ODE IV. THE ENTHUSIAST. BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ. [Late Poet-Laureat.] ONCE, I remember well the day, In short, 'twas that sweet season's prime, And doubting mortals hardly know, 'Twas then, beside a green-wood shade, With loitering steps regardless where, So wondrous bright the day. And now my eyes with transport rove Unbroken by a cloud! And now beneath delighted pass, Where, winding through the deep-green grass, A full brimm'd river flow'd. I stop, I gaze; in accents rude, Burst forth th' unbidden lay; "Begone, vile world, the learn'd, the wise, The great, the busy I despise, And pity e'en the gay. "These, these are joys alone, I cry; 'Tis here, divine Philosophy, Thou deign'st to fix thy throne! "Adieu, ye vain low-thoughted cares, A stoic stillness reigns. The tyrant passions all subside; Fear, anger, pity, shame, and pride, No more my bosom move : Yet still I felt, or seem to feel, Of universal love. When lo! a voice, a voice I hear ! 'Twas Reason whisper'd in my ear These monitory strains : "What mean'st thou, man? would'st thou unbind The ties which constitute thy kind, The pleasures and the pains? “The same Almighty Power unseen, Fix'd every movement of the soul, "He bids the tyrant passions rage, And happiness from woe. "Art thou not man, and dar'st thou find Each bliss unshar'd is unenjoy'd, "Shall light and shade, and warmth and air, With those exalted joys compare, Which active Virtue feels! "As rest and labour still succeeds This fair variety of things, Are merely life's refreshing springs, "Enthusiast, go, unstring thy lyre, And is not thy o'erflowing mind, |