O Study! while thy lovers raise
Thy name with all the pow'r of praise,
Frown not, thou nymph with piercing mind!
If in this bosom thou should'st find
That all thy deep, thy brilliant, lore,
Which charm'd it once, now charms no more:
Frown not, if, on thy classic line,
One strange, uncall'd-for, tear should shine;
Frown not, if, when a smile should start,
A sigh should heave an aching heart:
If Mem'ry, roving far away,
Should an unmeaning homage pay,
Should ask thee for thy golden fruit,
And, when thou deign'st to hear her suit,
Should turn her from the proffer'd food,
To tread the shades of Solitude:
Frown not, if, in the humble line,
Ungrac'd by any thought of thine,
Should but that gentle name appear,
Fond cause of ev'ry joy and fear;
I love, tho' rude, I love it more,
Than all thy piles of letter'd lore:
Frown not if ev'ry airy word,
Which Beauty breathes, or Love has heard,
More rich, more eloquently, flow,
To Mem'ry gives a warmer glow,
Than all by thee so much approv'd,
The wit of age on age improv'd.
Go, then! and, since it is denied
That thou shalt be my radiant guide!
Leave me to sigh, to weep, to prove
How little Learning is to Love.