A COMPLAINT TO POESY,
Addressed to a young man about to leave this part of the country.
Why thoughtful even in company,
And always sad when left alone?
I will complain to Poesy,
Whose tears with mine have often flown.
To thee sweet nymph! I will impart
My various feelings as they rise,
Thy votary thou wilt not desert,
Like others whom my heart doth prize.
Adieu! my dearest friend adieu!
Since here you will not, will not stay;
My heart’s best wishes rest with you,
Though four times five score miles away.
This beating heart’s susceptible,
Of friendship pure it has a sense,
And while that natural principle,
Is not entirely banish’d hence;
Still faithful memory will present,
When gone is many a tedious year,
The hours we’ve altogether spent,
And cause a pleasing, painful tear;
Soft sympathy! (the name is dear,
I mention it with gratitude,)—
Doth in each breast for me appear,
With that be satisfied I should.
But sad I see, when you depart,
The number of my friends decrease;
I feel a taste of future smart,
Which oft’ I fear to feel like this.
If life prolong’d to age be mine,
All now so lov’d may then be gone,
Then who will cheer in life’s decline?
I’ll ne’er know such as I have known.
But why to Poesy complain?
Will not the plain impartial muse
Assume her power, and me arraign,
Of selfish ends, of selfish views?
She in this manner doth reprove,—
Conceal such sentiments as thine,
If fortune favours those we love,
Should we because of that repine.
You wrong me I did sighing say,
Do not misunderstand me so;
Become of C—— whatever may,
’Twill give her pleasure that to know.
But ah! my heart has many a fear,
T’ avert which, heav’n, I thee implore,
I dread yon town’s unwholesome air,
But dread its bad example more.—
Oh! may all watchful Providence,
Still guard from every sinful snare;
Preserve in health and innocence,
You making its peculiar care.
A sober, pious, harmless life
Maintain, and keep its end in view,
Which soon, or late, will sure arrive,
Then what is all this world to you.
Let atheists at religion laugh,
And libertines live as they list;
But on a death-bed who can scoff,
God then in fear will be confess’d!
Rejoice young man in days of youth,
Thine heart with every folly cheer;
But know, all these, as true as truth,
In after judgment must appear!
To Israel thus the sacred page—
But wrote for our instruction too;
It speaks to youth in every age,
And now my friend it cautions you.
With vigorous health your bosom glows,—
False dazzling views elate your soul;
Brisk through each vein life’s current flows,—
Each passion apt to spurn control.
But oh! let timely counsel warn,
While yet I hope no friend to vice;
From wisdom’s pathway never turn,
Though folly should with smiles entice.
Be serious, prudent, circumspect,
Shun pleasure’s fascinating lure;
And oh! may heaven your heart direct,
To all that’s virtuous, good, and pure.
Consider boyish years are flown,
Endeavour manhood so to spend,
As honour strict may fairly own,
Conscience approve, and heaven commend.
And then though slander aim her darts,
Your reputation fair to wound;
Still truth will triumph o’er her arts,
Her dark designs dash and confound.
The sober will such worth admire,
And wealth on diligence attends;
Fame, fortune, will I hope conspire,
To gain you many valued friends.
And pleasing circles will adorn
Your hearth, to cheer each hour of rest;
Each night close calm as rose the morn,
Each day be happy as the past.
Heaven’s favour heightens every joy,—
Makes every comfort taste more sweet;
But vice doth every bliss destroy,
Follow’d by fear, shame, and regret.
But even should adverse fortune frown,
Troubles assail, no friend remain;
God never can forsake his own,
But all who trust him will sustain.
If bitters in life’s cup are mix’d,
’Tis from this world their hearts to wean;
To qualify them for the next,
Where bliss complete cures every pain.
That this may be your happy lot;
(And oh! how happy none can tell!)
Has oft’ employ’d her earnest thought,
Who sighing says,—dear youth, Farewell!