Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Oh! Thou, whose early-beaming smile,
Whose parting blushes gild the sky,
And warm with purest fires the tuneful tribes!
As glows that flower of stately form,
Whose hue of gold to thee unfolds;
So at the tender smile of morn,
So 'mid the sober blush of Eve,
To thee, fair sun, I turn, and bless thy cheering beam.

But now no more—the noontide ray
Has taught the herd to court the shade—

And cheat in social crowds the sullen hours.
Now labour seeks a short repose;
And Love, that oft, at evening mild,
Soft-whispers in the virgin's ear
His tender tale, with many a sigh,
Flags his young wing, and feverish drops his dart.

Me too, this shady, cool alcove,
Me this embowering oak invites,
To sit at ease, and sing the hours away.
Here let me woo the moral muse:
Her voice may suit the noon of life,
Which nor the virgin eye of morn,
Shall cheer again, nor the soft hand
Of matron eve may lead to peaceful bowers.

Ah! now I feel the blaze of day,
That scorches, while it shines; I hear

Life's busy hum, rude war and party rage;
The sun darts downward on this head,
His course direct, nor mild his beams.
The world moves restless, and, at home,
Folly has gorg'd herself with crimes,
And I was born to see, to feel, to mourn.

But, let not private malice boast;—
This breast heeds not her little sting;
Her little sting wounds not the generous breast:
But there's a public monster, gorg'd
With blood of virtuous men, and her sting
Knows where to pierce a nation; her
I dread, her barbed dart I dread,
That, thro' a thousand victims, pierces me.

Here, then, I hail retreat, and shade:
Here taste the sweets of blest repose;

Tho', as yon silent songstress hangs the wing,
And seems to grudge th' autumnal year
Her song of mellowed harmonies;
So droops my voice, and sleeps my song;
So nursing fear, and sympathies of soul,
Sorrowing I sit, and languish at the sun.

Anno 1794.