Page:The West Indies, and Other Poems.djvu/166
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154
—But pale Despondency, that stole
The light of gladness from my soul,
While Youth and Folly blindfold ran
The giddy circle up to Man,
Breathed a dark spirit through my lyre,
Dimm'd the noon-radiance of my fire,
And cast a mournful evening hue
O'er every scene my fancy drew.
Then though the proud despised my strain.
It flow'd not from my heart in vain;
The lay of freedom, fervour, truth.
Was dear to undissembling youth,
From manly breasts drew generous sighs.
And Virtue's tears from Beauty's eyes.
The light of gladness from my soul,
While Youth and Folly blindfold ran
The giddy circle up to Man,
Breathed a dark spirit through my lyre,
Dimm'd the noon-radiance of my fire,
And cast a mournful evening hue
O'er every scene my fancy drew.
Then though the proud despised my strain.
It flow'd not from my heart in vain;
The lay of freedom, fervour, truth.
Was dear to undissembling youth,
From manly breasts drew generous sighs.
And Virtue's tears from Beauty's eyes.
My Song of Sorrow reach'd HER ear;
She raised her languid head to hear.
And, smiling in the arms of Death,
She bless'd me with her latest breath.
She raised her languid head to hear.
And, smiling in the arms of Death,
She bless'd me with her latest breath.