Spare farther the descriptive song— Nature shudders at the sight.— Protract not, curious ears, the mournful tale, But o'er the hapless groupe, low drop Compassion's veil. ODE XXX. ΤΟ MELANCHOLY. BY MRS. CARTER. COME, Melancholy! silent power, No longer wildly hurried thro' I from the busy crowd retire, To court the objects that inspire Thy philosophic dream. Thro' yon dark grove of mournful yews With solitary steps I muse, By thy direction led: Here, cold to pleasure's tempting forms, Consociate with my sister-worms, And mingle with the dead. Ye midnight horrors! awful gloom I Here shall my weary eyes be clos'd, In death's refreshing shade. Ye pale inhabitants of night, Ye faithless idols of our sense, Here own how vain your fond pretence, Ye empty names of joy! Your transient forms like shadows pass, Frail offspring of the magic glass, The dazzling colours, falsely bright, Attract the gazing vulgar sight With superficial state : Thro' Reason's clearer optics view'd, Can wild Ambition's tyrant power, Can Pleasure's more bewitching charms Religion! e'er the hand of Fate Amidst the flattering hopes of youth, Thy penetrating beams disperse Derive their fatal spring: 'Tis thine the trembling heart to warm, And soften to an angel form The pale terrific king. When sunk by guilt in sad despair, Repentance breathes her humble prayer, And owns thy threatenings just: Thy voice the shuddering suppliant chears, Sublim'd by thee, the soul aspires Unmov'd her destin'd change surveys, In Death's soft slumber lull'd to rest, Till the last morn's fair opening ray Of active life and bliss. |