ODE TO MELANCHOLY. Ir aught can raise the drooping heart How glorious 'tis, at twilight hour, The mind expanding, bears her wings, And mingles with the skies. Then let me seek the solemn scene, When all is silent and serene Beneath the starry pole ; When pleasure's fev'rish dreams are o'er, And busy cares disturb no more The contemplative soul. Or slowly pace, with musing tread, Where senseless marbles weep; There melancholy loves to dwell, That speaks our mortal doom; With pensive form, and haggard stare, She, with her sister madness, oft But when in some secluded cell, Hark! music strikes the list'ning ear, 'Tis Mona's bard—with magic sweep,— Who rais'd the spirits of the deep In Fingal's dreary cave; High on a mountain's tow'ring spire, O'er many a warrior's grave. When wand'ring ghosts, as Legends tell, Forsook the dismal caves of hell, To haunt the midnight gloom; And while the distant thunder roll'd, Hail holy shade! whose harp divine, No more thine airy music floats In solemn, sad, and swelling notes Hail, Melancholy, Pow'r sublime ! Shall vanquish, or destroy! When earth shall melt, and sea, and skies, O! may thy troubled Spirit rise To everlasting joy. THE Sun with mild declining ray, The swain his ev'ning carol sings, The lover mourns beneath the shade, And bathes the laurell'd urn. Now, while the thoughtless and the gay, Let me, while nightly dews descend, The solitary hour. Glory to thee, in holy hymn, My God, my Father, and my Friend! Before thine awful throne! If e'er in deed, in word, or thought, Incline my heart to wisdom's rule, To know that pleasure, glitt'ring toy, Yields but a transitory joy, 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. |