My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft strains,
That, on the still air floating, tremblingly
Wak'd in me Fancy, Love, and Sympathy!
For hence, not callous to a Brother's pains
Thro' Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went;
And, when the darker day of life began,
And I did roam, a thought-bewilder'd man!
Thy kindred Lays an healing solace lent,
Each lonely pang with dreamy joys combin'd,
And stole from vain Regret her scorpion stings;
While shadowy Pleasure, with mysterious wings,
Brooded the wavy and tumultuous mind,
Like that great Spirit, who with plastic sweep
Mov'd on the darkness of the formless Deep!
[SECOND VERSION]
My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft strains
Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring
Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring!
For hence not callous to the mourner's pains
Through Youth's gay prime and thornless paths I went:
And when the mightier Throes of mind began,
And drove me forth, a thought-bewilder'd man,
Their mild and manliest melancholy lent
A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd
To slumber, though the big tear it renew'd;
Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood
Over the wavy and tumultuous mind,
As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep
Mov'd on the darkness of the unform'd deep.