Original poems on several subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now swells the full-grown orchard on the sight,
O'erspread with blossoms delicately white;
Or streak'd with crimson's richly-painted dye,
With saffron tinct, or glow of evening-sky:
A wilderness of soft perfumes, more sweet
Than in Arabia's gummy forests meet;
Than what the sun's prolific ray exhales
From spicy groves, and fragrant Indian vales.

Here pear-trees in capacious shade extend,
Soon with their juicy progeny to bend.
On lofty branches there, luxuriant spread,
The apple shows its cheeks of burnish'd red.
Along that wall, the apricote and peach
Bask in the heat, and soften to the reach;
And yonder plums, turgescent to the view,
Fatten their luscious flesh of cloudy blue.

How deep, how solemn spreads each tree around,
Bent in a thousand arches to the ground!
Mingling their branches in diffusive shade,
Scarce can Noon's brightest glance the gloom pervade.

How comes the sadly-pensive mood unsought!
How melancholy steals upon the thought!
Who can the half-spontaneous sigh refuse?
Who can resist the urgent call to muse?
When we would thrones and diadems despise,
And on all human grandeur shut our eyes;
Peep at Eternity from Time's dark brink,
Converse like angels, and like angels think;
Better and wiser when we wish to be,
From endless trials, snares, and follies free;
To such Retirements, with becoming awe,
Oft let us from a guilty world withdraw.

Here might some Bard, whose hopes immortal tow'r
Above the poor possessions of an hour,
By Faith's sublime enthusiasm fir'd,
And long of Life's unmeaning sameness tir'd;
Thus, with each thought on happiness intent,
Might he indulge his soul's enamour'd bent.
“Oh could I, Happiness! seraphic maid,
“To whom the universal vow is paid!
“With Thee retire to this sequester'd spot,
“By all, save by a faithful friend, forgot;
“A friend, whose joyous countenance and smile
“Can soften care, and pain itself beguile!

“Through solitude diffuse a cheerful ray,
“And gild those glooms unvisited by day;
“Not Siren Pleasure, with her fair pretence,
“Nor Fame, nor Grandeur, should allure me hence.
“Science should teach me all her sacred lore,
“And with me Fancy on her pinion soar.
“Study exhaust each genius-kindled page,
“The treasures and researches of an age.
“Sweet Meditation, heav'n-descended maid,
“Should lead me through each solitary shade;
“Of thought intranc'd ecstatic flights inspire,
“And with her transports set my soul on fire.
“Beneath the spread of some romantic tree,
“(All places, cherub! are alike to thee)
“Where the fond bee with tube inserted clings,
“Or buzzes round on deeply-loaded wings;
“Where grasshoppers chirp their incessant note,
“And the lone robin strains her mournful throat;
“On Nature's verdant lap, should balmy sleep
“Each willing sense in soft oblivion steep,
“Brought gently on (a boast unknown to Wealth)
“And render'd sound, by exercise and health:
“While zephyrs scatter odours from their wings,
“The sweets quintescent of each flow'r that springs;

“While Twilight draws her sable curtain round,
“And Silence guards the consecrated ground.
“Peace should conclude the day, as it began,
“And Virtue form the angel on the man.
“Each hour to Heav'n should bear some fond request,
“Not to be mighty, or of pow'r possest;
“Not to claim kindred with a splendid name,
“Or live recorded in the rolls of fame;
“Not for pre-eminence in rank or style,
“A monarch's favour, or a courtier's smile:
“But hopes more elevated, less confin'd,
“More prompt devotions, and an humbler mind.
“And when Time's measur'd sands were gradual run,
“And Life its strangely checker'd task had done,
“Sustained by mighty Faith's supporting arm,
“No guilt to sting, no terrours to alarm;
“Pleas'd should the spirit wing, from earth set free,
“Its flight to Heav'n, O Happiness! with thee.”

