Oh! may my bosom never learn
To soothe its wonted heedless flow;
Still, still, despise the censor stern,
But ne'er forget another's woe.
Yes, as you knew me in the days,
O'er which Remembrance yet delays
Still may I rove untutor'd, wild,
And even in age, at heart a child.
Though, now, on airy visions borne,
To you my soul is still the same.
Oft has it been my fate to mourn,
And all my former joys are tame:
But, hence! ye hours of sable hue!
Your frowns are gone, my sorrows o'er:
By every bliss my childhood knew,
I'll think upon your shade no more.
Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past,
And caves their sullen roar enclose,
We heed no more the wintry blast,
When lull'd by zephyr to repose.
- —— its young romantic flow.—[MS. Newstead.]
- O'er which my fancy ——.—[MS. Newstead.]
Still may my breast to boyhood cleave,
With every early passion heave;
Still may I rove untutored, wild,
But never cease to seem a child.—[MS. Newstead.]
- Since we have met, I learnt to mourn.—[MS. Newstead.]
- And caves their sullen war ——.—[MS. Newstead.]