Poems (Southey)/Volume 1/Written on the First of January, 1794
Written on the FIRST of JANUARY,
1794.
Come melancholy Moralizer—come!Gather with me the dark and wintry wreath; With me engarland now The Sepulchre of Time!
Come Moralizer to the funeral song!I pour the dirge of the Departed Days; For well the funeral song Befits this solemn hour.
But hark! even now the merry bells ring roundWith clamorous joy to welcome in this day, This consecrated day, To mirth and Indolence.
Mortal! whilst Fortune with benignant handFills to the brim thy cup of happiness, Whilst her unclouded sun Illumes thy summer day,
Canst thou rejoice—rejoice that Time flies fast?That Night shall shadow soon thy summer sun? That swift the stream of Years Rolls to Eternity?
If thou hast wealth to gratify each wish,If Power be thine, remember what thou art— Remember thou art Man, And Death thine heritage!
Hast thou known Love? does Beauty's better sunCheer thy fond heart with no capricious smile, Her eye all eloquence, Her voice all harmony?
Oh state of happiness! hark how the galeMoans deep and hollow o'er the leafless grove! Winter is dark and cold— Where now the charms of Spring?
Sayst thou that Fancy paints the future sceneIn hues too sombrous? that the dark-stol'd Maid With stern and frowning front Appals the shuddering soul?
And wouldst thou bid me court her faery formWhen, as she sports her in some happier mood, Her many-colour'd robes Dance varying to the Sun?
Ah vainly does the Pilgrim, whose long roadLeads o'er the barren mountain's storm-vex'd height, With anxious gaze survey The fruitful far-off vale.
Oh there are those who love the pensive song,To whom all sounds of Mirth are dissonant! There are, who at this hour Will love to contemplate!
For hopeless Sorrow hails the lapse of Time,Rejoicing when the fading orb of day Is sunk again in night, That one day more is gone.
And he who bear's Affliction's heavy loadWith patient piety, well pleas'd he knows The World a pilgrimage, The Grave the inn of rest.