While others form the visionary scheme,
Of castles in the air phantastic dream;
Wrapt in the love of mercenary gold,
In wretchedness and misery grow old;
On Pleasure's wanton lap in dalliance lie,
And drink swift poison from her darted eye;

His moments thus the virtuous Bard employs,
And Spring far more than vulgarly enjoys;
Flatters no statesman, by base faction rais'd,
Himself dishonour'd, as his patron prais'd;
Maligns no worthy venerable name,
With parts, alas! that damn him into fame;
Takes from himself no image of the age,
Then to hell sinks it with a devil's rage:
But, unseduc'd by pride, caprice, or pelf,
Thinks greatly each man better than himself;
While Nature feasts with fruit his vagrant eye,
Soon at his feet in luscious heaps to lie;
At once delights him, Nature's true sublime,
With Plenty and with Beauty in their prime.

Breathe mild, ye winds! ye Zephyrs! gently fan,
Nor disappoint the sanguine hopes of man;
Your softest dews, ye skies! benignant show'r,
Nor scorch the folded bud, or infant flow'r:
That when Autumnal suns maturing shine,
Little inferiour to the purple vine,
May flow the limpid current from the press,
And sparkle highly-flavour'd in the glass;
That mellow fruitage, in profusion stor'd,
May long a delicate repast afford,

When Winter's joyless solitary reign
Extends through widow'd Nature's bleak domain;
When, round the clean-swept hearth, and blazing fire,
The social circle from the Storm retire;
Regardless how it sweeps with hostile roar,
And heaves the spumy billows to the shore;
Or how the torrent, rapid and profound,
With rous'd-up fury smokes along the ground;
While gloom primæval clouds the face of day,
And ruin big marks their tumultuous way!
From harm secure, with grateful calm content;
Prepar'd to taste the present blessings sent;
Such blessings Nature fails not to provide
For modest wishes, unenlarg'd by pride;
Happy that soon, these surly horrours past,
The rain-charg'd tempest, and the icy blast,
While Winter each in frightful caves confines,
And to her smile the willing world resigns,
Spring, usher'd in by Music's gladsome strain,
Will light exulting on the conscious plain;
Furnish'd with all that genial climes bestow,
To bless the fond expectant world below.
Furnish'd—but let the eye around be thrown
To see those treasures Spring may style her own.

Waft me, Imagination, on thy wing
To some sweet wood-encircled haunt of Spring,
Along fam'd Tweed, or fairer-border'd Clyde,
Where she delights with Beauty to reside.
Already has the Thames, imperial stream!
Unrival'd been the Muse's boasted theme,
Wafting the wealth of distant worlds along,
By Twick'nam's bard immortaliz'd in song;
Oh could I (but the forward wish is vain)
Reach his surpassing elegance of strain,
Not Thames alone should be consign'd to fame,
Clyde should the secondary honours claim!

Warm'd by the Season's vivifying ray,
Light, Muse, on airy pinion bear away,
To trace its current, various as it flows,
And verdure and fertility bestows.

First, in a sheet of water broad and deep,
On osier beds each murmur fast asleep,
It swells immense, in liquid mirrours seen,
Ashes and pines adown each margin green,
Or lime-trees in full arching rows prolong'd,
Or pendent rocks with thickets wildly throng'd:
Headlong anon, rous'd from its languid flow,
Where some huge precipice o'erlooks below.

The gulf profound, and ragged shadows frown,
It dashes, whirls, and smokes, and thunders down;
Till, in a smooth expanse compos'd again,
Onward it sweeps majestic to the main.

Here shoots with wing'd velocity along
The salmon, monarch of the scaly throng;
Here trouts unnumber'd skim their fluid way,
Plunge far below, or near the surface play;
Fierce-darting, here the tyrant pike resides,
While deep in mud the eel elapsive glides;
Often in nets by sturdy peasant haul'd,
Or on the angler's bloody hook impall'd.

