 | Landscapes in verse |  |
Next, Fancy wanders with us down the slope,
In variegated blooms and verdure rich,
To yonder path, that in the bottom lies,
Which clad in tenderest green, scarce shews the print
Of Love's light step, beneath whose pressure smooth
Springs many a flower, which in life's beaten road
Refuse to grow, or shed their modest sweets
Too fragrant for the world.—No sounds are here
But low of heifer, bleat of lambkin mild,
Matin of warbling bird, or lapse of rill,
Whose scarce-heard murmur, like the tender plaint
Of some fond youth just parted from his nymph,
Wailing a moment's absence, sighs so soft
'Tis tearful pleasure. Now we view the stile,
A simple branch of maple plac'd aslant,
Rustic and unadorn'd; near which the May-bush waves
Its virgin blossoms, while beneath its shade
Wild flow'rs, in love with water, faintly lend
Their scanty essence, bathed in the brook
Which, by the foot-stone, trickles to the verge
Of the fair river, who with easy flow
Glides silent on, and oft, in passing, greets
His aged willows, that in waiting seem
To bow their bare and venerable heads
Along his tufted banks. Ah! spot serene!
Here by the various charm of nature bound,
Each object stealing swift into the heart,
By potent Truth impell'd, by Fancy fir'd,
Soften'd by Love, by all in union met,
That fills the eye with Passion's blissful tear,
The breast with transport, and the soul with joys,
Which few of this bad world, alas! shall feel,
Cleone tries her pencil, sketching fair
The Paradise she shares:—The landscape lives
Beneath her magic touch:—And lo! the glen
Skirting the lucid stream, where flow'ring shrubs,
The hawthorn hedge, and many an orchard tree,
Whose antique trunks, with mossy coats are wrapt,
While from their arms, irregular and old,
Bursts the young blossom, like the ruddy bloom
That temperance fixes in the wholesome cheek
Of blameless age:—Soft peers, thro' foliage deep,
The russet dwelling of an antient pair,
Who thrice ten smiling years, beneath its roof,
(Blush gay and great ones of a jarring world!)
Have led a virtuous life of wedded Love!
In days of nuptial dissonance and strife,
This pattern, rare and high, Cleone views,
And plucking soft the unadorned latch,
Enters the cot, where love with nature reigns
Far from the city artifice:—the pair
We find, with all their progeny around,
In goodly rows assembled at the board
Of buxom health, who spreads the light repast,
Which hospitality, (such as of yore
Our Antient Britons, lov'd, ere courtier pomp
The once wide opening door insidious clos'd)
With importunings sweet, invites to share.
In variegated blooms and verdure rich,
To yonder path, that in the bottom lies,
Which clad in tenderest green, scarce shews the print
Of Love's light step, beneath whose pressure smooth
Springs many a flower, which in life's beaten road
Refuse to grow, or shed their modest sweets
Too fragrant for the world.—No sounds are here
But low of heifer, bleat of lambkin mild,
19
Whose scarce-heard murmur, like the tender plaint
Of some fond youth just parted from his nymph,
Wailing a moment's absence, sighs so soft
'Tis tearful pleasure. Now we view the stile,
A simple branch of maple plac'd aslant,
Rustic and unadorn'd; near which the May-bush waves
Its virgin blossoms, while beneath its shade
Wild flow'rs, in love with water, faintly lend
Their scanty essence, bathed in the brook
Which, by the foot-stone, trickles to the verge
Of the fair river, who with easy flow
Glides silent on, and oft, in passing, greets
His aged willows, that in waiting seem
To bow their bare and venerable heads
20
Here by the various charm of nature bound,
Each object stealing swift into the heart,
By potent Truth impell'd, by Fancy fir'd,
Soften'd by Love, by all in union met,
That fills the eye with Passion's blissful tear,
The breast with transport, and the soul with joys,
Which few of this bad world, alas! shall feel,
Cleone tries her pencil, sketching fair
The Paradise she shares:—The landscape lives
Beneath her magic touch:—And lo! the glen
Skirting the lucid stream, where flow'ring shrubs,
The hawthorn hedge, and many an orchard tree,
Whose antique trunks, with mossy coats are wrapt,
While from their arms, irregular and old,
21
That temperance fixes in the wholesome cheek
Of blameless age:—Soft peers, thro' foliage deep,
The russet dwelling of an antient pair,
Who thrice ten smiling years, beneath its roof,
(Blush gay and great ones of a jarring world!)
Have led a virtuous life of wedded Love!
In days of nuptial dissonance and strife,
This pattern, rare and high, Cleone views,
And plucking soft the unadorned latch,
Enters the cot, where love with nature reigns
Far from the city artifice:—the pair
We find, with all their progeny around,
In goodly rows assembled at the board
Of buxom health, who spreads the light repast,
22
Our Antient Britons, lov'd, ere courtier pomp
The once wide opening door insidious clos'd)
With importunings sweet, invites to share.
| Landscapes in verse | |