1811.] 
And like whose glorious course mine might 
have proved ; 
Nor lingering, nor misled, with panting 
\" hearts 
You pushed right onward, while the loose- 
zoned maid 
Unheeded crossed your path; her syren song 
Assailed your soul, but soon, as from a rock, 
Rolled back a wasted melody 5 tor still 
Ppeasicn stedfast looked towards the goal, 
hile Reason, with his wand, your chosen 
guide, 
Dispelled Imagination’s air-built fangs, 
Ans promises of bliss to indolence. 
Your toil is o’er, and yours is now the palm, 
The shout of. thousands, and the laurel 
crown; 
Ah! envied !—When together we set forth, 
Yes! I was fresh and vigorous as you, 
And might, like you, have speeded. 
the race 
Is run and Jost, and I, unpraised, unknown, 
Follow inglorious;—doomed to hide my 
shame 
Midst the low crowds of mediocrity : 
Past is my pride, my honor among men. 
In those itlusive hours, when Cheerfulness 
Conducts Reflection, and bears up the heart ; 
Placid, seli-satisfied, the mind will turn 
Tnward its contemplative eye, and smile ; 
Then all looks glad and joyous, as creation, 
When fresh and fragrant from che summer 
shower 
Now 
Ir glitters in the sun: O! then, the soul 
Panting with ardor, big with conGderce, 
Deems it has giant powers, and will achieve 
Things yet untried by man? th’ enthusiast 
: glow ' 
Burns in each vein, fire flashes from the 
eye, 
The frame’s incumbent weight seems light- 
ened, raised, 
Expanded by an energy divine! 
Yet soon, too soon, the paroxysm subsides 
In sad ‘despondence * now the powers collapse 
And sink in lassitude, while all_around 
The scene is darkened, and the languid eye 
Perceives no beauty in the earth or heavens, 
Nor aught to be desired——delights 10 more 
Orman or woman: science, pleasure, 
wealth, 
All the pursuits, the uses of this world, 
Seem weary, flat, unprofitable, stale: 
Aht how, no more complacent musings 
spring 
From self- -Inspection ; discontent, despair, 
Jts sole, results 5 while imperfection stains, 
Or seems to stain, al] objects and all toils, 
But most of all, in the sud sufferer’s mind, 
Whate’er nad sprung’ from ~ his inventive 
brain, 
And once seemed fair and faultless. With a 
ye blush, 
Viewing his own creation, in disgust 
Fie blots the canvas, or destroys the page. 
Original Poetry. 
| 149. 
Alas! for him, who i in this woe. fraught hour, . 
Finds nought within to prop hi his sinking Souls 
No secret flattery, no consciousness, 
That on the walks of life he is revered, 
And named with honor by the sage and good— 
That might be something, echoing their 
praise, 
The mind in sweet soliloquy might say, 
** Be of yood cheer, ’tis but a passing cloud, 
© Anon the sun _ will pour his radiance 
bright, 
, And all once more wil] .be serene the 
while 
**Endure.” But how, if-all the moral past 
Be buta blank, or worse ; if strong desire ~ 
To climb to eenbr have.sustained defeat, 
If no soft welcome accent have approved 
The cherished view that looked to future 
times, 
And grasped the laure] of a century’s growth 5 
OQ! who can bear, when such the drear ace 
count, - 
Reflection’s horror :—-whio, but feels, can tell! 
Then all the common-places, which the 
world 
Prattles by rote, and thinks not from the ’ 
heart, 
That life is brief, and full of cares; delight 
A passing Rower, that withers as it blows 5 
That wealth is worthless, since it cannot buy 
. Tranquillity; that frien ship i is most false, 
And Wisdom’s self most vain ;—vain every 
wish ~ 
And each research of man, who toiling iong, 
Is baffled in pursuit, or may succeed ; 
And grasp a shadow zeethese and many more, 
The saws of Pédantry with frozen lips, 
That lectures woe, are realized and felt, 
Felt with a pain acute it never knew. 
What then remains, since all is worthless, 
vain, 
Beneath a wise man’s aim, a good. man’s hope, 
But to escape from.this polluted scene, 
To burst the toil, and flees—-Rash. mind! 
forbear, 
Think of the mandate, ¢¢ Tarry till I call 5° 
* Endure untothe.end; wait, wait th’ sppointed 
time,’ 
* Nor rush unlicenced to the judzment-throne, 
For can’st thou tell what lies “across the 
gulph? > 
And were it worse than all thy sufferings here, 
Say, can’st thou flee from that? 
Back to thy sheath, detested poniard!—-No, 
“ 
Though allthis world be weariness, though - 
hope 
Of widdpaee be from me for ever fled, 
My sole sad prospect butito tozter on 
Some joyless years, and sink into the grave ; 
Yet will I bend me to th? awards of heaven, 
Nor wrest its high prerogative, to say, 
When I have borne enough: dark are God's 
ways, 
Yet not less wise, because unsearchable, 
In 