Nor shall the Muse, transported as she roves,
Pass by, Dalzell! thy venerable groves.
Thy fields, such as romantic fancy feigns,
Where golden Plenty ever smiling reigns.
Thy orchards, loaded with Autumnal fruit,
Thy nurseries, where woods in embryo shoot.
Thy noble vistas, grottoes, and cascades,
Thy upland lawns, and sun-expanded glades.

Thy long, dark avenues, at distance seen,
Forming o'er head arch'd canopies of green.
Thy temples gilt, Invention's boast, and Clyde's,
Thy hot-beds, where through winter Spring resides.
Thy rich inclosures, where the stately deer
Majestic roam, or sport in fond career.
Thy flow'r-plots and thy gardens richly drest,
On which the genial powers of Culture rest.
Thy shady arbours, alcoves, green retreats,
The Lover's darling haunts, and Muse's seats;
Where pensive Meditation oft retires,
Stretches her wing, and kindles all her fires;
While, as she takes her visionary walk,
Around her forms ethereal seem to talk.
With her to spend the summer-lengthen'd day,
Each passion calm, and ev'ry care away,
Here would I envy not Arcadian swains,
Tempe's fam'd valley, nor Hesperia's plains.

Authors should too employ my choicest time,
Correct their diction, as their thoughts sublime.
Authors, whose pleasing lessons daily read,
Better the heart, while they inform the head;
Still, as by magic, Passion's inbred storm,
And portray Virtue in her comeliest form;

Not such as drag down Reason from her throne
Or make her reign unaided and alone;
Both ill extremes, and foes to humankind,
That warp the judgment, and debase the mind;
Where fatal doctrines charm in fair disguise,
Oft unperceiv'd by superficial eyes:
Amid a glow of subtile language, still
By taste selected, and arrang'd with skill,
Errour conceal'd from vulgar notice lurks,
And sure her darling scheme, though slowly, works.
As in a bed of flow'rs, or thorny brake,
Fold within fold lies hid the crested snake.

Who would affect to mingle with the croud,
Form'd of the selfish, insolent, and proud,
And not prefer the Country's tranquil joys,
Where Nature always pleases, never cloys?
For smoke, condens'd in many a pitchy wreath,
The sweetness of untainted air to breathe.
For narrow streets, by quick-ey'd Fancy led,
To roam through meads, in lilied verdure clad.
For noise incessant, from each pensile spray,
To hear the tuneful songster's jocund lay.
For vain distinctions and phantastic show,
Those cares Contentment glories not to know,

Nothing save rural elegance to see,
What Virtue is, what Grandeur ne'er can be.
Did angels from their blissful seats descend,
Their time below in Paradise to spend,
Our heav'nly guests would not in courts abide,
But near a wood, or by a fountain's side.

Happy the man, to whom a well-spread board
An ample Independence can afford,
Leisure to study, quiet, peace, and ease,
Born rather to be pleas'd, than others please;
A little sov'reign, though without a crown,
Courted his smile, nor dreaded less his frown!
Spring opens all her treasures to his view,
To be admir'd with more than common goo.
Labour and Want (unhospitable twain)
Chill not the current in Life's salient vein;
Nor damp the spirits, else of sprightly cast,
Nor check the nobler passions of the breast;
Nor blunt the fine Sensation's tender edge,
Which man's chief pride philosophers allege.
Thus some fair shoot, in spreading foliage gay,
Drinks youth and vigour from the golden day,
Because no worm gnaws at its root below,
Colds nip above, or forky lightnings glow.

A taste, improv'd by Education, finds
Pleasures where none appear to ruder minds;
Scenes, where the croud but few attractions see,
Affect it in an exquisite degree:
As telescopes, the finer ground, convey
More striking beauties by the visual ray;
Or magnets, as prepar'd the more exact,
Objects around more forcibly attract.

