 | I. |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| II. |
 | Miscellanies (1785) |  |
As poets sing, thus Fancy takes her range,
Whose winds æthereal waves a general change;
A change, which yielding Reason still obeys,
For scepter'd Reason oft with Fancy plays;
Soon as the gen'rous master leaves his home,
What vision'd sorrows deep invest the dome?
Soon as the much-lov'd mistress quits the scene,
No longer smiles the grateful earth in green:
In solemn sable ev'ry flow'r appears,
And skies relent in sympathising tears!
Scarce had the bard of Leasowe's lov'd domain
Clos'd his dimm'd eye upon the pensive plain,
Ere birds and beasts funereal honours paid,
Mourn'd their lov'd lord and sought the desart shade;
His gayest meads a serious habit wore,
His larks would sing, his lambs would frisk no more,
A deeper cadence murmur'd from his floods,
Cimerian horror brooded o'er his woods:
At ev'ry solemn pause, the raven scream'd,
The sun set sanguine, and the dog-star gleam'd;
But chief the conscious laurels droop'd their head,
While every bower its leafy honours shed;
Around his walks the Muses wander'd slow,
And hung their lyres on every naked bough.
Whose winds æthereal waves a general change;
18
For scepter'd Reason oft with Fancy plays;
Soon as the gen'rous master leaves his home,
What vision'd sorrows deep invest the dome?
Soon as the much-lov'd mistress quits the scene,
No longer smiles the grateful earth in green:
In solemn sable ev'ry flow'r appears,
And skies relent in sympathising tears!
Scarce had the bard of Leasowe's lov'd domain
Clos'd his dimm'd eye upon the pensive plain,
Ere birds and beasts funereal honours paid,
Mourn'd their lov'd lord and sought the desart shade;
His gayest meads a serious habit wore,
His larks would sing, his lambs would frisk no more,
A deeper cadence murmur'd from his floods,
Cimerian horror brooded o'er his woods:
At ev'ry solemn pause, the raven scream'd,
The sun set sanguine, and the dog-star gleam'd;
But chief the conscious laurels droop'd their head,
While every bower its leafy honours shed;
19
And hung their lyres on every naked bough.
| Miscellanies (1785) | |