Poems to Thespia :: :: University of Virginia Library

On drear Siberia's frozen plains
How faintly breathes the voice of love?
From their numb'd source, the vital rills
As if withheld by icy chains,
In dull, and sullen progress move.
The native's breast no warm emotion fills;
No genial intercourse of mind,
No rapturous ardours, or delights refined
Unfold their plumes, and innocently gay
Mid bowers, and fairy lawns, and sparkling fountains play.
The affections die as soon as born,
Or pierced with driving sleet, or whelm'd in snow,
A sickly being drag along;
Nor blush of orient morn
They view, nor eve's purpureal glow,
Nor sol's meridian radiance, calmly strong.

Dwells love beneath the burning line,
Amid the savage bands

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Which roam o'er Ethiopia's sands?
Ah, no! He shrouds his form divine
Far from the passion's wild excess,
Intent a different race to bless.
The hurried mien of fierce desire,
The frenzied eye which rolls in fire,
Denote a fever's dreadful strife
Whose flame licks up the stream of life.
There quickly shrinks each female grace forlorn,
Slavery succeeds, and abject scorn:
Tho now by head-strong fury driven,
While apathy treads close behind,
And fruitless wishes empty as the wind,
There, man himself is but the scorn of Heaven.

Not thus within the temperate zone,
Under soft skies, and fed by vernal dews,
Love smiles delighted, and around his throne
Binds flowers, whose thick-inwoven hues
Shine with perennial lustre. In the vales
Of Albion, all his airy people rove,

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On her green hills, or in the peaceful grove,
There tune the song, and whisper sweetest tales.
But chiefly his Devonia owns his sway,
Her habitants the mild controul obey:
Beauty, whose breath, whose lips outvie the rose;
And constancy, whose eyes unceasing dart
The beams which lighten from his heart;
And truth, who on her bosom fair
While o'er him falls her mantling hair,
Bids young, and blushing hope repose.

If love relax his scepter'd hand,
And quit his ensigns of command,
Who shall the bounteous God upbraid,
While still in Friendships' robes array'd,
His homagers he ne'er deceives,
Nor till the last pulse beats, their presence leaves.