Classic Poem

ODE XXXIV.

TIMON; OR , THE MAN-HATER.

I.

Y E comrades, who when life was young,
When hopes were warm, and fancy gay,
How are ye fled, ye fluttering throng,
Mere insects of a summer's day!

II.

False world, I now desy thy frown,
Friendship, I court no more thy smile;
This heart, now dead, or senseless grown,
Where could you torture, how beguile?

III.

Ye books, that cheer'd my lonesome hour,
Ye songs, that charm'd a lover's breast,
Fled, fled is all your boasted power,
Talk ye — ye once could talk — of rest?

IV.

Deceitful books, that preach of truth,
Your solemn lectures all are lies;
Ye songs, that could beguile my youth,
Can ye relieve a heart that sighs?

V.

Oh! sun, why sparkle bright thy beams,
Thy marching, why so stately-slow?
Quick fly, as glides the mountain-stream,
Why linger thus o'er tents of woe?

VI.

Ye lightnings, flash your fires along!
Ye heavens, assume your deadliest form!
Ye thunders, mutter deep and strong!
And let me perish 'mid the storm!

VII.

Or, if some gods preside above,
Oh! bear me far from human race;
Wild 'mid some desart would I rove,
Nor view a smiling fellow-face;

VIII.

Or on some mountain's side of rock,
Where stray the wild sheep whistling near,
Would sit, a straggler from the flock,
And surly view the prospect drear.

IX.

And when grey evening's mists arise,
Some lonely ghost should be my guest,
Whose body now unburied lies,
Who sighs, like me, in vain for rest.

X.

Oh! Nature, by what art combin'd,
Didst thou contrive thy monstrous plan?
I loathe my fellows of mankind;
I hate myself for being man.