Poems, chiefly dramatic and lyric by the Revd. H. Boyd ... containing the following dramatic poems: The Helots, a tragedy, The Temple of Vesta, The Rivals, The Royal Message. Prize Poems, &c. &c |
Poems, chiefly dramatic and lyric | ||
546
VERSES, LEFT AT THE REV. PETER TURPIN'S,
AT BROOKVILLE, IN HIS ABSENCE, Feb. 7th, 1792.
Ah! Flora! why this dead repose?Awake and leave thy wintry tomb!
And will no breathing sweets disclose
To welcome Love and Hymen home?
How would I bribe (if songs could buy)
The seasons blessings here to join,
I'd proudly share the owner's joy,
For he would sympathize with mine!
Did I possess Golconda's store,
And all the wealth of rich Cathay,
I'd wish him neither less nor more,
Than what would give his virtues play.
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No breeze I'd call, no genial show'r,
Yet soon a green alcove should rise
To vie with Adam's nuptial bow'r.
Yon beeches should expel the day,
Yon borders long should breathe perfume,
Yon mount that mourns the sun's delay
Should rival Hybla's May-morn bloom.
Yon elmy skreen that skirts the lawn,
Should wave aloft, a solemn grove
And seem an ample curtain drawn,
To shield the seat of peace and love.
Had I Astolfo's magic horn
That chac'd the fiends with potent sound,
No pest, on blighting pinion borne
Should ever pass the hallow'd bound.
“Check thy poetic flights, my friend,”
Quintilio cry'd, and press'd my hand,
“No magic bow'rs need here ascend,
“No visionary blooms expand.
“Here some perennials still remain,
“If poets would vouchsafe to mind 'em:
“Yonder they deck your friend's demesne,
“Had you but eyes, you'd quickly find 'em.
“Here Gilead's balm, and Sharon's rose,
“Mingle, at morn, their fragrant breath;
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“Like Piety and spotless Faith.
“That flower, which never opes its breast,
“Till dews descend, and stars appear,
“Is pity for the wretch distrest,
“Unfolding at the falling tear.
“In colours warm; exuberant, full,
“Here friendship meets the ruffling gale.”
And there in sober tints, and cool,
Judgment, the pansie of the dale,
From Tyber and Ilyssus brought;
Some noble Scions deck the soil
Assembled in yon shelter'd spot,
They cast around a general smile.
Here Roman spirit, Attic sense,
Innoxious wit, and social mirth
Around their mingled sweets dispense,
Nor shame their old, illustrious birth.
Would summer's transient blooms compose
Connubial crowns with these to vie?
Then chide not Flora's dead repose
Nor blame the rigour of the sky.
When driving winds and beating rain,
The wintry prospect round deform
Their vivid tints will still remain,
Their scent exhaustless ever charm.
FINIS.
Poems, chiefly dramatic and lyric | ||