At Oxford
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.