This is her privilege; nor this alone,
Wealth others yet more glorious calls her own.
Her's is the pow'r, from Heav'n descends the will,
The famish'd mouth of Indigence to fill.
To over-rule the casts of Fortune's wheels,
And mitigate the pang Affliction feels.
The cares of injur'd Virtue to beguile,
And make the haunts of Desolation smile.
With pious hand the frequent tear to dry,
That gushes down from Sorrow's humid eye.
The naked limbs in raiment to unfold,
Expos'd to shame, and all benumm'd with cold.
Thus to partake their pleasures, heighten'd too,
No painful sense of obligations due:
For he whose bounty well directed flows,
Enjoys the very blessings he bestows.

As bodies give to others, though at rest,
That same first motion on themselves imprest;
Or as the clouds in exhalations gain,
What they expended in Vertumnal rain;
While Virtue dares not to decide pretend,
Which party most indebted in the end.

Such kindred sentiments would Spring impart,
Softness of look, and gentleness of heart;
Simplicity of thought, a taste refin'd,
Feeling of soul, and sympathy of mind.
For view through vegetable life her plan,
In guile how little she resembles man!
All her productions, to enrich the year,
Simply and fairly are what they appear.
I wrong her sure—minutely them explore,
She promis'd much, but she bestows us more.
The flow'r excells in elegance of hue,
Ev'n to the distant superficial view;
But to its velvet leaves the glass apply,
Still richer glows the variegated dye!
The herb and plant how botanists admire,
Though furnish'd only with plain green attire!
But let the chymist exercise his art,
Extracting the rich essence of each part;

What words can paint our gratitude to Spring,
While health we title a momentous thing!
Though much on her employ'd the sylvan strains,
Much of her beauties still unsung remains.
But who can count the pearly globules Morn
Sheds infinite on ev'ry twinkling thorn?
Or who arrange with unbewilder'd eye
The stars that cluster through the midnight sky?

Hail, blooming Spring! essential Sweetness, hail!
Thy fragrant breath perfumes the lenient gale.
Thy magic smile, amid the Tempest's strife,
Can wake the torpid glebe to verdant life;
The harden'd soften, the compact expand,
Moist from thy dews, and by thy zephyrs fann'd.
Not central cold its genial force can stop,
Though Winter's frosts arrest the pendent drop.
By it the sap, protruded to the root,
And juices, long confin'd, fermenting shoot;
Through twining tubes in brisk meanders play,
And life and vigour to the top convey.
From hence deriv'd the vegetative pow'r,
The turgid stem, herb, plant, and dew-fring'd flow'r.
Hence all the various growths that Earth o'erspread,
Mantled in verdure, and by ether fed.

Hence Summer to the thickest shades retreats,
And coolest haunts, to shun the sultry heats;
Hence ripens, underneath her radiant eye,
Refresh'd by dews, that trickle from the sky,
The fields, thick-waving in luxuriant grain,
And vineyards flush'd with purple's richest stain.
Hence Autumn gathers in his fruits mature,
From hostile winds and accidents secure;
While the glad hind, exulting in his store,
Content, forms not a distant wish for more;
His rosy children prattling on his knee,
Their little sweet endearments fond to see;
They too delighted to behold him smile,
With aspect pleas'd, and brow relax'd the while.
Hence, the full Year with golden plenty crown'd,
The liberal glass, in bumpers hurried round,
Inspires each gladden'd heart, from cares set free,
With honest transport, and facetious glee;
No red-cheek'd dame forgot, with artless mien,
And untaught step, that trips the daizied green.

Hence all that lavish imagery thrown
From Nature's lap, which Fancy names her own.
Hence too whate'er to studious ease inclines,
Exalts the genius, or the sense refines;

Those objects, in successive fair display,
That wake to harmony the Poet's lay;
Excite fond pictures in the Lover's thought,
The Lover still intensely musing caught,
Venting, where some congenial shade surrounds,
His love-sad anguish in pathetic sounds.

The End of the Fifth Book.

One of the finest seats, for natural beauties particularly, on Clyde, belonging to Archibald Hamilton of Rosehall, Esq;