Hours of Solitude. A Collection of Original Poems. Volume I.

THE VISIONS OF FANCY.

(Written at sixteen.)

As on a rock's stern brow entranc'd I lay, The deaf'ning surges bursting at my feet, Light Fancy at my head assum'd the sway, And backward bade the jarring world retreat.

Now shadowy forms with antics glide along, Or merrily sailing through the misty air, The shrill wild echo of their noisy song Breaks in strange periods on my sleepy ear.

In dim perspective now a group appear, Twining with gambols in a mystic dance; The aching eye in vain would bring them near, They now in shade retreat, and now advance.

Pursu'd by Poverty, Disease, and Care, An haggard shade stalks slow along the gloom, Her thin hands clasp'd upon her bosom bare, Mis'ry her name­she seeks the peaceful tomb.

But ah! who rushes from yon mountain brow, With wild eyes straining on the vacant air, Half naked, and with hair dishevel'd so, Fix'd in that look of horror? 'Tis Despair.

And next a wretch, most grievous to behold, Tearing his bosom with ensanguin'd hands, Now parch'd with heat appears­now froze with cold: 'Tis Madness, that on mischief eager stands.

With blood‐stain'd dagger, heaving broken sighs, A gory vision swims before my sight­ Remorseless Suicide, with tearless eyes, Turning on his own breast the weapon bright.

Last, a pale youth that in deep anguish seems, Whose heart heaves near to burst his lab'ring breast; From his dull eye no spark of pleasure gleams, For, ah! 'tis love has robb'd him of his rest.

Poor youth! too darkly frowns thy stubborn fate, For Mis'ry with her rueful train draws near: "Fly, thou blind victim!" Ah! it proves too late­ She comes, and fell Destruction in her rear.

He slowly lags, nor once of danger thinks; To his devoted breast th' oppressor clings: Lo, on the youth a weight of horror sinks, And black around Despondence spreads her wings.

Assaulted Reason totters on her throne; Madness usurps the kingdom of the brain; Death seems the refuge­instant death alone His desperate passport to release from pain.

Vainly his drooping soul to chear he tries, Vainly attempts to struggle with despair; On his sad ear resound loud piteous cries, And Desolation flaps the desart air.

Now Suicide comes, shaking his dagger high, And, smiling ghastly, gives his breast a wound; Wild rapture lighten'd in the victim's eye, And up the dizzying height I saw him bound.

Careless he rush'd through the deep, dang'rous gloom, His lips, convuls'd, seem'd mercy to invoke; I, viewing, agoniz'd, his fatal doom, Stretch'd forth my arms to save him­and awoke *.

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Notes

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  * I have in my possession many more Poems attempted at the early ages of sixteen and seventeen, but do not presume to intrude more of them upon the liberality of my readers.