Gazette Of The United States

AN EXTRACT.

To a Young Gentleman—dissuading him from poetical pursuits.

AND would'st thou then in tasks of verse engage?
Throbs thy young bosom with poetic rage?
Oh, trust th' experienc'd; trust me, dearest boy,
The walks of Pindus seldom lead to joy.
In those green paths, while yet 'tis morning play,
Cull the wild flowers that rise along the way;
In chasing butterflies consume thy prime,
Adorn thy temples with the shoots of rhyme:
A while thou may'st, if thus thy fancy leads,
But range not long in those enchanting meads.
To grave pursuits and serious tasks retire,
Ere manhood rises to meridian fire;
Lest thou should'st see (the noon in trifling past)
Thy sun descend in poverty at last.
Yet Wisdom's voice, thy soul did wisdom sway,
Would instantly turn thy self-deluding way;
Not one short moment given to youthful heat,
One pause of dalliance, in the Muses' seat:
Within their bowers a thousand demons bide,
A thousand snakes within their flow'rets hide.
A plastic God informs the Poet's mind,
He makes the beauteous which he does not find.
Displays th' ideal paradise around,
And smiles the barren heath to fairy ground;
His Midas' hands ennobled objects hold,
And feel and touch the meanest dross to gold.
Ah fatal gift, what comfort canst thou bring?
Less to the Bard than to the Lydian king.
Attendant Fancy, from the wilds of air,
Convokes the smiling families of Fair,
The beauteous elves that o'er creation rove,
Delightful children of almighty Love:
Prompt at her call, the bright ideas throng,
And rush profusely through the bloomy song.
At Fancy's side, the young-ey'd Passions stand,
Sweet blushing boys, in form, a cherub band;
The soul expands, to lodge the smiling train,
Ah, little fearful of the future pain!
Beneath his wings each veils a barbed dart,
Till deep it quivers in the bleeding heart,
Then marks, with cruel pride, his guilty skill,
And flutters round, in wantonness of ill.