 | Poetical essays on Several Occasions |  |
1
THE RETREAT:
OR Contemplative Solitude. Inscribed to the Right Honourable the Countess of HERTFORD.
Non est quod contemnas hoc studendi genus. Mirum est
ut animus à recessu agresti, motuque corporis excitetur.
Jam undiq; silvæ & solitudo, ipsumq; silentium magna
cogitationis incitamenta sunt. Experieris non Dianam
magis montibus, quam Minervam inerrare.
Plin. Epist. Lib. 1.
Come, all ye sable, solitary Train,
Offspring of Nature, or the Poet's Brain;
Come, follow me to yonder gloomy Grove,
Or o'er the desert Mountain with me rove;
Come, and be Witness to a Hermit's Plaints;
Come, slow, and silent, as the Shades of Saints;
While, tir'd with human Sounds, and vulgar Sport,
The Buzz of Crouds, and Follies of a Court,
I trace the deep Recesses of the Mind,
And, charm'd with Nature, leave the World behind.
Offspring of Nature, or the Poet's Brain;
Come, follow me to yonder gloomy Grove,
Or o'er the desert Mountain with me rove;
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Come, slow, and silent, as the Shades of Saints;
While, tir'd with human Sounds, and vulgar Sport,
The Buzz of Crouds, and Follies of a Court,
I trace the deep Recesses of the Mind,
And, charm'd with Nature, leave the World behind.
Whilst I to you shall sing, the Wilds among,
Hertford will listen, and approve the Song,
Her Presence makes the rudest Wilds polite,
Mute Groves grow tuneful, and dark Grotto's bright,
Gives Bloom to Winter, Elegance to Cells,
And from the Desert Solitude dispells.
Hertford will listen, and approve the Song,
Her Presence makes the rudest Wilds polite,
Mute Groves grow tuneful, and dark Grotto's bright,
Gives Bloom to Winter, Elegance to Cells,
And from the Desert Solitude dispells.
Farewel, ye Towns, the Theatres of Noise,
Empty Amusements, and fantastic Joys;
Adieu to all the Pageantry of State,
The vain Parade, and Splendor of the Great.
To rural Scenes, to rural Sweets I fly,
And view the Country with a ravish'd Eye:
And, ere the tall majestic Trees appear,
The Chorus of the Woods, in Fancy, hear;
The painted Natives are already seen,
And visionary Fields, bedeck'd with Green.
Thus pines the Mariner, by Tempests tost,
Impatient, lingring on some barren Coast,
While happier Climes, rich Ganges, or Peru,
Or spicy Isles are imag'd to his View.
Empty Amusements, and fantastic Joys;
Adieu to all the Pageantry of State,
The vain Parade, and Splendor of the Great.
To rural Scenes, to rural Sweets I fly,
And view the Country with a ravish'd Eye:
3
The Chorus of the Woods, in Fancy, hear;
The painted Natives are already seen,
And visionary Fields, bedeck'd with Green.
Thus pines the Mariner, by Tempests tost,
Impatient, lingring on some barren Coast,
While happier Climes, rich Ganges, or Peru,
Or spicy Isles are imag'd to his View.
Now, midst unfolding Lawns, entranc'd, I stand,
Struck with unclouded Skies, and verdant Land,
Within the Breast ecstatic Transport reigns,
So thrills soft Musick thro' the tingling Veins.
The colour'd Fields, which in gay Landskips rise,
Reveal Ten Thousand Beauties to my Eyes,
Where various Nature, in Profusion, pours
Embroider'd Robes, pure Sweets, and painted Bowers:
On ev'ry Side Mosaic Meads are seen,
Inlaid with Flowers, enamell'd o'er with Green.
Struck with unclouded Skies, and verdant Land,
Within the Breast ecstatic Transport reigns,
So thrills soft Musick thro' the tingling Veins.
The colour'd Fields, which in gay Landskips rise,
Reveal Ten Thousand Beauties to my Eyes,
Where various Nature, in Profusion, pours
Embroider'd Robes, pure Sweets, and painted Bowers:
On ev'ry Side Mosaic Meads are seen,
Inlaid with Flowers, enamell'd o'er with Green.
4
Sometimes, more studious, with attentive Ears,
I catch the tuneful Rhetoric of the Spheres,
Which, o'er the still Expanse, incessant speaks,
And from the vocal Hills Pindaric breaks.
I catch the tuneful Rhetoric of the Spheres,
Which, o'er the still Expanse, incessant speaks,
And from the vocal Hills Pindaric breaks.
Here, cleans'd in wholsome Air, from Dust and Smoke,
I hail the Mountains, and the Groves invoke.
So freed from Dregs of pestilential Air,
The tainted Turks for distant Skies prepare;
So were polluted Jews of old made pure,
Ere they approach'd the consecrated Door.
