âI cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me.â
âMacbethâ
[âThat were most precious to me.â
âMacbethâ, act iv, sc. 3.]
When slow Disease, with all her host of Pains,
Chills the warm tide, which flows along the veins;
When Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring;
Not to the aching frame alone confinâd,
Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind:
What grisly forms, the spectre-train of woe,
Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow,
With Resignation wage relentless strife,
While Hope retires appallâd, and clings to life.
Yet less the pang when, through the tedious hour,
Remembrance sheds around her genial power,
Calls back the vanishâd days to rapture given,
When Love was bliss, and Beauty formâd our heaven;
Or, dear to youth, pourtrays each childish scene,
Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been.
As when, through clouds that pour the summer storm,
The orb of day unveils his distant form,
Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain
And dimly twinkles oâer the watery plain;
Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams,
The Sun of Memory, glowing through my dreams,
Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze,
To scenes far distant points his paler rays,
Still rules my senses with unbounded sway,
The past confounding with the present day.
Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought,
Which still recurs, unlookâd for and unsought;
My soul to Fancyâs fond suggestion yields,
And roams romantic oâer her airy fields.
Scenes of my youth, developâd, crowd to view,
To which I long have bade a last adieu!
Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes;
Friends lost to me, for aye, except in dreams;
Some, who in marble prematurely sleep,
Whose forms I now remember, but to weep;
Some, who yet urge the same scholastic course
Of early science, future fame the source;
Who, still contending in the studious race,
In quick rotation, fill the senior place!
These, with a thousand visions, now unite,
To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight.
IDA! blest spot, where Science holds her reign,
How joyous, once, I joinâd thy youthful train!
Bright, in idea, gleams thy lofty spire,
Again, I mingle with thy playful quire;
Our tricks of mischief, every childish game,
Unchangâd by time or distance, seem the same;
Through winding paths, along the glade I trace
The social smile of every welcome face;
My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy or woe,
Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe,
Our feuds dissolvâd, but not my friendship past,â
I bless the former, and forgive the last.
Hours of my youth! when, nurturâd in my breast,
To Love a stranger, Friendship made me blest,â
Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of youth,
When every artless ***** throbs with truth;
Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign,
And check each impulse with prudential rein;
When, all we feel, our honest souls disclose,
In love to friends, in open hate to foes;
No varnishâd tales the lips of youth repeat,
No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit;
Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthenâd years,
Matured by age, the garb of Prudence wears:
When, now, the Boy is ripenâd into Man,
His careful Sire chalks forth some wary plan;
Instructs his Son from Candourâs path to shrink,
Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think;
Still to assent, and never to denyâ
A patronâs praise can well reward the lie:
And who, when Fortuneâs warning voice is heard,
Would lose his opening prospects for a word?
Although, against that word, his heart rebel,
And Truth, indignant, all his ***** swell.
Away with themes like this! not mine the task,
From flattering friends to tear the hateful mask;
Let keener bards delight in Satireâs sting,
My Fancy soars not on Detractionâs wing:
Once, and but once, she aimâd a deadly blow,
To hurl Defiance on a secret Foe;
But when that foe, from feeling or from shame,
The cause unknown, yet still to me the same,
Warnâd by some friendly hint, perchance, retirâd,
With this submission all her rage expired.
From dreaded pangs that feeble Foe to save,
She hushâd her young resentment, and forgave.
Or, if my Muse a Pedantâs portrait drew,
POMPOSUSâ virtues are but known to few:
I never fearâd the young usurperâs nod,
And he who wields must, sometimes, feel the rod.
If since on Grantaâs failings, known to all
Who share the converse of a college hall,
She sometimes trifled in a lighter strain,
âTis past, and thus she will not sin again:
Soon must her early song for ever cease,
And, all may rail, when I shall rest in peace.
Here, first rememberâd be the joyous band,
Who hailâd me chief, obedient to command;
Who joinâd with me, in every boyish sport,
Their first adviser, and their last resort;
Nor shrunk beneath the upstart pedantâs frown,
Or all the sable glories of his gown;
Who, thus, transplanted from his fatherâs school,
Unfit to govern, ignorant of ruleâ
Succeeded him, whom all unite to praise,
The dear preceptor of my early days,
PROBUS, the pride of science, and the boastâ
To IDA now, alas! for ever lost!
With him, for years, we searchâd the classic page,
And fearâd the Master, though we lovâd the Sage:
Retirâd at last, his small yet peaceful seat
From learningâs labour is the blest retreat.
POMPOSUS fills his magisterial chair;
POMPOSUS governs,âbut, my Muse, forbear:
Contempt, in silence, be the pedantâs lot,
His name and precepts be alike forgot;
No more his mention shall my verse degrade,â
To him my tribute is already paid.
