Away with Love - his subtle net

Would snare my heart before its time : But no! he shall not bind me yet, For I have many a height sublime Of steep ascent, with toil to climb, Where passion's fire and love's regret, Would check my course in youthful prime : Hence then be love's illusion cast,

It must not, and it shall not last.

Hope is the Captain of our host,
Whose meanest follower of the war

May all his leader's ardour boast;
And we have sworn to follow far
The light of that presiding star,
Till, earth's wide realms of study crost,
Labour shall learning's gates unbar ;
And knowledge lead the steps of youth
To virtue in the paths of truth.

Not now,

O Love! should'st thou appear ;
Thy light artillery bears no part,
Where patient toil and thought severe
Must win the heights of studious art :
Turn then from me thy erring dart,

Since I must bear, through many a year,

The studious look, and loveless heart :
Then do not ask that I should wear
Thy favours on this brow of care.

This is no time to grieve, or sigh,

O'er lover's bliss, in lady's bower :
My eager thoughts are soaring high,
Where knowledge, truth, ambition, power,
Rich blessings on their votary shower:
Then farewell, Love! I needs must fly
Thy soft enchantment, at this hour;
Yet smile not thus, in proud disdain,
We part, Oh Love! to meet again.

FAREWELL TO EXETER.

AUGUST 22, 1805.

'Tis vain; we cannot tear apart
The ties that twine around the heart,
But blood will follow. Future years

Lie bright in prospect; but regret
Is mingled with the parting yet,
Alternate sorrows, hopes, and fears.

Pensive, yet pleased, I breathe a fond farewell,
Exonia! to thy calm untroubled bowers;
Where knowledge first, on my unfolding powers,
Her quickening influence shed, and taught to swell
Those buds of early thought, that burst their cell,
In prime of youth, mid warmth of vernal showers.
Ye fond associates of my studious hours!

Though now we part, remembrance still shall dwell
On each fair form, to youthful love endeared:
And Thou, whose skillful hand could rule so well
Our apt and froward youth, O guide revered!
If once I deemed thee stern, yet now I find
Thy seeming rigour was, in truth, most kind;
Severe yet friendly, and beloved though feared.

THE ABBOT JUBILEE.
AUGUST 23, 1838.

The summer months bring wilding shoot
From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit;
And years draw on our human span
From child to boy, from boy to man.

ABBOT to thee thy pupils bring

SCOTT.

Their tribute due of grateful praise,
With feelings warm, that freshly spring,
At memory of departed days:

'Mid those far scenes when fancy strays,

How bright each early vision burns,
While years roll back, and youth returns!

How oft in hours of toil, or strife,

When false friends fail, and fortune lowers,
The scenes return of early life;

Of youthful sports and careless hours,
Passed gaily 'mid these classic bowers;
Till sighs burst forth, that life no more
Those joys can give, it gave before.

Long years are past; and time has wrought
On each changed form, till memory finds
Slight semblance left of former thought;
And weak, perchance, each tie that binds
Our sundered hearts and altered minds.

Oh! say not so, - since true hearts yet
The loves of youth can ne'er forget.

And we, though far our steps have strayed,
To Europe's shores, or Asia's strand,
Our homes in western wilds though made,
Or in the glowing southern land,
Yet feel new life, as here we stand,
Where erst we stood, while days of yore
Come thronging all our memories o'er.

To us, each well remembered spot,

The plains, the groves, are still the same, No object changed, no sport forgot; Kite, marble, football, each old game, Wherein to win was then held fame, Here flourish still; and half we deem Ourselves unchanged, in this blest dream.

But no, 'tis past; the fates allow

No second youth, since time will trace His change alike on furrowed brow,

And mind matured. In youth's warm race,

Our sons have ta'en their fathers' place,

And we, with mixed regret and pride,

To aid their course must step aside.

Instructer sage! beloved as feared,

On whom our youthful cares we cast, To grateful bosoms long endeared,

Say, must this meeting be our last? Is thy long term of service past? And may our sons no longer crave The aids to us thy wisdom gave?

Farewell! since warmest hopes in vain
Would hold thee longer in our view;
Affectionate, with tender pain,

Fondly we bid thee here adieu;

New joys may come, new scenes ensue,
But time shall hallow, in each heart,
The scene, the hour, wherein we part.

Soft be the pillow of thine age,

The cradle of declining years,

Unknown alike to turbid rage,

To sordid want, or bigot fears :

While hope's bright ray thy prospect cheers,

Gently may time, in reverence, shed

The frosts of age around thy head.

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