Charles Newby Wawn c1782 - 1840
Poetic Sketches

TO MY LIBRARY

 

I.

How I pity the man that delights not in books,

Nor roams o’er their pages with rapture in his looks,

And relish the most gustful in his heart;

Who cares not to beckon up from Rome’s vasty deep

Or the learned stores of Athens from their long silent sleep,

And enrich himself at Wisdom’s wealthy mart.

II.

How I pity the man who in ancient lore unread,

Enjoys not the converse of th’ illustrious dead,

Nor, delighted, gazes on the mighty mind

That glows in living beauty in the Poets Classic Verse,

And creates again whole Nations, whilst their tale he shall rehearse.

Or shews him where the joys of life to find.

III.

How I pity the man who plods on in life’s dull round,

Content with the pleasures of taste, and sight, and sound,

Nor heeds the priceless gem that in him thinks;

Who, daily unconcern’d, to fair Science’s pure spring,

To be fed at its fountain, that priceless gem to bring,

Cares not whilst in folly’s streams it sinks.

IV.

Ye silent dear companions, my Library’s whole store,

Accept the grateful homage of a heart that is still poor

In expression, to declare half that it feels;

How oft in dark complexity your light have ye giv’n,

And guided thro’ difficulties ‘gainst which ‘twere hard t’have striv’n,

And the knowledge shed that cheers whilst it heals.

V.

With what kindness have ye come, and what readiness have gone,

As I wished; or ceas’d to wish, when, your visit’s object done,

Ye retired, and yet left your choicest boon;

The wisdom of a life has been given in an hour,

And the Sage of olden time has pour’d forth his richest store,

Yet ye lingered not, not quitted me too soon.
 

VI.

Ye wounded not my pride when my ignorance ye saw,

Nor the dullness reproach’d of a mind more crude and raw,

When your deeper views I fail’d to comprehend;

No magisterial looks ye assumed to repel,

No pompous cloud of words employ’d to conceal,

When the school of your instruction I’d attend.

VII.

And if idleness prevail’d, ye pardon’d me the Sin,

Of absence, or neglect, and yet ye took me in

To the noblest guest-room of your mental feast;

Nor shew’d one angry look, nor chid my thoughtless heart,

Nor visited th’ ingrate with e’en a momentary smart,

But my cravings ‘gain supplied till they ceas’d.

VIII.

Still-yet-with Wisdoms’ torch O! light up my spirit dark,

And daily tow’rds her porch some humble progress mark,

In enlargement and expansion of the soul;

Enlighten, teach, mature; and in each devoted hour

When your sweet pursuits allure, augment the moral power,

And then give right direction to the whole.

Charles Newby Wawn

Newcastle upon Tyne, 1825