When the low gales of evening moan along, Listening the mellow murmur of the trees, Full foliaged, as they lift their arms on high, And wave their shadowy heads in wildest melody. Or lead me where, amid the tranquil vale, The broken stream flows on in silver light, And I will linger where the gale O'er the bank of violets sighs, Listening to hear its soften'd sounds arise; Creep o'er his long moon-glittering trail, Thee, meekest Power! I love to meet, The scatter'd Abbey's hallow'd rounds I trace, And listen to the echoings of my feet. Or on the half demolish'd tomb, Whose warning texts anticipate my doom, Cast through the storying glass a faintly varied light. Nor will I not in some more gloomy hour Wandering beneath the sainted pile When the blast moans along the darksome aisle, And clattering patters all around The midnight shower with dreary sound. But sweeter 'tis to wander wild O Contemplation! when to Memory's eyes SOUTHEY. TO THE REV. JOHN IRELAND. IMITATION OF HORACE, LIB. III. ODE XVI. WHEN howling winds and louring skies For ease the Turk, ferocious, prays, For ease the barbarous Russ, for ease Which Palk could ne'er obtain; Which Bedford lack'd amidst his store, And liberal Clive, with mines of ore, Oft bade for-but in vain. For not the liveried troop that wait 6 O, well is he' to whom kind Heaven He grasps not anxiously at more, 'O, well is he !' for life is lost, Why should he from his country run, Serener hours to find? Was never man in this wild chase For, wing'd with all the lightning's speed, Nor Barca's heat nor Zembla's cold They whom no anxious thoughts annoy, Something must ever be amiss- Lives only in the brain : We cannot all have what we want; Wolfe rush'd on death in manhood's bloom, Paulet crept slowly to the tomb; Here breath, there fame was given : And that wise Power who weighs our lives By contras and by pros contrives To keep the balance even. To thee she gave two piercing eyes, To me one eye not over good, Two sides that, to their cost, have stood A coat more bare than thine; a soul With no inglorious song. W. GIFFORD. |