Canto the First
C C X I I I.
But now, at thirty years, my hair is grey -
(J wonder what it will be like at forty ?
I thought of a peruke the other day)
My heart is not much greener; and, in short,
Have squandered my whole summer while 'twas May.
Have spent my life, both interest and principal,
And feel no more the spirit to retort: I
And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible.
C C X I V.
No more - no more - Oh! never more on me
The freshness of the heart can fall like dew,
Which out of all the lovely things we see
Extracts emotions beautiful and new,
Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee:
Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew?
Alas! 'twas not in them, but in thy power
To double even the sweetness of a flower.
C C X V.
No more - no more - oh! never more, my heart,
Canst thou be my sole world, my universe!
Once al) ill all, but now a thing apart,
Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse:
The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art
Insensible, I trust, but not the worse,
And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment,
Thou Heaven knows how it ever found a lodgment.
C C X V I I I.
What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper:
Some liken it to climbing up a hill,
Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour:
For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes
And bards burn what they call their 'midnight
To have, when the original is dust,
A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.