 | [Poems by Smith in] The Echo |  |
A FRAGMENT,
In imitation of Spenser.
How joy is banish'd from the human mind!
How pleasure flies at like the evening ray,
Ne can we e'er its lovely footsteps find.
And still unheedful, to the present blind,
We let the joyous moments slip along:
Still to ourselves eke careless and unkind,
We pass e'er straying from the happy throng,
Ne join the easy dance, ne sootly raise the song.
And wisely yielding with obeisance still,
Let me no more the pleasant scene deface
With griefs responsive to the murm'ring rill,
And moans loud echoing o'er the neigh'bring hill.
O let me hide my sorrows in the night,
And how submissive to the Eternal will;
Then Time shall load each moment with delight,
And o'er my soul shall shine the Muse's living light.—
And shed his yellow influence on the earth;
Had driven the roaring tempests 'neath the deep,
And call'd the green creation into birth;
When lively Youth, gay Health and buxom Mirth,
Scatter'd the Summer's joys the world around;
When the neat housewife from her kitchen hearth
Had thrown the ashes on the garden ground,
And with green boughs and flowrets it had crown'd;
Spreads all around its ever varied scene,
And pours a rich creation on the view,
Stray'd from mine home, in spritely youth I been,
Then, with fresh joy I ken the smiling green,
The distant mountains frowning on the vale,
The lofty woods which shew their heights atween,
The speckled flocks thick nibbling in the dale,
And leaves, and flutt'ring birds, ay flying in the gale.
Which in this region of delight appear;
To mark the sorrows which must here ay dwell;
The joys, and woes, which call the differing tear.
What curious Nature hath ypighted here
Ay torturing pain fore'er to drive away,
And ease the grief of many tiresome yeare;
Or to add comfort to the present day;
Eke her unkindness joying kindly to o'erpay.
That tortuous windes its lengthened way along;
Leave on the lest the hoarse ay clacking mill,
And reach the dome, meet burthen of a song.
The dome e'er swarming with the busy throng,
That with a different purpose seek the place,
In pleasure's paths to wander all among;
Or dry the tear from sorrow's faded face,
Which the soft hand of Love delights away to chase.
Full many a foot the building spred, I ween,
And its front proudly to the southern day
Uprearing pleasant, from afar was seen.
Flank'd with a broad Piazza round it been—
Meet place to walk, and spend the summer's morn;
And from its edge to view the distant scene,
When the sun, rising, all things doth adorn,
And gild the flowers, and dew-drops glistening on the thorn.
I walk, regardful of the enchanting view.
What charms the voice of Summer wakes to birth!
What beauty trembleth through the lucent dew!
Far round the horizon rise the mountains blue!
In distant prospect mingling with the sky;
And here the woods in varied foliage shew;
Yielding soft pleasure to the roving eye,
That longs the innumerous sweets of nature to descry.
A village breaketh through the tufted trees:
Where industry renews her daily pain,
And labor sigheth on the careless breeze.
Here, tho' rich plenty laugheth o'er the mees,
In antic vesture robed Religion walks,
Her face in sorrows drest, all hearts doth freeze,
And with a frigid hand creation balks;
While in her train wan Care, with Pain united, stalks.
To see what pleasaunce liveth o'er the scene,
Yet doth compassion's tear bedim the sight.
O Heaven! shall Virtue of celestial mien
The soul of nature, and creation's queen,
Reign but to spread destruction on mankind?
Shall Piety, bedeck'd in God's own sheen,
Live but to seal damnation on the mind—
Whose very soul is love with adoration join'd?
These waters have proved a radical cure in many cases of rheumatism, and in scrophulous affections; and have relieved many other complaints. One singular case of their efficacy in Spasmodic diseases is daily exhibited there, and is worth relating. A Mr. Hitchcock, who keeps the Bath House, has lived there many years unable to remove. He appears perfectly well. Generally once a day—sometimes less often, and sometimes oftener, he is seized with strong convulsions; his muscles appear to be drawn into knots—which I have seen of the size of a large egg. In this situation, unable to support or assist himself, he is carried to the bath, stripped and rolled in. The effect is instantaneous. He immediately jumps up perfectly recovered; and is commonly free till nearly the same time next day.
Much company resort here in the months of July, August, September and October, for the purposes of pleasure, and recovering health.
This refers to the sect called Shaking Quakers. About two miles from the Pool they have a handsome church; and a large house in which near an hundred persons live.—Their devotion consists principally in dancing and singing. These exercises are carried on to their own extreme emaciation.—They are very laborious, and have generally the character of scrupulous honesty.—The women and men live in different parts of the same house; the married persons have no connection with each other, and all marriages are prohibited. Their dress is extremely simple. The men wear short coats and short hair. The women are, generally, dressed in a white short gown and skirt, and in small close long-eared caps.—The sect seems to be rather diminishing, as the natural means of increase are cut off; few proselytes are gained; and the severity and constancy of their fatiguing exercises carries them off in a few years—This denomination of religionists made its appearance about ten years since. The head of them was the former mistress of a British officer. She called herself the Elect Lady; and lived to see her principles adopted by a considerable number of people in the north part of the States of New-York and Massachusetts, and some parts of Vermont—They call themselves Christians—but their exact principles I am unacquainted with.
| [Poems by Smith in] The Echo | |