| |
| THE GRANDEUR of this earthly round, | |
| Where Theon would forever be, | |
| Is but a name, is but a sound— | |
| Mere emptiness and vanity. | |
| |
| Give me the stars, give me the skies, | 5 |
| Give me the heaven’s remotest sphere, | |
| Above these gloomy scenes to rise | |
| Of desolation and despair. | |
| |
| These native fires that warmed the mind. | |
| Now languid grown, too dimly glow; | 10 |
| Joy has to grief the heart resigned, | |
| And love itself is changed to woe. | |
| |
| The joys of wine are all you boast,— | |
| These for a moment damp your pain; | |
| The gleam is o’er, the charm is lost, | 15 |
| And darkness clouds the soul again. | |
| |
| Then seek no more for bliss below, | |
| Where real bliss can ne’er be found; | |
| Aspire where sweeter blossoms blow | |
| And fairer flowers bedeck the ground; | 20 |
| |
| Where plants of life the plains invest, | |
| And green eternal crowns the year; | |
| The little god within your breast | |
| Is weary of his mansion here. | |
| |
| Like Phosphor, sent before the day, | 25 |
| His height meridian to regain,— | |
| The dawn arrives—he must not stay | |
| To shiver on a frozen plain. | |
| |
| Life’s journey past, for death prepare,— | |
| ’T is but the freedom of the mind; | 30 |
| Jove made us mortal—his we are; | |
| To Jove, dear Theon, be resigned. | |
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