Classic Poem

EFFUSION IX.

T RANSIENT , alas! and faint, what cheerful gleams
Relieve my bosom's sadness — whether, bent
On studious thought, I range thy lonely haunts,
Sequester'd Vaga, or explore the page
Of ancient Wisdom, or perchance, inspir'd
With love of sacred Freedom, yet unquench'd,
I " build the lofty rhyme, " and twine the wreath
Of civic virtue, for the honour'd brow
Of Albion's earliest Hope — or if, impell'd
By hard necessity, with careful hand
(To toil of late accustom'd) from the womb,
Scant and ungenial, of an alien soil
I force reluctant sustenance, — alike
O'er every season — every changeful scene
Of various destiny, intrusive Woe
Hovers with baleful gloom; — Remembrance still
Dwells on Maria lost; and Fancy's self
(No more, alas! creative) but renews
That dire affliction — but renews the thought
Of Thee, ingenuous maiden! early snatch'd
From my paternal hopes, while yet the bloom
Of sweet attraction on thy infant cheek
Promis'd long-during bliss. Or if perchance,
To this sequester'd solitude (tho rare)
Journeying from far, some sympathizing friend,
Cordial, approach, and of the times long past
(Times not estrang'd to social intercourse)
Renew the lost memorial, still my heart,
To other thoughts incontinent, amid
The flow of mutual converse, sad renews
This woe of woes, and the unbidden tear,
Or sigh spontaneous, mars the social grace
Of hospitable welcome. Jest and Smile
Are but abortions of the labouring brain,
That would have ease, but cannot, or, at best,
Delusive respites from the scourge of thought,
That soon returns more poignant. Sleep herself,
To my sad couch coy visitant! if chance
She steep my temples in her opiate dews,
Brings not the wish'd oblivion. Still, in dreams,
Renew'd affliction haunts me. Still, in dreams,
Rises thy beauteous form, Oh! best belov'd!
To mock with faint illusion; and, the while
My yearning heart throbs with a parent's love,
I see Thee sink expiring — see renew'd
The writhing pang that, in an instant, chang'd
Thy bloom to ghastly paleness; in these arms
Leaving a wither'd flow'r — — a breathless corse!