Forget this world, my restless sprite,
Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heaven;
There must thou soon direct thy flight,
If errors are forgiven,
To bigots and to sects unknown,
Bow down beneath the Almighty's Throne;
To Him address thy trembling prayer:
He who is merciful and just,
Will not reject a child of dust,
Although his meanest care.
Father of Light! to Thee I call,
My soul is dark within;
Thou, who canst mark the sparrow's fall,
Avert the death of sin.
Thou, who canst guide the wandering star,
Who calms't the elemental war,
Whose mantle is yon boundless sky,
My thoughts, my words, my crimes forgive;
And, since I soon must cease to live,
Instruct me how to die.
1807. [Now first published.]
[4] Harrow.
[5] The river Grete at Southwell.
[6] Mary Duff.
[7] Eddlestone, the Cambridge chorister.
FAREWELL TO THE MUSE.
Thou power! who hast ruled me through infancy's days,
Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis time we should part,
Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays,
The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.
This bosom, responsive to rapture no more,
Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sing;
The feelings of childhood, which taught thee to soar,
Are wafted far distant on Apathy's wing.
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