58
TO WISDOM.
O if thine aſpect ſtern have power
To wither each poor tranſient flower
That cheers this pilgrimage of woe,
And dry the ſprings whence hope ſhould flow;
Wisdom, thine empire I diſclaim,
Thou empty boaſt of pompous name!
In gloomy ſhade of cloiſters dwell.
But never haunt my cheerful cell.
Hail to pleaſure's frolic train!
Hail to fancy's golden reign!
Feſtive mirth, and laughter wild,
Free and ſportful as the child!
Hope with eager ſparkling eyes,
And eaſy faith, and fond ſurpriſe!
Let theſe, in fairy colours dreſt,
Forever ſhare my careleſs breaſt:
Then, tho' wiſe I may not be,
The wiſe themſelves ſhall envy me.
THE
