 | A Muse in Livery |  |
The Departure.
I
But transient is the dateOf sublunary joys;
And those we highest rate,
The soonest leave our eyes:
This truth we prove: O muse, in sadness flow,
The fair prepares, so soon prepares to go!
II
See how the groves aroundA gloomier green put on;
And leaves upon the ground;
Like dropping tears fall down.
The sighing winds thro' ev'ry bush make moan;
The trees seem toss'd with grief, and bend, and groan.
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III
The pretty wond'ring Birds,Tho' silent, seem in pain;
And range the grove in herds
To find her out again:
Returning, pensive on some naked bough
They sit, and think (if Birds can think) on you.
IV
The flow'rs which but just nowIn loveliest colours shone,
Fade, and droop, and bow,
As if their sun was gone;
'Tis sudden grief which thus their charms impairs,
To lose the lustre they receiv'd from her's.
V
The sun too seems to shineLess warm, and far less bright:
O Hartford! losing thine,
He loses half his light.
A cloudy veil too hides from us his face,
And show'rs of sorrow drown this mournful place.
VI
Compton, which just began,Its native charms to shew,
Relapsing now again
In mourning seems for you:
In careless grief its clouded beauties lie,
Which lately so delighted every eye.
| A Muse in Livery | |