SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
SONGS
TO MELANCHOLY28 O Melancholy, be not wroth with me That I this pen should point to praise thee only, And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee, Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely. Thus oft thou saw'st me,—yesterday, at least,— Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming, While, visioning the carrion of his feast, The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming. Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I, So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning! Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening. What though they did not soar unto thine height, or reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices, For that they sank the deeper so they might Within themselves light Destiny's abysses.