How oft the gen'rous with the selfish mated,
Must drag in lonesomeness a galling chain!
How oft the two that might have lov'd are fated
Never to meet, or soon to part again!
Yet here — while in earth's wilderness we linger,
Desponding, sick at heart, unnerv'd in hand,
Young Hope by times will point with cherub finger
To spots of verdure in that " weary land. "
Some shadow of the good we're blindly seeking,
Some scene of peace — some maid we might adore,
Will thrill — like music of his far home, meeting
The exile on a friendless foreign shore.
With sighs one asks — O! might not, could not I,
From heartless bustle, dungeon-gloom of town,
With her to love me best, for ever fly, —
'Mid still retirements, make my soul my own?
In sunny vales calm homes arise for many;
The sky, the earth, their glad looks spread for all;
And may not friendship's balm be wish'd by any
Whose heart is true, and beats at friendship's call?
Each chain'd to th' oar by thousand imag'd wants,
See Fashion's galley-slaves and Mammon's ply;
Not theirs the bliss love earn'd by virtue grants —
By lofty aims and deeds that may not die!
Their wages, gilded straws, for ever leaving,
Might not one kindred pair go hand in hand —
The heart's joy with the mind's light interweaving —
To wisdom's haunts, to fancy's fairy land?
Th' undying minds of ev'ry age around us, —
The world's, our being's mystery to view —
If in us dwelt some thoughts might live beyond us,
To form them, find them, hearers " fit tho' few. "
In tasks like these were not enough to do?
In other's arms were not enough to feel?
Clear as the summer sun our days might flow,
And bright their end be like that sun's farewell.
Vain longings! vain! No pow'r will hear me,
To darkness fades my baseless dream;
No bosom-friend or home must cheer me,
Low toil, pale care sit mocking near me,
My past, my future mates they seem.
A kingly thought with a captive's fate
Wasteth the heart to misery driven:
But to steadfast men in their low estate,
By stern endeavourings, minds elate,
To light the gloom of life is given.
And noble 'tis, without complaining,
Our lot to suffer, task fulfil,
Thro' scowls, neglect, and chill disdaining,
In pain — alone — our pride retaining,
Untir'd work out our purpos'd will.
Be calm'd, my soul! No act of thine
With fame can gild thy dreary doom;
But whoso walks firm duty's line
'Mid life's sick mists unstain'd may shine,
And — sound is the sleep of the tomb.
Must drag in lonesomeness a galling chain!
How oft the two that might have lov'd are fated
Never to meet, or soon to part again!
Yet here — while in earth's wilderness we linger,
Desponding, sick at heart, unnerv'd in hand,
Young Hope by times will point with cherub finger
To spots of verdure in that " weary land. "
Some shadow of the good we're blindly seeking,
Some scene of peace — some maid we might adore,
Will thrill — like music of his far home, meeting
The exile on a friendless foreign shore.
With sighs one asks — O! might not, could not I,
From heartless bustle, dungeon-gloom of town,
With her to love me best, for ever fly, —
'Mid still retirements, make my soul my own?
In sunny vales calm homes arise for many;
The sky, the earth, their glad looks spread for all;
And may not friendship's balm be wish'd by any
Whose heart is true, and beats at friendship's call?
Each chain'd to th' oar by thousand imag'd wants,
See Fashion's galley-slaves and Mammon's ply;
Not theirs the bliss love earn'd by virtue grants —
By lofty aims and deeds that may not die!
Their wages, gilded straws, for ever leaving,
Might not one kindred pair go hand in hand —
The heart's joy with the mind's light interweaving —
To wisdom's haunts, to fancy's fairy land?
Th' undying minds of ev'ry age around us, —
The world's, our being's mystery to view —
If in us dwelt some thoughts might live beyond us,
To form them, find them, hearers " fit tho' few. "
In tasks like these were not enough to do?
In other's arms were not enough to feel?
Clear as the summer sun our days might flow,
And bright their end be like that sun's farewell.
Vain longings! vain! No pow'r will hear me,
To darkness fades my baseless dream;
No bosom-friend or home must cheer me,
Low toil, pale care sit mocking near me,
My past, my future mates they seem.
A kingly thought with a captive's fate
Wasteth the heart to misery driven:
But to steadfast men in their low estate,
By stern endeavourings, minds elate,
To light the gloom of life is given.
And noble 'tis, without complaining,
Our lot to suffer, task fulfil,
Thro' scowls, neglect, and chill disdaining,
In pain — alone — our pride retaining,
Untir'd work out our purpos'd will.
Be calm'd, my soul! No act of thine
With fame can gild thy dreary doom;
But whoso walks firm duty's line
'Mid life's sick mists unstain'd may shine,
And — sound is the sleep of the tomb.