I am of age, and, now no more the Boy, Am ready Fortune’s favours to enjoy, Were they, too, ready; but, with grief I speak, Mine is the fortune that I yet must seek. And let me seek it; there’s the world around— And if not sought it never can be found. It will not come, if I the chase decline; Wishes and wants will never make it mine. Then let me shake these lingering fears away; What one day must be, let it be to-day; 10 Lest courage fail ere I the search commence, And resolution pall upon suspense. Yet, while amid these well-known scenes I dwell, Let me to friends and neighbours bid Farewell. First to our men of wealth—these are but few— In duty bound I humbly bid adieu. This is not painful, for they know me not, Fortune in different states has placed our lot; It is not pleasant, for full well I know The lordly pity that the rich bestow— 20 A proud contemptuous pity, by whose aid Their own triumphant virtues are display’d.— “Going, you say? and what intends the Lad? ‘To seek his fortune?’ ‘Fortune!’ is he mad? Has he the knowledge? is he duly taught? I think we know how Fortune should be sought. Perhaps he takes his chance to sink or swim; Perhaps he dreams of Fortune’s seeking him? Life is his lottery, and away he flies, Without a ticket to obtain his prize; 30 But never man acquired a weighty sum, Without foreseeing whence it was to come.” Fortunes are made, if I the facts may state— Though poor myself, I know the fortunate— First, there’s a knowledge of the way from whence Good fortune comes—and that is sterling sense; Then perseverance, never to decline The chase of riches till the prey is thine; And firmness, never to be drawn away By any passion from that noble prey— 40 By love, ambition, study, travel, fame, Or the vain hope that lives upon a name. * * * * * The whistling Boy that holds the plough, Lured by the tale that soldiers tell, Resolves to part, yet knows not how To leave the land he loves so well. He now rejects the thought, and now Looks o’er the lea, and sighs “Farewell!” “Farewell!” the pensive Maiden cries, Who dreams of London, dreams awake— 50 But, when her favourite Lad she spies, With whom she loved her way to take: Then Doubts within her soul arise, And equal Hopes her bosom shake! Thus, like the Boy, and like the Maid, I wish to go, yet tarry here; And, now resolved, and now afraid, To minds disturb’d old views appear In melancholy charms array’d, And, once indifferent, now are dear. 60 How shall I go, my fate to learn— And, oh! how taught shall I return? II.