Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral/On Recollection
On Recollection.
Mneme begin. Inspire, ye sacred nine,Your vent'rous Afric in her great design.Mneme, immortal pow'r, I trace thy spring:Assist my strains, while I thy glories sing:The acts of long departed years, by thee 5Recover'd, in due order rang'd we see:Thy pow'r the long-forgotten calls from night,That sweetly plays before the fancy's sight.
Mneme in our nocturnal visions poursThe ample treasure of her secret stores; 10Swift from above me wings her silent flight Through Phœbe's realms, fair regent of the night;And, in her pomp of images display'd,To the high-raptur'd poet gives her aid,Through the unbounded regions of the mind, 15Diffusing light celestial and refin'd. The heav'nly phantom paints the actions doneBy ev'ry tribe beneath the rolling sun.
Mneme, enthron'd within the human breast,Has vice condemn'd, and ev'ry virtue blest. 20How sweet the sound when we her plaudit hear?Sweeter than music to the ravish'd ear,Sweeter than Maro's entertaining strainsResounding through the groves, and hills, and plains.But how is Mneme dreaded by the race, 25Who scorn her warnings, and despise her grace?By her unveil'd each horrid crime appears,Her awful hand a cup of wormwood bears.Days, years mispent, O what a hell of woe!Hers the worst tortures that our souls can know. 30
Now eighteen years their destin'd course have run,In fast succession round the central sun.How did the follies of that period passUnnotic'd, but behold them writ in brass! In Recollection see them fresh return, 35And sure 'tis mine to be asham'd, and mourn.
O Virtue, smiling in immortal green,Do thou exert thy pow'r, and change the scene;Be thine employ to guide my future days,And mine to pay the tribute of my praise. 40
Of Recollection such the pow'r enthron'dIn ev'ry breast, and thus her pow'r is own'd.The wretch, who dar'd the vengeance of the skies,At last awakes in horror and surprize,By her alarm'd, he sees impending fate, 45He howls in anguish, and repents too late.But O! what peace, what joys are hers t' impartTo ev'ry holy, ev'ry upright heart!Thrice blest the man, who, in her sacred shrine,Feels himself shelter'd from the wrath divine! 50