| |
| YE distant spires, ye antique towers, | |
| That crown the watery glade, | |
| Where grateful Science still adores | |
| Her Henry’s holy shade; | |
| And ye, that from the stately brow | 5 |
| Of Windsor’s heights th’ expanse below | |
| Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, | |
| Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among | |
| Wanders the hoary Thames along | |
| His silver-winding way: | 10 |
| |
| Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade! | |
| Ah fields beloved in vain! | |
| When once my careless childhood stray’d, | |
| A stranger yet to pain! | |
| I feel the gales that from ye blow | 15 |
| A momentary bliss bestow, | |
| As waving fresh their gladsome wing | |
| My weary soul they seem to soothe | |
| And, redolent of joy and youth, | |
| To breathe a second spring. | 20 |
| |
| Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen | |
| Full many a sprightly race | |
| Disporting on thy margent green | |
| The paths of pleasure trace; | |
| Who foremost now delight to cleave | 25 |
| With pliant arm, thy glassy wave? | |
| The captive linnet which enthral? | |
| What idle progeny succeed | |
| To chase the rolling circle’s speed | |
| Or urge the flying ball? | 30 |
| |
| While some on earnest business bent | |
| Their murmuring labours ply | |
| ’Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint | |
| To sweeten liberty: | |
| Some bold adventurers disdain | 35 |
| The limits of their little reign | |
| And unknown regions dare descry: | |
| Still as they run they look behind, | |
| They hear a voice in every wind, | |
| And snatch a fearful joy. | 40 |
| |
| Gay Hope is theirs by fancy fed, | |
| Less pleasing when possest; | |
| The tear forgot as soon as shed, | |
| The sunshine of the breast: | |
| Theirs buxom Health, of rosy hue, | 45 |
| Wild Wit, Invention ever new, | |
| And lively Cheer, of Vigour born; | |
| The thoughtless day, the easy night, | |
| The spirits pure, the slumbers light | |
| That fly th’ approach of morn. | 50 |
| |
| Alas! regardless of their doom | |
| The little victims play! | |
| No sense have they of ills to come | |
| Nor care beyond to-day: | |
| Yet see how all around ’em wait | 55 |
| The ministers of human fate | |
| And black Misfortune’s baleful train! | |
| Ah shew them where in ambush stand | |
| To seize their prey, the murderous band! | |
| Ah, tell them they are men! | 60 |
| |
| These shall the fury Passions tear, | |
| The vultures of the mind, | |
| Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, | |
| And shame that sculks behind; | |
| Or pining Love shall waste their youth, | 65 |
| Or Jealousy with rankling tooth | |
| That inly gnaws the secret heart, | |
| And Envy wan, and faded Care, | |
| Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, | |
| And Sorrow’s piercing dart. | 70 |
| |
| Ambition this shall tempt to rise, | |
| Then whirl the wretch from high | |
| To bitter Scorn a sacrifice | |
| And grinning Infamy. | |
| The stings of Falsehood those shall try | 75 |
| And hard Unkindness’ alter’d eye, | |
| That mocks the tear it forced to flow; | |
| And keen Remorse with blood defiled, | |
| And moody Madness laughing wild | |
| Amid severest woe. | 80 |
| |
| Lo, in the Vale of Years beneath | |
| A griesly troop are seen, | |
| The painful family of Death, | |
| More hideous than their Queen: | |
| This racks the joints, this fires the veins, | 85 |
| That every labouring sinew strains, | |
| Those in the deeper vitals rage: | |
| Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, | |
| That numbs the soul with icy hand, | |
| And slow-consuming Age. | 90 |
| |
| To each his sufferings: all are men, | |
| Condemn’d alike to groan; | |
| The tender for another’s pain, | |
| Th’ unfeeling for his own. | |
| Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, | 95 |
| Since sorrow never comes too late, | |
| And happiness too swiftly flies? | |
| Thought would destroy their paradise! | |
| No more;—where ignorance is bliss, | |
| ’Tis folly to be wise. | 100 |
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