O WISDOM ! if thy soft controul Can sooth the sickness of the soul, Can bid the warring passions cease, And breathe the balm of tender peace, WISDOM ! I bless thy gentle sway, And ever, ever will obey. But if thou com'st with frown austere To nurse the brood of care and fear ; To bid our sweetest passions die, And leave us in their room a sigh ; Of if thine aspect stern have power To wither each poor transient flower, That cheers the pilgrimage of woe, And dry the springs whence hope should flow ; WISDOM, thine empire I disclaim, Thou empty boast of pompous name ! In gloomy shade of cloisters dwell, But never haunt my chearful cell. Hail to pleasure's frolic train ; Hail to fancy's golden reign ; Festive mirth, and laughter wild, Free and sportful as the child ; Hope with eager sparkling eyes, And easy faith, and fond surprise : Let these, in fairy colours drest, Forever share my careless breast ; Then, tho' wise I may not be, The wise themselves shall envy me.