William Wordsworth

IV. to the Sons of Burns After Visiting the Grave of Their Father

'MID crowded obelisks and urns
         I sought the untimely grave of Burns;
         Sons of the Bard, my heart still mourns
               With sorrow true;
         And more would grieve, but that it turns
               Trembling to you!
 
         Through twilight shades of good and ill
         Ye now are panting up life’s hill,
         And more than common strength and skill
               Must ye display;                          
         If ye would give the better will
               Its lawful sway.
 
         Hath Nature strung your nerves to bear
         Intemperance with less harm, beware!
         But if the Poet’s wit ye share,
               Like him can speed
         The social hour—of tenfold care
               There will be need;
 
         For honest men delight will take
         To spare your failings for his sake,          
         Will flatter you,—and fool and rake
               Your steps pursue;
         And of your Father’s name will make
               A snare for you.
 
         Far from their noisy haunts retire,
         And add your voices to the quire
         That sanctify the cottage fire
               With service meet;
         There seek the genius of your Sire,
               His spirit greet;                              
 
         Or where, 'mid “lonely heights and hows,”
         He paid to Nature tuneful vows;
         Or wiped his honourable brows
               Bedewed with toil,
         While reapers strove, or busy ploughs
               Upturned the soil;
 
         His judgment with benignant ray
         Shall guide, his fancy cheer, your way;
         But ne’er to a seductive lay
               Let faith be given;                          
         Nor deem that “light which leads astray,
               Is light from Heaven.”
 
         Let no mean hope your souls enslave;
         Be independent, generous, brave;
         Your Father such example gave,
               And such revere;
         But be admonished by his grave,
               And think, and fear!

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1803

#EnglishWriters

Autres oeuvres par William Wordsworth...



Haut