ODE. (Ye Hours, on whom the balmy wing)

Ye Hours, on whom the balmy wing Of Zephyr, thro the vales of Spring Sheds all his freshest dews, Whom light fantastic joys entrance, As thro the flowery paths ye dance Which Health with rapture strews!

And Thou, o'er whose warm cheek is spread Th' ethereal blush of orient red, The Graces' soft attire, In which, while wondering at the die, He stands with fixt attentive eye, Is fetter'd young Desire!

Ah! must I ne'er again behold Your true, but short-lived age of gold? Ne'er mingle with your train? No; Fate's insuperable mound Incloses that forbidden ground; The wish, the wish, is vain.

Yet oft in Fancy's soothing dream, Oft floating back on Memory's stream My charmed mind shall rove; Shall visit every myrtle bower, And pluck each bright ambrosial flower Of Innocence and Love.

Ah! wherefore did not then appear Your pleasures as they really were? I saw, but did not taste. Possess'd, unconscious of the joy, Substantial bliss; yet sought a toy, A glittering bubble chaced.

'Tis Nature's law: She o'er that time, Life's dear, delicious, early prime, Her cloudy vapours casts; E'en then the gales of discontent Within the Stripling's bosom pent, Denounce the future blasts.

He stoops reluctant to controul, He longs to reach the distant goal, And paths untried to scan; The Master's threat assails his ear, He dreads the lash, He drops the tear, His thoughts aspire to Man.

Ah self-deceived! thy prayer attain— Lo, Youth and Love united reign! In idly-froward mood Stills pants thy unexperienced breast? It sighs for objects unpossest, Nor heeds the present good.

Thou hast not felt the ills of life; Envy, ingratitude, and strife Have never pierced thy heart; When felt, how wilt Thou wish with me Those genial days again to see, Which now unprized depart!

Yet say, which most will Reason blame, Thy thoughts which vivid hopes inflame Expecting joys to come? Or mine, with vain regret o'ercast, Still fondly looking t'ward the past: And both, exiled from home?

The voice of Reason shall excuse, So shall the free ingenuous Muse; We each our parts fulfill. That Thou the present should'st neglect, And I unsatisfied reflect, Is Fate's eternal will.

Beneath the veil we dare not pry, Man strives to pierce with aching eye The mysteries of her reign; For weak and bounded is his sight, And while the total plan is right, 'Twere impious to complain.

Too soon the vision will decay, The thin-wove Phantoms cease to play, A transient form they wear, Till by some busy Demon hurl'd They sink, and I behold the world, Awake to all it's care.

Yes, let me quick the paths retread, In waving circlets skim the mead, Or chace the gilded fly; The feather in the rivulet throw, Or view the many-coloured bow With pleasure in my eye.

And let me oft the time retrace When first alive to female grace My soul confess'd it's charm; And let me feel th' extatic fire, And let me to the new desire Expand my bosom warm.

And let me trifle while I can; How trifling at the best is man? And let me frame the rhime; Whether we grieve, or think, or play, Life is the fragment of a day, A momentary time.