CCXIII. But now at thirty years my hair is gray(I wonder what it will be like at forty? I thought of a peruke the other day— My heart is not much greener; and, in short, I Have squander'd my whole summer while 't was May, And feel no more the spirit to retort; I Have spent my life, both interest and principal, And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible. CCXIV. No more-no more-Oh! never more on me The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Which out of all the lovely things we see Extracts emotions beautiful and new ; Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew? Alas! 't was not in them, but in thy power CCXV. No more-no more-Oh! never more, my heart, Canst thou be my sole world, my universe! Once all in all, but now a thing apart, Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse: The illusion 's gone for ever, and thou art Insensible, I trust, but none the worse, And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment, Though heaven knows how it ever found a lodgment. CCXVI. My days of love are over; me no more Can make the fool of which they made before,— CCXVII. Ambition was my idol, which was broken Before the shrines of Sorrow, and of Pleasure; And the two last have left me many a token O'er which reflection may be made at leisure; Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've spoken, “Time is, Time was, Time's past :" a chymic treasure Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimesMy heart in passion, and my head on rhymes. CCXVIII. What is the end of fame? 't is but to fill Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour; For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. CCXIII. But now at thirty years my hair is gray— (I wonder what it will be like at forty? I thought of a peruke the other day-- My heart is not much greener; and, in short, I Have squander'd my whole summer while 't was May, And feel no more the spirit to retort; I Have spent my life, both interest and principal, And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible. CCXIV. No more no more-Oh! never more on me The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Which out of all the lovely things we see Extracts emotions beautiful and new; Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew? Alas! 't was not in them, but in thy power CCXV. No more no more-Oh! never more, my heart, Canst thou be my sole world, my universe! Once all in all, but now a thing apart, Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse: The illusion 's gone for ever, and thou art Insensible, I trust, but none the worse, And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment, Though heaven knows how it ever found a lodgment. CCXVI. My days of love are over; me no more Can make the fool of which they made before,- CCXVII. Ambition was my idol, which was broken Before the shrines of Sorrow, and of Pleasure; And the two last have left me many a token O'er which reflection may be made at leisure; Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've spoken, "Time is, Time was, Time's past :" a chymic treasure Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimesMy heart in passion, and my head on rhymes. CCXVIII. What is the end of fame? 't is but to fill Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour; For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust. CCXIX. What are the hopes of man? Old Egypt's King Cheops erected the first pyramid And largest, thinking it was just the thing To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid: But somebody or other rummaging, Burglariously broke his coffin's lid: Let not a monument give you or me hopes, Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops. 54 CCXX. But I being fond of true philosophy, All things that have been born were born to die, And flesh (which Death mows down to hay) is grass; You've pass'd your youth not so unpleasantly, And if you had it o'er again-'t would passSo thank your stars that matters are no worse, And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse.' CCXXI. But for the present, gentle reader! and Still gentler purchaser! the bard-that's IMust, with permission, shake you by the hand, And so your humble servant, and good-b'ye! We meet again, if we should understand Each other; and if not, I shall not try Your patience further than by this short sample T were well if others follow'd my example. |