sinks, all dissolving, into pleasure’s dream,
Even then to time’s tremendous verge we roll,
With headlong haste, along life’s surgey stream.
Can gaiety the vanished years restore,
Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed,
Or soothe the sad INEVITABLE HOUR,
Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead?
Still sounds the solemn knell, in Fancy’s ear,
That called Eliza to the silent tomb;
With her how jocund rolled the sprightly year!
How shone the nymph in beauty’s brightest bloom!
Ah! Beauty’s bloom avails not in the grave!
Youth’s lofty mien, nor Age’s awful grace.
Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave,
Whelmed in the enormous wreck of human race.
The thought-fixed portraiture, the breathing bust,
The arch with proud memorials arrayed,
The long-lived pyramid shall sink in dust,
To dumb Oblivion’s ever desert shade.
Fancy from joy still wanders far astray.
Ah Melancholy, how I feel thy power!
Long have I laboured to elude thy sway —
But ’tis enough, for I resist no more.
The traveller thus, that o’er the midnight waste,
Through many a lonesome path is doomed to roam,
Wildered and weary sits him down at last;
For long the night, and distant far his home.
FINIS
She courts no homage, nor desires to shine;
In her each sentiment sublime is joined
To female softness, and a form divine.
Come, and disperse the involving shadows drear;
Let chastened mirth the social hours employ.
O catch the swift-winged moment while ’tis near —
On swiftest wing the moment flies of joy.
Even while the careless disencumbered soul
Sinks, all dissolving, into pleasure’s dream,
Even then to time’s tremendous verge we roll,
With headlong haste, along life’s surgey stream.
Can gaiety the vanished years restore,
Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed,
Or soothe the sad INEVITABLE HOUR,
Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead?
Still sounds the solemn knell, in Fancy’s ear,
That called Eliza to the silent tomb;
With her how jocund rolled the sprightly year!
How shone the nymph in beauty’s brightest bloom!
Ah! Beauty’s bloom avails not in the grave!
Youth’s lofty mien, nor Age’s awful grace.
Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave,
Whelmed in the enormous wreck of human race.
The thought-fixed portraiture, the breathing bust,
The arch with proud memorials arrayed,
The long-lived pyramid shall sink in dust,
To dumb Oblivion’s ever desert shade.
Fancy from joy still wanders far astray.
Ah Melancholy, how I feel thy power!
Long have I laboured to elude thy sway —
But ’tis enough, for I resist no more.
The traveller thus, that o’er the midnight waste,
Through many a lonesome path is doomed to roam,
Wildered and weary sits him down at last;
For long the night, and distant far his home.
FINIS
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