I hail the Mountains, and the Groves invoke.
So freed from Dregs of pestilential Air,
The tainted Turks for distant Skies prepare;
So were polluted Jews of old made pure,
Ere they approach'd the consecrated Door.
Welcome, blest Grove! and no less sacred Shade,
By Silence hallow'd, and for Sages made.
Welcome, blest Freedom! here the Goddess dwells,
With simple Majesty, in peaceful Cells.
Oft banish'd from the Plains by barbarous Sports,
And tir'd with tinsel Pomp, and guilty Courts,
Affrighted, here she quietly resorts.
No glitt'ring Gems, no Tyrian Robes she wears,
But great, without an Equipage, appears:
Pensive, some Tears she sheds, and looks behind,
With sorrowing Eyes, sad Exile of Mankind!
So the brave Roman, banish'd from his Home,
Pitying, look'd back, and wept o'er Orphan Rome.
By Silence hallow'd, and for Sages made.
Welcome, blest Freedom! here the Goddess dwells,
With simple Majesty, in peaceful Cells.
Oft banish'd from the Plains by barbarous Sports,
And tir'd with tinsel Pomp, and guilty Courts,
Affrighted, here she quietly resorts.
5
But great, without an Equipage, appears:
Pensive, some Tears she sheds, and looks behind,
With sorrowing Eyes, sad Exile of Mankind!
So the brave Roman, banish'd from his Home,
Pitying, look'd back, and wept o'er Orphan Rome.
These are the silent Seats of Love and Rest,
By Men forsook, but once by Gods possess'd.
Here, slighted Poets have their Lawrels found,
And seen themselves with Nature's Trophies crown'd,
In Poverty and Want, here met Repose,
Sung to the Woods, and smil'd amidst their Woes.
'Twas here, the antient Godlike Heroes dwelt;
Here, the first Bards their Inspiration felt:
In Shades, Apollo's Muse, and Orpheus sung;
And Grecian Groves with learned Echoes rung;
Each Field was throng'd with Academic Youths;
Each Hill resounded with Athenian Truths;
To Harps and Odes the vocal Riv'lets flow'd,
And on each Mountain dwelt some Genial God.
By Men forsook, but once by Gods possess'd.
Here, slighted Poets have their Lawrels found,
And seen themselves with Nature's Trophies crown'd,
In Poverty and Want, here met Repose,
Sung to the Woods, and smil'd amidst their Woes.
'Twas here, the antient Godlike Heroes dwelt;
Here, the first Bards their Inspiration felt:
In Shades, Apollo's Muse, and Orpheus sung;
And Grecian Groves with learned Echoes rung;
Each Field was throng'd with Academic Youths;
Each Hill resounded with Athenian Truths;
6
And on each Mountain dwelt some Genial God.
To British Bards the Woods were sacred too,
Where holy Druids liv'd, conceal'd from View;
Solemn their Shades, and from the hallow'd Oak,
With mystic Sound, tremendous Accents broke.
In such Esteem were rural Scenes of old,
Now chang'd for Greatness, and despis'd for Gold!
Gold, thou false Idol of a sordid Age,
For thee, what Vot'ry's fight, what Kingdoms rage?
For thee, what Pray'rs ascend, what constant Vows?
To thee the Merchant sighs, the Statesman bows:
All Sects unite, and worship at thy Shrine,
And own thy glitt'ring Altar all-divine.
Where holy Druids liv'd, conceal'd from View;
Solemn their Shades, and from the hallow'd Oak,
With mystic Sound, tremendous Accents broke.
In such Esteem were rural Scenes of old,
Now chang'd for Greatness, and despis'd for Gold!
Gold, thou false Idol of a sordid Age,
For thee, what Vot'ry's fight, what Kingdoms rage?
For thee, what Pray'rs ascend, what constant Vows?
To thee the Merchant sighs, the Statesman bows:
All Sects unite, and worship at thy Shrine,
And own thy glitt'ring Altar all-divine.
But thus revolving, whither do I rove?
Lost in the grateful Horrors of the Grove;
In Love with Error, thro' the Vistas stray,
Pleas'd, in such lonely Wilds, to lose my Way,
Now on some flow'ry Bank I rest my Head;
On high, the Trees a gloomy Covering spread;
Only some Rays of Light break in between,
And Spots of Splendor beautify the Green.
So, thro' the sable Canopy of Night,
The Stars appear in Points of glowing Light.
Lost in the grateful Horrors of the Grove;
In Love with Error, thro' the Vistas stray,
Pleas'd, in such lonely Wilds, to lose my Way,
7
On high, the Trees a gloomy Covering spread;
Only some Rays of Light break in between,
And Spots of Splendor beautify the Green.
So, thro' the sable Canopy of Night,
The Stars appear in Points of glowing Light.
