And happiness too swiftly flies? 100 T. GRAY. 159 HYMN TO ADVERSITY Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Bound in thy adamantine chain 5 With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy Sire to send on earth 10 15 And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse, and with them go The summer Friend, the flattering Foe; 20 To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb array'd Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid, With leaden eye, that loves the ground, 25 Still on thy solemn steps attend : And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. O, gently on thy suppliant's head Dread Goddess, lay thy chastening hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and threatening mien, With screaming Horror's funeral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty : 30 35 Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear, 41 Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart.. The generous spark extinct revive, 45 What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. T. GRAY. 160 THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; That sages have seen in thy face? Than reign in this horrible place. I must finish my journey alone, 5 10 The beasts that roam over the plain How soon would I taste you again! And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. 15 20 Ye winds that have made me your sport, 25 Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more: My friends, do they now and then send O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind! And the swift-wingéd arrows of light. In a moment I seem to be there ; But, alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the seafowl is gone to her nest, Even here is a season of rest, There is mercy in every place, And reconciles man to his lot. W. CowPER. 30 35 40 45 161 TO MARY UNWIN Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they drew, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner things, I That ere through age or woe I shed my wings 5 But thou hast little need. There is a Book There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine; W. CowPER. 162 TO THE SAME The twentieth year is well-nigh past Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more; 5 10 For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, Thy indistinct expressions seem Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, For could I view nor them nor thee, Partakers of thy sad decline Thy hands their little force resign; Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st And still to love, though press'd with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary! But ah! by constant heed I know Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 15 20 25 25 30 35 40 45 |