Chill'd by unkind Honora's alter'd eye, “Why droops my heart with fruitless woes forlorn,” Thankless for much of good?--what thousands, born To ceaseless toil beneath this wintry sky, Or to brave deathful Oceans surging high, Or fell Disease's fever'd rage to mourn, How blest to _them_ wou'd seem _my_ destiny! How _dear_ the comforts my rash sorrows scorn!-- Affection is repaid by causeless hate! A plighted love is chang'd to cold disdain! Yet suffer not thy wrongs to shroud thy fate, But turn, my Soul, to blessings which remain; And let this truth the wise resolve create, THE HEART ESTRANGED NO ANGUISH CAN REGAIN.
Thou child of NIGHT, and SILENCE, balmy SLEEP, Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow! And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how Vanish'd that priz'd AFFECTION, wont to keep Each grief of mine from rankling into woe. Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow Loos'd the dire strings;--and Care, and anxious Dread From my cheer'd heart, on sullen pinion, fled. But _now_, the spell dissolv'd, th' Enchantress gone, Ceaseless those cruel Fiends infest my day, And sunny hours but light them to their prey. Then welcome Midnight shades, when thy wish'd boon May in oblivious dews my eye-lids steep, THOU CHILD OF NIGHT, AND SILENCE, BALMY SLEEP!
INGRATITUDE, how deadly is thy smart Proceeding from the Form we fondly love! How light, compared, all _other_ sorrows prove! THOU shed'st a _Night_ of Woe, from whence depart The gentle beams of Patience, that the heart 'Mid _lesser_ ills, illume.--_Thy_ Victims rove Unquiet as the Ghost that haunts the Grove Where MURDER spilt the life-blood.--O! thy dart Kills _more_ than Life,--e'en all that makes Life dear; Till we “the sensible of pain” wou'd change For Phrenzy, that defies the bitter tear; Or wish, in kindred callousness, to range Where moon-ey'd IDIOCY, with fallen lip, Drags the loose knee, and intermitting step.
The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride, And all the sunny hills at distance glow, And all the brooks, that thro' the valley flow, Seem liquid gold.--O! had my fate denied Leisure, and power to taste the sweets that glide Thro' waken'd minds, as the soft seasons go On their still varying progress, for the woe My heart has felt, what balm had been supplied? But where great NATURE smiles, as _here_ she smiles, 'Mid verdant vales, and gently swelling hills, And glassy lakes, and mazy, murmuring rills, And narrow wood-wild lanes, her spell beguiles Th' impatient sighs of Grief, and reconciles Poetic Minds to Life, with all her ills.