At Oxford, 1786

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.