 | Poems By The Reverend Mr. Hoyland |  |
11
ODE IV. On Rural Happiness.
I
How deeply blue th'etherial Space,With burning Stars enamell'd o'er!
The Snow-clad Hills on Night's grim Face
A pale and dreadful Lustre pour.
II
Welcome sad Season of the Year,And Midnight stern, and howling Wind!
Horrors, that fright the Wolf and Bear,
Serve but to sooth my wilder Mind.
III
On this rude Cliff's tremendous Brow,Ne'er touch'd by rosy-finger'd Spring,
Where never Swain was heard to blow
The warbling Reed, or Bird to sing,
12
IV
I stand: around, in ample View,The subject Meads, and Forests lie,
And silent Streams, whose Surface blue
Reflects the Moon and starry Sky:
V
And mingled Cottages appear,Where Sleep his genuine Dew bestows,
And young Content a Cherub fair
Still smooths the Pillow of Repose.
VI
Here Peace, and Heav'n-born Virtue, reignUnrivall'd: on the Margin green
Of wrinkled Rill, in Grove, or Plain,
The smiling Pair is ever seen.
VII
Before the Lustre of their Eyes,(As Shades before the Morning Ray)
Each Soul-distemp'ring Passion flies
To crouded Halls, and Cities gay.
13
VIII
Av'rice with fancied Wants forlorn,Meagre his Look, his Mantle rude;
And stern-eyed Envy inly torn
By the fell Worm, that drinks his Blood.
IX
Mistaken Jealousy, that weepsO'er the pale Corse himself has gor'd;
And dire Revenge, that never sleeps,
Still calls for Blood, still shakes the Sword.
X
Restless Ambition, roaming o'erTh'affrighted Globe; where'er he treads,
The Fields are drench'd in human Gore,
And Cities bow their tow'ry Heads.
XI
Loud Discontent, and dumb Despair,Suspicion, glancing oft behind;
And slighted Love with frantic Air
Blaspheming Heav'n, and Stars unkind.
14
XII
Thrice happy Swains! your silent HoursThese midnight Furies ne'er molest;
Furies, that climb the loftiest Tow'rs,
And tear the splendid Tyrant's Breast.
XIII
Sleep on, blest Innocents, secure!Soon will the wintry Storms be flown;
Soon comes the Springtide, breathing pure,
And Summer Suns are all your own.
| Poems By The Reverend Mr. Hoyland | |