AT OXFORD, 1786.

By William Lisle Bowles

Bereave me not of Fancy's shadowy dreams,

Which won my heart, or when the gay career

Of life begun, or when at times a tear

Sat sad on memory's cheek — though loftier themes

Await the awakened mind to the high prize

Of wisdom, hardly earned with toil and pain,

Aspiring patient; yet on life's wide plain

Left fatherless, where many a wanderer sighs

Hourly, and oft our road is lone and long,

‘ Twere not a crime should we a while delay

Amid the sunny field; and happier they

Who, as they journey, woo the charm of song,

To cheer their way;— till they forget to weep,

And the tired sense is hushed, and sinks to sleep.