To Memory Poem by Joanna Baillie

HAIL , Memory! whose magic pow'r
Can gild the present gloomy hour
With the gay colours of the past,
Can smooth the wrinkled brow of age,
The pangs of absence can assuage,
And bid love's fleeting transports last!
At dawn of life's tempestuous day,
Ere reason had assum'd the sway,
Ere passion's mingled storm arose,
Thou deign'dst before mine infant eyes,
As yet unskill'd the boon to prize,
Thy golden treasures to disclose.
At length, enrich'd, by thee I wove,
(Soaring the vulgar throng above )
Fair garlands for the shrine of truth.
O, may I long thy favour share
Ere all-destroying time impair
The generous gifts bestow'd in youth.

Yon gorgeous palace! solemn fane!
Yon floating castle on the main!
To whose providing owe we these?
Could art her lofty fabrics build,
Should bounteous nature cease to yield
Her marbles bright, her towering trees?
And what would fancy's powers avail
If all thy treasur'd stores should fail,
Sav'd in the dark eclipse of time?
Rich stores of action! passion, thought!
Short joys, by long repentance bought!
And grov'ling vice, and worth sublime.
Without thee, mute the living lyre;
Though touch'd by Phoebus' hallow'd fire,
Silent the tuneful poet's tongue;
On thee, the brave for fame rely;
Unsung without thee, patriots die;
And god-like heroes bleed unsung.
Even life itself to thee we owe,
Thou canst the wond'rous charm bestow
To stop the moments as they fly;

And but for thee, they fleet so fast,
(Yet hardly present when they're past )
That man with every breath would die.
O stay, and soothe my sorrows still,
A motley life of good and ill
Was mine,--is every mortal's fate;
But I have known long years of bliss,
O, let me still remember this,
Though widow'd now, and desolate.
Ah! no, for me no balm hast thou,
A widow'd, childless father now!
And grief my earthly--endless doom.
Yet hope still lives beyond the grave;
God surely tries us but to save!
They beckon me;--I come! I come!