'Tis here, the Soul a heav'nly Calm enjoys,
No irksome Thought the still Composure cloys:
In soft Tranquility declines the Day,
And Time, on Wings of Quiet, glides away.
Thus soars the Bird of Jove, serene on high,
And, pois'd with even Pinions, sweeps the Sky.
No irksome Thought the still Composure cloys:
In soft Tranquility declines the Day,
And Time, on Wings of Quiet, glides away.
Thus soars the Bird of Jove, serene on high,
And, pois'd with even Pinions, sweeps the Sky.
Now, weary of the dark, o'ercasted Scene,
New Pleasure rises from the open Plain;
Where gilded Mountains, and the azure Sky,
With sunny Prospects, gleaming, glad the Eye.
New Pleasure rises from the open Plain;
Where gilded Mountains, and the azure Sky,
With sunny Prospects, gleaming, glad the Eye.
8
Here, nods the Brow of some romantic Hill,
Enthron'd in Trees, while all around is still;
All but the Murmurs of far falling Streams,
Lulling soft Slumbers, and Poetic Dreams.
Enthron'd in Trees, while all around is still;
All but the Murmurs of far falling Streams,
Lulling soft Slumbers, and Poetic Dreams.
The peaceful lowing Herds stand mute around,
Their solid Necks reclining to the Ground;
Or half digested Food, with steady View,
And pensive Posture, ruminating chew.
Their solid Necks reclining to the Ground;
Or half digested Food, with steady View,
And pensive Posture, ruminating chew.
O happy Race, by Instinct only led,
To Good unerring, by kind Nature bred:
Nature whose constant Light points out their Way:
But, bless'd with Reason, we politely stray!
To Good unerring, by kind Nature bred:
Nature whose constant Light points out their Way:
But, bless'd with Reason, we politely stray!
Fast by, a slow, deep Stream in Silence flows,
On whose cool Banks the sable Willow grows,
Spreading afar a melancholy Scene,
And with dark Shadows black'ning all the Green.
On whose cool Banks the sable Willow grows,
Spreading afar a melancholy Scene,
And with dark Shadows black'ning all the Green.
9
Now barren Wastes invite a wilder Lay,
Where savage Beasts have mark'd the lonely Way,
Where huge deformed Rocks salute the Eye,
And pendant Herbs wave near the shaded Sky.
And here some dreary Cave, with Aspect rude,
Allures the Mind to pleasing Solitude,
Hung with the Ivy's venerable Wreaths,
Where the hoarse Raven nightly Accents breathes;
Where humid Hart's-tongue flourishes alone;
And silver Moss creeps o'er the dewy Stone;
While falling Drops the silent Moments mark,
And mock the Adder, hissing in the Dark.
Where savage Beasts have mark'd the lonely Way,
Where huge deformed Rocks salute the Eye,
And pendant Herbs wave near the shaded Sky.
And here some dreary Cave, with Aspect rude,
Allures the Mind to pleasing Solitude,
Hung with the Ivy's venerable Wreaths,
Where the hoarse Raven nightly Accents breathes;
Where humid Hart's-tongue flourishes alone;
And silver Moss creeps o'er the dewy Stone;
While falling Drops the silent Moments mark,
And mock the Adder, hissing in the Dark.
Oft in the Veil, and solemn Cope of Night,
The Moon's pale Orb appears with trembling Light.
Hail, Queen of half the Year! whose silver Chair,
In clouded State, majestic gilds the Air.
The lonely Bird to his own Echo hoots,
And, thro' the Gloom, desponding Accents shoots.
Sweet, afar off, the pensive Nightingale
To vocal Woods tells her lamenting Tale.
Oh, blissful Bird! to live secure alone,
And to the Trees and Stars repeat thy Moan:
Wisest and sweeest of the tuneful Throng,
Nature is only Witness to thy Song:
What others shun is thy contented Choice,
Nor Noise, nor Envy, interrupt thy Voice;
Pleas'd with thy warbling, I my Lays resign,
Forsake the bright Assembly of the Nine,
And leave their Musick, heav'nly Bird! for thine.
The Moon's pale Orb appears with trembling Light.
Hail, Queen of half the Year! whose silver Chair,
In clouded State, majestic gilds the Air.
The lonely Bird to his own Echo hoots,
And, thro' the Gloom, desponding Accents shoots.
10
To vocal Woods tells her lamenting Tale.
Oh, blissful Bird! to live secure alone,
And to the Trees and Stars repeat thy Moan:
Wisest and sweeest of the tuneful Throng,
Nature is only Witness to thy Song:
What others shun is thy contented Choice,
Nor Noise, nor Envy, interrupt thy Voice;
Pleas'd with thy warbling, I my Lays resign,
Forsake the bright Assembly of the Nine,
And leave their Musick, heav'nly Bird! for thine.
| Poetical essays on Several Occasions | |