High, through those elms with hoary branches crownâd
Fair IDAâS bower adorns the landscape round;
There Science, from her favourâd seat, surveys
The vale where rural Nature claims her praise;
To her awhile resigns her youthful train,
Who move in joy, and dance along the plain;
In scatterâd groups, each favourâd haunt pursue,
Repeat old pastimes, and discover new;
Flushâd with his rays, beneath the noontide Sun,
In rival bands, between the wickets run,
Drive oâer the sward the ball with active force,
Or chase with nimble feet its rapid course.
But these with slower steps direct their way,
Where Brentâs cool waves in limpid currents stray,
While yonder few search out some green retreat,
And arbours shade them from the summer heat:
Others, again, a pert and lively crew,
Some rough and thoughtless stranger placâd in view,
With frolic quaint their antic jests expose,
And tease the grumbling rustic as he goes;
Nor rest with this, but many a passing fray
Tradition treasures for a future day:
ââTwas here the gatherâd swains for vengeance fought,
And here we earnâd the conquest dearly bought:
Here have we fled before superior might,
And here renewâd the wild tumultuous fight.â
While thus our souls with early passions swell,
In lingering tones resounds the distant bell;
Thâ allotted hour of daily sport is oâer,
And Learning beckons from her templeâs door.
No splendid tablets grace her simple hall,
But ruder records fill the dusky wall:
There, deeply carvâd, behold! each Tyroâs name
Secures its ownerâs academic fame;
Here mingling view the names of Sire and Son,
The one long gravâd, the other just begun:
These shall survive alike when Son and Sire,
Beneath one common stroke of fate expire;
Perhaps, their last memorial these alone,
Denied, in death, a monumental stone,
Whilst to the gale in mournful cadence wave
The sighing weeds, that hide their nameless grave.
And, here, my name, and many an early friendâs,
Along the wall in lengthenâd line extends.
Though, still, our deeds amuse the youthful race,
Who tread our steps, and fill our former place,
Who young obeyed their lords in silent awe,
Whose nod commanded, and whose voice was law;
And now, in turn, possess the reins of power,
To rule, the little Tyrants of an hour;
Though sometimes, with the Tales of ancient day,
They pass the dreary Winterâs eve away;
âAnd, thus, our former rulers stemmâd the tide,
And, thus, they dealt the combat, side by side;
Just in this place, the mouldering walls they scaled,
Nor bolts, nor bars, against their strength availâd;
Here PROBUS came, the rising fray to quell,
And, here, he falterâd forth his last farewell;
And, here, one night abroad they dared to roam,
While bold POMPOSUS bravely staid at home;â
While thus they speak, the hour must soon arrive,
When names of these, like ours, alone survive:
Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm
The faint remembrance of our fairy realm.
Dear honest race! though now we meet no more,
One last long look on what we were beforeâ
Our first kind greetings, and our last adieuâ
Drew tears from eyes unusâd to weep with you.
Through splendid circles, Fashionâs gaudy world,
Where Follyâs glaring standard waves unfurlâd,
I plungâd to drown in noise my fond regret,
And all I sought or hopâd was to forget:
Vain wish! if, chance, some well-rememberâd face,
Some old companion of my early race,
Advancâd to claim his friend with honest joy,
My eyes, my heart, proclaimâd me still a boy;
The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around,
Were quite forgotten when my friend was found;
The smiles of Beauty, (for, alas! Iâve known
What âtis to bend before Loveâs mighty throne;)
The smiles of Beauty, though those smiles were dear,
Could hardly charm me, when that friend was near:
My thoughts bewilderâd in the fond surprise,
The woods of IDA dancâd before my eyes;
I saw the sprightly wandârers pour along,
I saw, and joinâd again the joyous throng;
Panting, again I tracâd her lofty grove,
And Friendshipâs feelings triumphâd over Love.
Yet, why should I alone with such delight
Retrace the circuit of my former flight?
Is there no cause beyond the common claim,
Endearâd to all in childhoodâs very name?
Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here,
Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear
To one, who thus for kindred hearts must roam,
And seek abroad, the love denied at home.
Those hearts, dear IDA, have I found in thee,
A home, a world, a paradise to me.
Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share
The tender guidance of a Fatherâs care;
Can Rank, or eâen a Guardianâs name supply
The love, which glistens in a Fatherâs eye?
For this, can Wealth, or Titleâs sound atone,
Made, by a Parentâs early loss, my own?
What Brother springs a Brotherâs love to seek?
What Sisterâs gentle kiss has prest my cheek?
For me, how dull the vacant moments rise,
To no fond ***** linkâd by kindred ties!
Oft, in the progress of some fleeting dream,
Fraternal smiles, collected round me seem;
While still the visions to my heart are prest,
The voice of Love will murmur in my rest:
I hearâI wakeâand in the sound rejoice!
I hear again,âbut, ah! no Brotherâs voice.
A Hermit, âmidst of crowds, I fain must stray
Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way;
While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine,
I cannot call one single blossom mine:
What then remains? in solitude to groan,
To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone?
