PARENT of golden dreams, Romance! And yet 't is hard to quit the dreams And even woman's smiles are true. And must we own thee but a name, 10 20 And from thy hall of clouds descend? With shame I own I've felt thy sway, No more on fancied pinions soar. And think that eye to truth was dear; 30 To trust a passing wanton's sigh, Far from thy motley court I fly, For any pangs excepting thine; To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine. Now join with sable Sympathy, With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds, Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, Whose breast for every bosom bleeds; And call thy sylvan female choir, To mourn a swain for ever gone, Who once could glow with equal fire, But bends not now before thy throne. Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears On all occasions swiftly flow, Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears, With fancied flames and phrensy glow; Say, will you mourn my absent name, Apostate from your gentle train? An infant bard at least may claim From you a sympathetic strain. Adieu, fond race! a long adieu ! 40 50 60 The hour of fate is hovering nigh; E'en now the gulf appears in view, Where unlamented you must lie: Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, Convulsed by gales you cannot weather; Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Alas! must perish altogether. |