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ODE TO MELANCHOLY.
Ir aught can raise the drooping heart
Above the world's delight and folly, And all sublimer thoughts impart,
'Tis heav'nly, pensive melancholy
How glorious 'tis, at twilight hour,
The silver moon arise !
And mingles with the skies.
Then let me seek the solemn scene,
Beneath the starry pole ;
The contemplative soul.
Or slowly pace, with musing tread,
Where senseless marbles weep;
In everlasting sleep.
There melancholy loves to dwell,
That speaks our mortal doom ;
O'er Beauty's early tomb.
She, with her sister madness, oft
That foaming billows sweep,
The tempest, and the deep.
But when in some secluded cell,
Soft Zephyrs breathe around;
To hear the mournful sound !
Hark! music strikes the list’ning ear, In notes more thrilling, plaintive, clear,
Than e'er to man were given; Sweet as the sounds that angels sing When loud applauding seraphs bring
A chosen saint to heav'n.
'Tis Mona's bard—with magic sweep, —
In Fingal's dreary cave;
O'er many a warrior's grave.
When wand'ring ghosts, as Legends tell,
To haunt the midnight gloom;
The secrets of the tomb !
Hail holy shade! whose harp divine,
Awoke in dying falls—
Thro' Mona's desart walls.-
Hail, Melancholy, Pow'r sublime !
Shall vanquish, or destroy!
To everlasting joy.
The Sun with mild declining ray,
And thro' the dusky plain
Resumes her silent reign
The lover mourns beneath the shade,
And friendship's cold return:
And bathes the laurellid urn.
Now, while the thoughtless and the gay,
In festive hall, or bow'r;
The solitary hour.
Glory to thee, in holy hymn,
High Lord of heav'n alone !
Before thine awful throne !
If e'er in deed, in word, or thought,
From virtue's path to steer,
Nor thou refuse to hear.
my heart to wisdom's rule, And try me in affliction's school,
And teach my erring mind
And leaves a sting behind.
Tho' light'nings flash, and tempests low'r, He shall outlive the dreadful hour
Who stands in worth securePure as the current of the rills, Firm as the everlasting hills,
Shall virtue's self endure.