Muse of the Pasture Brooks! on thy calm sea Of poesy I’ve sailed; and though the will To speed were greater than my prowess be, I’ve ventur’d with much fear of usage ill, Yet more of joy. Though timid be my skill, As not to dare the depths of mightier streams; Yet rocks abide in shallow ways, and I Have much of fear to mingle with my dreams. Yet, lovely Muse, I still believe thee by, And think I see thee smile, and so forget I sigh. Muse of the Cottage Hearth! oft did I tell My hopes to thee, nor feared to plead in vain; But felt around my heart thy witching spell, That bade me as thy worshipper remain: I did so, and still worship. Oh! again Smile on my offerings, and so keep them green! Bedeck my fancies like the clouds of even, Mingling all hues which thou from heaven dost glean! To me a portion of thy power be given, If theme so mean as mine may merit aught of heaven. For thee in youth I culled the simple flower, That on thy bosom gained a sweeter hue, And took thy hand along life’s sunny hour, Meeting the sweetest joys that ever grew: More friends were needless, and my foes were few. Though freedom then be deemed as rudeness now. And what once won thy praise now meets disdain, Yet the last wreath I braided for thy brow, Thy smiles did so commend, it made me vain To weave another one, and hope for praise again. With thee the spirit of departed years Wakes that sweet voice which time hath rendered dumb; And freshens, like to spring, loves, hopes, and fears, That in my bosom found an early home, Wooing the heart to ecstasy.--I come To thee, when sick of care, of joy bereft, Seeking the pleasures that are found in bloom. O happy hopes, that Time hath only left Around the haunts where thou didst erst sojourn! Then smile, sweet Muse, again, and welcome my return. With thee the raptures of life’s early day Appear, and all that pleased me when a boy. Though pains and cares have torn the best away, And winter creeps between us to destroy, Do thou commend, the recompence is joy: The tempest of the heart shall soon be calm. Though sterner Truth against my dreams rebel, Hope feels success; and all my spirits warm, To strike with happier mood thy simple shell, And seize thy mantle’s hem--O! say not fare-thee-well.