THE AUTHOR GOING TO TAKE HIS DEGREE.
"O sæpe mecum tempus in ultimum
Deducte" &c. &c.
O THOU, in hair-breadth scapes like me,
By tyrant statutes undismay'd,
While- -rules what magic aid,
Gives thee to fly, yet safely see
Return'd the academic shade.
Full oft the light convivial vein
Has sped for us the minutes' pace,
Full oft, amaz'd, the slavish race
Of College seen us both disdain
The pedant Genius of the place.
To me, impatient for the boon,
Expecting long and gaining late,
He deigns his rigours to abate;
But thee condemns for many a moon,
To war with Dulness and with Fate.
And yet thy safe return to hail,
And welcome my approaching right, The Muse on this distinguish'd night, The Muse our Sovereign will not fail, Our proudest homage to requite.
Be ours my then to shew
Due honours at her patron shrine, My richest ripest flask be thine, Then let the warm libation flow
To Freedom, Friendship, and the Nine.
FROM AN ANCIENT GREEK AUTHOR.
ITH me the rosy goblet share,
With me enjoy the youthful hours,
With me caress the frolic fair,
With me compose the wreath of flowers!
Now drive with me dull thought away,
With me defiance bid to sorrow,
Be merry Thou with Me to day ;-
And I'll be wise with Thee to-morrow!
WRITTEN ON AN AUTUMNAL VISIT AT THE VILLA OF A LONG-RESPECTED FRIEND.
REPINING Memory, sometimes, through
The darkening veil of tears
Regards, with sadly-pensive view,
The shades of former years:
Sees those, who in Youth's sunny prime
Beam'd rapture on our sight,
Eclips'd by distance or by time,
Or set in Death's long night!
Yet Nature still has means most dear
To keep the heart-blood warm,
Some vernal sympathies to cheer
Mid many an Autumn-storm.
And though poor Life's coëval leaves
Hang thinly scatter'd round,
And not a breeze can blow but drives
Some trembler to the ground;
May the firm few that brave Time's circling blast, Cling to their early stock of Amity more fast!
FULL many a Bard attunes the string
For Youth, and all it loves to bring,
It's graceful forms, it's polish'd toys,
Delirium sweet, and promis'd joys;
All these enchant the tuneful throng,
And Youth, the season is for song;
Rhyming, 'mid twenty whimsies more,
Adds but one folly to the score.
But should a Bard in riper age,
Chance to retain poetic rage;
The sole atonement for his rhyme,
Which he can make to slighted time,
Is with some monitory lay,
To sing the praise of LIFE'S DECAY.
Not myrtle bower, not virgin's dream,
Not field of combat be my theme.
No wreath my sober Muse shall find,
For crimes and follies of mankind.
Thy praises, Age, command my voice;
And let the theme reward my choice.
Repress the fiery pride of Youth,
Impart the love of moral truth:
Without regret, I can resign
The vanities that once were mine.
Come, Age, thy welcome visit make,
I know the journey I must take.
Come, Age, with me a season stay,
Then see me friendly on my way.
I hail thy steps with bosom free,
No terrors dost thou bring to me.
For precious gifts thou canst impart,
The thinking head, the tranquil heart,
For moral truth, 'tis thine, to change
The dreams of Youth, that widely range.
When youthful sunshine fills the skies,
The morning mists of passion rise;—
Unbridled Love, Ambition vain,
And hot Revenge, and fell Disdain,
Unbounded Hope, and fond Belief,
Intemp'rate Joy, and causeless Grief,
That ravish from the dazzled sight
The heav'nly forms of fair and right.
Illusions, bred of air and heat,
In Youth abound, in Age retreat.
Then, Evening blunts the noon-tide ray,
And all the phantoms melt away.
We then imbibe a cooler sky;
We feel the thirst of Pleasure fly.
The thousand hopeless vain pursuits,
The plants that teem with bitter fruits,
When the fierce noon-tide glare is fled,
Decline, and hang the withering head.
Come, Age, with influence kind inspire
The mild retreating of Desire.
Declining Strength, and failing Sight,
Augmented Pain, abridg'd Delight,
|