The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 25, Pages 46-47
THE FOUNTAIN OF OBLIVION.
"Implora pace."
One draught, kind Fairy! from that fountain deep,
To lay the phantoms of a haunted breast,
And lone affections which are griefs, to steep
In the cool honey-dews of dreamless rest;
And from the soul the lightning-marks to lave—
One draught of that sweet wave!
Yet, mortal, pause!—within thy mind is laid
Wealth, gather'd long and slowly; thoughts divine
Heap that full treasure-house; and thou hast made
The gems of many a spirit's ocean thine:—
Shall the dark waters to oblivion bear
A pyramid so fair?
Pour from the fount! and let the draught efface
All the vain lore by Memory's pride amass'd,
So it but sweep along the torrent's trace,
And fill the hollow channels of the past!
And from the bosom's inmost-folded leaf
Raze the one master-grief!
