Elegy VII. He describes his vision to an acquaintance

ON distant heaths, beneath autumnal skies,
Pensive I saw the circling shade descend;
Weary and faint I heard the storm arise,
While the sun vanish'd like a faithless friend.

No kind companion led my steps aright;
No friendly planet lent its glimm'ring ray;
Ev'n the lone cot refus'd its wonted light,
Where Toil in peaceful slumber clos'd the day.

Then the dull bell had giv'n a pleasing sound;
The village cur 'twere transport then to hear;
In dreadful silence all was hush'd around,
While the rude storm alone distress'd mine ear.

As led by Orwell's winding banks I stray'd,
Where tow'ring Wolsey breath'd his native air,
A sudden lustre chas'd the flitting shade,
The sounding winds were hush'd, and all was fair.

Instant a grateful form appear'd confest;
White were his locks, with awful scarlet crown'd,
And livelier far than Tyrian seem'd his vest,
That with the glowing purple ting'd the ground.

" Stranger!" he said, "amid this pealing rain,
" Benighted, lonesome, whither wouldst thou stray?
" Does wealth or pow'r thy weary step constrain?
" Reveal thy wish, and let me point the way.

" For know, I trod the trophy'd paths of pow'r,
" Felt ev'ry joy that fair Ambition brings,
" And lest the lonely roof of yonder bow'r
" To stand beneath the canopies of kings.

" I bade low hinds the tow'ring ardour share,
" Nor meanly rose to bless myself alone;
" I snatch'd the shepherd from his fleecy care,
" And bade his wholesome dictate guard the throne.

" Low at my feet the suppliant peer I saw;
" I saw proud empires my decision wait;
" My will was duty, and my word was law,
" My smile was transport, and my frown was fate."

Ah me! said I, nor pow'r I seek, nor gain;
Nor urg'd by hope of same these toils endure;
A simple youth, that feels a lover's pain,
And from his friend's condolence hopes a cure.

He, the dear youth! to whose abodes I roam,
Nor can mine honours nor my fields extend;
Yet for his sake I leave my distant home,
Which oaks embosom, and which hills defend.

Beneath that home I scorn the wintry wind;
The Spring, to shade me, robes her fairest tree;
And if a friend my grass-grown threshold find,
O how my lonely cot resounds with glee!

Yet, tho' averse to gold in heaps amass'd,
I wish to bless, I languish to bestow;
And tho' no friend to Fame's obstrep'rous blast,
Still to her dulcet murmurs not a foe.

Too proud with servile tone to deign address;
Too mean to think that honours are my due;
Yet should some patron yield my stores to bless,
I sure should deem my boundless thanks were few.

But tell me, thou! that like a meteor's fire
Shott'st blazing forth, disdaining dull degrees,
Should I to wealth, to fame, to pow'r, aspire,
Must I not pass more rugged paths than these?

Must I not groan beneath a guilty load,
Praise him I scorn, and him I love betray?
Does not felonious Envy bar the road?
Or Falsehood's treach'rous foot beset the way?

Say, should I pass thro' Favour's crowded gate,
Must not fair Truth inglorious wait behind?
Whilst I approach the glitt'ring scenes of state,
My best companion no admittance find?

Nurs'd in the shades by Freedom's lenient care,
Shall I the rigid sway of Fortune own?
Taught by the voice of pious Truth, prepare
To spurn an altar, and adore a throne?

And when proud Fortune's ebbing tide recedes,
And when it leaves me no unshaken friend,
Shall I not weep that e'er I left the meads,
Which oaks embosom, and which hills defend?

Oh! if these ills the price of pow'r advance,
Check not my speed where social joys invite!
The troubled vision cast a mournful glance,
And, sighing, vanish'd in the shades of night.