Richmond Enquirer

ODE TO LORD BYRON.

TO ROMANCE.

Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joy,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
Thy votive train of girls and boys.
At length, in sorrow's no longer bound,
I break the fetters of my youth.
No more I tread thy mystic round,
But leave thy realms for those of truth.
And, yet, 'tis hard to quit the dreams
Which have the auspicious tint,
Where every nymph a goddess seems,
Whose eyes through rays immortal fall;
While Fancy holds her boundless reign,
And all assume a varied hue,
When virgins seem no longer vain,
And even woman's smiles are true.
And must we own thee, but a name,
And from thy hall of clouds descend?
Nor find a sylph in every dame,
A Paphian in every friend:
But leave, at once, thy realms of air,
To mingling bands of fairy elves;
Confess that woman's false as fair,
And friends have feeling for themselves.
With shame, I own, I've felt thy sway,
Repugnant, now, thy reign restore:
No more thy precepts I obey.
No more on lofty pinions soar.
Fond fool! to love a sparkling eye,
And think that eye to truth was dear;
To trust a passing woman's sigh,
And melt beneath a wanton's tear.
Romance! disgusted with deceit,
Far from thy motley court I fly,
Where Affectation holds her seat,
And sickly Sensibility;
Whose silly tears can never flow
For any pangs excepting thine;
Who turns aside from real woe,
To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine.
Now join with sable Sympathy,
With cypress crowned, arrayed in weed,
Who heaves with thee her simple sigh,
Whose breast for every bosom bleeds;
And call thy sylvan female choir,
To mourn as wont, forever woe.
Who once could glow with equal fire,
But be disdains not now before thy throne.
Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears,
On all occasions swiftly flow,
Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears,
With fancied flames and frenzy glow:
Say, will you mourn my absent name,
Apostate from your gentle reign?
An infant bard, at least, may claim
From you a sympathetic strain.
Adieu, fond race! a long adieu!
The hour of fate is hovering nigh;
E'en now, the gulf appears in view,
Where, unlaments, you must lie.
Oblivion's blackening lake is seen,
Convulsed by gales you cannot weather;
Where you, and eke your gentle queen,
Alas! must perish all together.