| |
| AIRY traveller, queen of song, | |
| Sweetest fancy, ever young, | |
| I to thee my soul resign; | |
| All my future life be thine: | |
| Rich or beggar’d, chain’d or free, | 5 |
| Let me live and laugh with thee. | |
| |
| Pride perhaps may knock, and say, | |
| “Rise thou sluggard, come away:” | |
| But can he thy joy impart, | |
| Will he crown my leaping heart? | 10 |
| If I banish hence thy smile | |
| Will he make it worth my while? | |
| |
| Is my lonely pittance past, | |
| Fleeting good too light to last, | |
| Lifts my friend the latch no more, | 15 |
| Fancy, thou canst all restore; | |
| Thou canst, with thy airy shell, | |
| To a palace raise my cell. | |
| |
| At night, while stretch’d on lowly bed, | |
| When tyrant tempest shakes my shed, | 20 |
| And pipes aloud; how bless’d am I, | |
| All cheering nymph, if thou art by, | |
| If thou art by to snatch my soul | |
| Where billows rage and thunders roll. | |
| |
| From cloud, o’er peering mountain’s brow | 25 |
| We ’ll mark the mighty coil below, | |
| While round us innocently play | |
| The lightning’s flash, and meteor’s ray | |
| And, all so sad, some spectre form | |
| Is heard to moan amid the storm. | 30 |
| |
| With thee to guide my steps I ’ll creep | |
| In some old haunted nook to sleep, | |
| Lull’d by the dreary night-bird’s scream, | |
| That flits along the wizard stream, | |
| And there, till morning ’gins appear, | 35 |
| The tales of troubled spirits hear. | |
| |
| Sweet ’s the dawn’s ambiguous light, | |
| Quiet pause ’tween day and night, | |
| When, afar, the mellow horn | |
| Chides the tardy-gaited morn, | 40 |
| And asleep is yet the gale | |
| On sea-beat mount, and river’d vale. | |
| |
| But the morn, though sweet and fair, | |
| Sweeter is when thou art there; | |
| Hymning stars successive fade, | 45 |
| Fairies hurtle through the shade, | |
| Love-lorn flowers I weeping see, | |
| If the scene is touch’d by thee. | |
| |
| When unclouded shines the day, | |
| When my spirits dance and play, | 50 |
| To some sunny bank we ’ll go | |
| Where the fairest roses blow, | |
| And in gamesome vein prepare | |
| Chaplets for thy spangled hair. | |
| |
| Thus through life with thee I ’ll glide, | 55 |
| Happy still whate’er betide, | |
| And while plodding sots complain | |
| Of ceaseless toil and slender gain, | |
| Every passing hour shall be | |
| Worth a golden age to me. | 60 |
| |
| Then lead on, delightful power, | |
| Lead, Oh! lead me to thy bower; | |
| I to thee my soul resign, | |
| All my future life be thine. | |
| Rich or beggar’d, chain’d or free, | 65 |
| Let me live and laugh with thee. | |
| |