Thus, must I cling to some endearing hand,
And none more dear, than IDAâS social band.
Alonzo! best and dearest of my friends,
Thy name ennobles him, who thus commends:
From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise;
The praise is his, who now that tribute pays.
Oh! in the promise of thy early youth,
If Hope anticipate the words of Truth!
Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name,
To build his own, upon thy deathless fame:
Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list
Of those with whom I lived supremely blest;
Oft have we drainâd the font of ancient lore,
Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more;
Yet, when Confinementâs lingering hour was done,
Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one:
Together we impellâd the flying ball,
Together waited in our tutorâs hall;
Together joinâd in cricketâs manly toil,
Or sharâd the produce of the riverâs spoil;
Or plunging from the green declining shore,
Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore:
In every element, unchangâd, the same,
All, all that brothers should be, but the name.
Nor, yet, are you forgot, my jocund Boy!
DAVUS, the harbinger of childish joy;
For ever foremost in the ranks of fun,
The laughing herald of the harmless pun;
Yet, with a breast of such materials made,
Anxious to please, of pleasing half afraid;
Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel
In Dangerâs path, though not untaught to feel.
Still, I remember, in the factious strife,
The rusticâs musket aimâd against my life:
High poisâd in air the massy weapon hung,
A cry of horror burst from every tongue:
Whilst I, in combat with another foe,
Fought on, unconscious of thâ impending blow;
Your arm, brave Boy, arrested his careerâ
Forward you sprung, insensible to fear;
Disarmâd, and baffled by your conquering hand,
The grovelling Savage rollâd upon the sand:
An act like this, can simple thanks repay?
Or all the labours of a grateful lay?
Oh no! wheneâer my breast forgets the deed,
That instant, DAVUS, it deserves to bleed.
LYCUS! on me thy claims are justly great:
Thy milder virtues could my Muse relate,
To thee, alone, unrivallâd, would belong
The feeble efforts of my lengthenâd song.
Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit,
A Spartan firmness, with Athenian wit:
Though yet, in embryo, these perfections shine,
LYCUS! thy fatherâs fame will soon be thine.
Where Learning nurtures the superior mind,
What may we hope, from genius thus refinâd;
When Time, at length, matures thy growing years,
How wilt thou tower, above thy fellow peers!
Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free,
With Honourâs soul, united beam in thee.
Shall fair EURYALUS, pass by unsung?
From ancient lineage, not unworthy, sprung:
What, though one sad dissension bade us part,
That name is yet embalmâd within my heart,
Yet, at the mention, does that heart rebound,
And palpitate, responsive to the sound;
Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will:
We once were friends,âIâll think, we are so still.
A form unmatchâd in Natureâs partial mould,
A heart untainted, we, in thee, behold:
Yet, not the Senateâs thunder thou shall wield,
Nor seek for glory, in the tented field:
To minds of ruder texture, these be givenâ
Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven.
Haply, in polishâd courts might be thy seat,
But, that thy tongue could never forge deceit:
The courtierâs supple bow, and sneering smile,
The flow of compliment, the slippery wile,
Would make that breast, with indignation, burn,
And, all the glittering snares, to tempt thee, spurn.
Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate;
Sacred to love, unclouded eâer by hate;
The world admire thee, and thy friends adore;â
Ambitionâs slave, alone, would toil for more.
Now last, but nearest, of the social band,
See honest, open, generous CLEON stand;
With scarce one speck, to cloud the pleasing scene,
No vice degrades that purest soul serene.
On the same day, our studious race begun,
On the same day, our studious race was run;
Thus, side by side, we passâd our first career,
Thus, side by side, we strove for many a year:
At last, concluded our scholastic life,
We neither conquerâd in the classic strife:
As Speakers, each supports an equal name,
And crowds allow to both a partial fame:
To soothe a youthful Rivalâs early pride,
Though Cleonâs candour would the palm divide,
Yet Candourâs self compels me now to own,
Justice awards it to my Friend alone.
Oh! Friends regretted, Scenes for ever dear,
Remembrance hails you with her warmest tear!
Drooping, she bends oâer pensive Fancyâs urn,
To trace the hours, which never can return;
Yet, with the retrospection loves to dwell,
And soothe the sorrows of her last farewell!
Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind,
As infant laurels round my head were twinâd;
When PROBUSâ praise repaid my lyric song,
Or placâd me higher in the studious throng;
Or when my first harangue receivâd applause,
His sage instruction the primeval cause,
What gratitude, to him, my soul possest,
While hope of dawning honours fillâd my breast!
For all my humble fame, to him alone,
The praise is due, who made that fame my own.
Oh! could I soar above these feeble lays,
These young effusions of my early days,
To him my Muse her noblest strain would give,
The song might perish, but the theme might live.
Yet, why for him the needless verse essay?
His honourâd name requires no vain display:
By every son of grateful IDA blest,
It finds an ech