Forlornly I wander, forlornly I sigh, And droop my head sadly, I cannot tell why: When the first breeze of morning blows fresh in my face, As the wild-waving walks of our woodlands I trace,
Reviv'd for the moment I look all around, But my eyes soon grow languid, and fix on the ground. I have yet no misfortune to rob me of rest, No love discomposes the peace of my breast;
Ambition ne'er enter'd the verge of my thought, Nor by honours, by wealth, nor by power am I caught; Those phantoms of folly disturb not my ease, Yet Time is a tortoise, and Life a disease.
With the blessings of youth and of health on my side, A temper untainted by envy or pride; No guilt to corrode, and no foes to molest; There are many who tell me my station is blest.
This I cannot dispute; yet without knowing why — I feel that my bosom is big with a sigh. Oh! why do I see that all knowledge is vain; That Science finds Error still keep in her train;
That Imposture or Darkness, with Doubt and Surmise, Will mislead, will perplex, and then baffle the wise, Who often, when labours have shorten'd their span, Declare — not to know — is the province of man?
In life, as in learning, our views are confin'd, Our discernment too weak to discover the mind, Which, subdued and irresolute, keeps out of sight; Or if, for a moment, her presence delight,
Our air is too gross for the stranger to stay; And, back to her prison she hurries away! If my own narrow precincts I seek to explore, My wishes how vain, my attainments how poor!
Tenacious of virtue, with caution I move; I correct, and I wrestle, but cannot approve; Till, bewilder'd and faint, I would yield up the rein, But I dare not in peace with my errors remain!
With zeal all awake in the cause of a friend, With warmth unrepress'd by my fear to offend, With sympathy active in hope or distress, How keen and how anxious I cannot express,
I shrink, lest an eye should my feelings behold, And my heart seems insensible, selfish and cold. I strive to be gay, but my efforts are weak, And, sick of existence, for pleasure I seek;
I mix with the empty, the loud, and the vain, Partake of their folly, and double my pain. In others I meet with depression and strife; Oh! where shall I seek for the music of life?
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