AT length, my friend, the far-sent letters come, Charged with thy kindness, to their destined home; They come, at length, from Deva's western side, Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide. Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be, Though born of foreign race, yet born for me, And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam, Must seek again so soon his wonted home. I well content, where Thames with influent tide My native city laves, meantime reside, Nor zeal nor duty now my steps impel To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell. Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I, That, to the musing bard, all shade deny. 'Tis time that I a pedant's threats disdain, And fly from wrongs my soul will ne'er sustain. If peaceful days, in lettered leisure spent Beneath my father's roof, be banishment, Then call me banished, I will ne'er refuse A name expressive of the lot I chuse. I would that, exiled to the Pontic shore, Rome's hapless bard had suffered nothing more; He then had equalled even Homer's lays, And Virgil! thou hadst won but second praise. For here I woo the Muse, with no control; And here my books--my life--absorb me whole. Here too I visit, or to smile, or weep, The winding theatre's majestic sweep; The grave or gay colloquial scene recruits My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits, Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir, Suitor, or soldier now unarmed, be there; Or some coifed brooder o'er a ten years' cause Thunder the Norman gibberish of the laws. The lacquey there oft dupes the wary sire, And artful speeds the enamoured son's desire. There, virgins oft, unconscious what they prove, What love is know not, yet, unknowing, love. Or if impassioned Tragedy wield high The bloody sceptre, give her locks to fly Wild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye, I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief, At times even bitter tears yield sweet relief: As when, from bliss untasted torn away, Some youth dies, hapless, on his bridal day;-- Or when the ghost, sent back from shades below, Fills the assassin's heart with vengeful woe, When Troy, or Argos, the dire scene affords, Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords. Nor always city-pent, or pent at home, I dwell; but when spring calls me forth to roam, Expatiate in our proud suburban shades Of branching elm, that never sun pervades. Here many a virgin troop I may descry, Like stars of mildest influence, gliding by. Oh forms divine! Oh looks that might inspire Even Jove himself, grown old, with young desire! Oft have I gazed on gem-surpassing eyes, Outsparkling every star that gilds the skies, Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestowed By Jove on Pelops, or the Milky Road! Bright locks, Love's golden snare! these falling low, Those playing wanton o'er the graceful brow! Cheeks too, more winning sweet than after shower Adonis turned to Flora's favourite flower! Yield, heroines, yield, and ye who shared the embrace Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place! Give place, ye turbaned fair of Persia's coast! And ye, not less renowned, Assyria's boast! Submit, ye nymphs of Greece! ye, once the bloom Of Ilion! and all ye of haughty Rome, Who swept, of old, her theatres with trains Redundant, and still live in classic strains! To British damsels beauty's palm is due; Aliens! to follow them is fame for you. O city, founded by Dardanian hands, Whose towering front the circling realms commands, Too blest abode! no loveliness we see In all the earth, but it abounds in thee. The virgin multitude that daily meets, Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets, Outnumbers all her train of starry fires, With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires. Fame says, that wafted hither by her doves, With all her host of quiver-bearing loves, Venus, preferring Paphian scenes no more, Has fixed her empire on thy nobler shore. But lest the sightless boy inforce my stay, I leave these happy walls, while yet I may. Immortal Moly shall secure my heart From all the sorcery of Circaean art, And I will e'en repass Cam's reedy pools To face once more the warfare of the schools. Meantime accept this trifle! rhymes though few, Yet such as prove thy Friend's remembrance true! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CLOTE (WATER-LILY) by WILLIAM BARNES THE OLD ARM-CHAIR by ELIZA COOK VERSES ON SEEING THE SPEAKER ASLEEP IN HIS CHAIR by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED TICHBORNE'S ELEGY, WRITTEN IN THE TOWER BEFORE HIS EXECUTION by CHIDIOCK TICHBORNE LAODAMIA by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH IMMORTALIA NE SPERES by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE |