University of Virginia Library

BOOK I.

O'er yon fair lawn, where oft in various talk
The fav'ring Muses join'd our evening walk,
Up yonder hill that rears its crest sublime,
Where we were wont with gradual steps to climb,
To hear the Lark her earliest matin sing,
And woo the dew-bath'd zephyrs on the wing;
Fast by yon shed, of roots and verdure made,
Where we have paus'd, companions of the shade
In yonder cot just seated on the brow,
Whence, unobserv'd, we view'd the world below;
Whence oft we cull'd fit objects for our song,
From land or ocean widely stretch'd along;
The morning vapours passing thro' the vale,
The distant turret or the lessening sail,
The pointed cliff which overhangs the main,
The breezy upland, or the opening plain;
The misty traveller yet dimly seen,
And every hut which neighbours on the green,
Or down yon foot-way saunter'd by the stream,
Whose little rills ran tinkling to the theme,
More softly touch'd the woe in Hammond's lay,
Or laps'd responsive to the lyre of Gray;
O'er these dear bounds like one forlorn I roam,
O'er these dear bounds, I fondly call'd my home.
Whence this neglect? say, in thy lov'd domain,
Where all the virtues in thy presence reign;
Where gathering round thee, youth and age conspire,
While some as brother court thee, some as sire;
Where all the social passions fondly blend,
To give the smiling neighbourhood a friend;
Where somewhat of thy gentle heart is seen,
A grace, or goodness, adding to the green;
Where the babe lisps thy bounties on the knee,
And second childhood leans its crutch on thee;
Whence this neglect? Ingratitude retreat!
Go: and in shades less sacred fix thy seat:
Go to the treach'rous world, thy proper sphere;
But oh! forbear to scatter poisons here:
About this dwelling and these harmless bounds,
Friendship and love alone should take their rounds,
Fair as the blossoms which the walls sustain,
Rich as the fruits, and generous as the grain;
Secure as yonder warblers nesting near,
Like Honour steady, and like faith sincere.
“But soft, my friend! tho' shrubs and bow'rs remain
The fix'd productions of th' unconscious plain;
Though these no gentle sympathies can know,
But as the planter bends them learn to grow;
To higher parts as nature lifts her plan,
The kinder creatures, haply, feel for man;
The tame domestics, which attend his board,
Haply partake the fortune of their lord,
His presence hail, his absence long deplore,
Droop as he droops, and die when he's no more
Pleas'd at the thought, still onward let me tread,
Where flocks and herds diversify the mead,
Where breathing odours, winnow'd by the gale,
Fan the soft bosom of the smiling vale;
The rooks behind their brawling councils hold,
And the proud peacock trails his train of gold;
Around the doves their purple plumage show,
And clucking poultry saunter, pleas'd, below;
While there the house-dog, with accustom'd glee,
Fawns on the hind—as late he fawn'd on thee.
These crop the food, those press the flow'ry bed
Nor weep the absent, nor bewail the dead;
Their stinted feelings seem but half awake,
Dull as yon steer now slumbering on the brake.
Whence then the gloom that shrouds the summer sky?
Whence the warm tear now gathering in my eye?
And whence the change when bosom friends depart?
From fancy striking on the feeling heart.
Oh should I follow where she leads the way,
What magic meteor to her touch would play!
Then, far from thee, this sun which gilds my brow
In deep eclipse would darken all below;
The herds, tho' now plain reason sees them feed,
Smit by her touch would languish in the mead;
The breeze which now disports with yonder spray,
The flocks which pant beneath the heat of day,
The pendant copse in partial shadows drest,
The scanty herbage on the mountain's crest,
The balmy pow'rs that mix with every gale,
The glassy lakes that fertilize the dale,
Struck by her mystic sceptre all would fade,
And sudden sadness brood along the shade.
As poets sing, thus Fancy takes her range,
Whose winds æthereal waves a general change;
A change, which yielding Reason still obeys,
For scepter'd Reason oft with Fancy plays;
Soon as the gen'rous master leaves his home,
What vision'd sorrows deep invest the dome?
Soon as the much-lov'd mistress quits the scene,
No longer smiles the grateful earth in green:
In solemn sable ev'ry flow'r appears,
And skies relent in sympathising tears!
Scarce had the bard of Leasowe's lov'd domain
Clos'd his dimm'd eye upon the pensive plain,
Ere birds and beasts funereal honours paid,
Mourn'd their lov'd lord and sought the desart shade;
His gayest meads a serious habit wore,
His larks would sing, his lambs would frisk no more,
A deeper cadence murmur'd from his floods,
Cimerian horror brooded o'er his woods:
At ev'ry solemn pause, the raven scream'd,
The sun set sanguine, and the dog-star gleam'd;
But chief the conscious laurels droop'd their head,
While every bower its leafy honours shed;
Around his walks the Muses wander'd slow,
And hung their lyres on every naked bough.
Yet separate facts from fairy scenes like these,
Nature, we find, still keeps her first decrees;
The order due which at her birth was giv'n,
Still forms th' unchanging law of earth and heav'n,
In one fair tenor, on the circle goes,
And no obstruction no confusion knows.
When Shenstone, nay, when Shakespeare press'd the tomb,
The shrubs that saw their fate maintain'd their bloom;
Clear ran the streams to their accustom'd shore,
Nor gave one bubble less, one murmur more;
Nor did a single leaf, a simple flower,
Or fade or fall to mark their mortal hour.
But, is it Fancy all! what, no reserve?
From one dull course can nature never swerve?
Is change of seasons all the change she knows,
From autumn's sickly heats to winter snows;
From chilling spring, to summer's dog-star rage;
From boy to man, from man to crawling age?
These her transitions, ling'ring, sad, and slow,
Whence then, in these lov'd shades, my bosom's woe?
Ah! is it Fancy, that, with silent pace,
Impels me thus to range from place to place;
To see on ev'ry side an harvest bend,
Yet look on ev'ry side to find my friend?
Or is it fancy makes yon village train,—
For now 'tis ev'ning,—sport around in vain?
That plighted pairs, amidst the hazel boughs,
By me unseen, impart their tender vows;
While unsuspicious of a witness near,
They mix with Nature's language, Nature's tear?
That twilight's gentle grey which now comes on,
To wait, a sober hand-maid on the sun,
To watch his parting tinge, his soften'd fires,
Then blush with maiden grace as he retires;
The full-orb'd moon, which now ascending high
Her silver shade throws light across the sky;
The still serene that seems to lull the breeze,
Soft in a leafy cradle 'midst the trees;
The lessen'd sound of yonder distant bell,
Some mournful moral in each pausing knell;
The dropping dew that settles on my cheek,
The frugal lights that from each cottage break;
The just-dropp'd latch, the little lattice clos'd,
To shield from evening's damp the babe repos'd,
And note the hour when temperance and health
Yield the pale vigils of the night to wealth.
Say, is it vision'd Fancy works the charm,
When these blest objects lose their power to warm?
Ah! no; from other sources spring the smart,
Its source is here, hard pressing on my heart.
Yes, 'tis the heart, my friend, which rules the eye,
And turns a gloomy to a cloudless sky;
The soft magician governs ev'ry scene,
Blossoms the rock, or desolates the green;
Along the heath bids fancied roses blow,
And sunshine rise upon a world of snow.
Yes, 'tis the heart endears each smiling plain,
Or to his native mountain binds the swain;
His native mountain where his cottage stands,
More lov'd, more dear, than all the neighb'ring lands;
For tho' the blast be keen, the soil be bare,
His friends, his wife, his little ones are there.
Oh, had the brother of my heart been nigh,
When morning threw her mantle o'er the sky;
Or when gay noon a gaudier robe display'd,
Or modest ev'ning drew her softest shade;
Then had the shrubs breath'd forth their full perfume,
And like his flow'rs my feelings been in bloom
For still to prove the naturel bias right,
Should each fair season with each sense unite.
Man's favour'd soul then tracing thro' each state,
Behold it fitted for a social fate;
Behold how ev'ry link in nature tends
One chain to form of relatives and friends.
One chain, unnumber'd beings to confine,
Till all affimilate and all combine.
Yon spacious dome, which earth and sea commands,
Where Lelius dresses his paternal lands;
Where water gushes, and where woods extends,
To share each beauty, Lelius calls his friends;
A desert scene, 'till they adorn his bow'rs;
A naked waste, till they partake his flow'rs,
Nor this, though sweet, the greatest bliss he feels,
That greatest bliss his modesty conceals.
Pass the green slope which bounds his fair domain,
And seek the valley drooping from the plain;
There, in a blossom'd nook, by pomp unseen,
An aged couple lead a life serene;
And there, behind those elms, a sickly pair
Exchange their labours for a softer care:
'Twas Lelius that gave to sickness this repose,
And plac'd life's second cradle near th' rose;
In his own hall though louder joys prevail,
A dearer transport whispers from the vale;
Though mirth and frolic echo thro' the dome,
In those small cots his bosom finds a home.
Fame, fortune, friends, can Providence give more?
Go, ask of Heav'n the blessings of the poor!
A greater comfort would you still supply?
Then wipe the tear from Sorrow's streaming eye;
For social kindness to another shown,
Expands the bliss to make it more your own.
Lo! the rude savage, naked and untaught,
Shares with his mate what arts and arms have caught;
When winter darkness clouds his long, long night,
See how he strives to find the social light;
His woodland wife, his forest children dear,
Smooth the bleak storms that sadden half his year.
For them he tracks the monster in the snow;
For them he hurls his sling, and twangs his bow.
Nor scorching sunshine, nor the driving show'r,
Nor vollied thunder, nor the light'ning's pow'r,
Nor climes, where sickness pants in every breeze,
Nor worlds of ice, where nature seems to freeze,
Check the fair principle, which bursts away,
Like yon blest sun, when clouds attempt his ray.
Hence, ever lean the feeble on the strong,
As tender sires their children lead along;
While, by degrees, as transient life declines,
And blooming youth to withering age resigns,
The social passion shifts with place and time,
And tender sires are led by sons in prime;
The guide becomes the guided in his turn,
While child and parent different duties learn.
Not then from fancy only, from the heart,
Pours the keen anguish on th' immortal part,
And Truth herself destroys the bloom of May,
When Death or Fortune tears a friend away;
From virtuous passion, virtuous feeling, flows
The grief that dims the lily and the rose.
Drops a soft sorrow for a friend in dust?
There, Truth and Fancy both may rear the bust;
While one pours forth the tribute of the heart;
The other plies her visionary art,
Potent she calls her airy spectres round,
And bids them instant consecrate the ground;
Fancy presides as sov'reign of the scene,
And darkens every leaf of every green;
Whilst Reason loves to mix with her's the tear,
And the fair mourners form a league sincere;
Her airy visions Fancy may impart,
And Reason listen to the charmer's art.
In life's fair morn, I knew an aged seer,
Who sad and lonely past his joyless year;
Betray'd, heart-broken, from the world he ran,
And shunn'd, oh dire extreme! the face of man;
Humbly he rear'd his hut within the wood,
Hermit his vest, a hermit's was his food,
Nitch'd in some corner of the gelid cave,
Where chilling drops the rugged rockstone lave
Hour after hour, the melancholy sage,
Drop after drop to reckon, would engage
The ling'ring day, and trickling as they fell,
A tear went with them to the narrow well;
Then thus he moraliz'd as slow it past,
“This, brings me nearer Lucia than the last;
“And this, now streaming from the eye,” said he,
“Oh! my lov'd child, will bring me nearer thee?’
When first he roam'd, his dog with anxious care,
His wand'rings watch'd, as emulous to share;
In vain the faithful brute was bid to go,
In vain the sorrower sought a lonely woe.
The Hermit paus'd, th' attendant dog was near,
Slept at his feet, and caught the falling tear;
Up rose the Hermit, up the dog would rise,
And every way to win a master tries.
“Then be it so. Come, faithful fool,” he said;
One pat encourag'd, and they sought the shade;
An unfrequented thicket soon they found,
And both repos'd upon the leafy ground;
Mellifluous murm'rings told the fountains nigh,
Fountains, which well a pilgrim's drink supply.
And thence, by many a labyrinth it led,
Where ev'ry tree bestow'd an ev'ning bed;
Skill'd in the chace, the faithful creature brought
Whate'er at morn or moon-light course he caught;
But the sage lent his sympathy to all,
Nor saw unwept his dumb associates fall;
He was, in sooth, the gentlest of his kind,
And though a hermit, had a social mind:
“And why, said he, must man subsist by prey,
“Why stop yon melting music on the spray?
“Why, when assail'd by hounds and hunter's cry,
“Must half the harmless race in terrors die?
“Why must we work of innocence the woe?
“Still shall this bosom throb, these eyes o'erflow;
“A heart too tender here from man retires,
“A heart that aches, if but a wren expires.”
Thus liv'd the master good, the servant true,
'Till to its God the master's spirit flew;
Beside a fount which daily water gave,
Stooping to drink, the Hermit found a grave;
All in the running stream his garments spread,
And dark, damp verdure ill conceal'd his head;
The faithful servant from that fatal day
Watch'd the lov'd corpse, and hourly pin'd away:
His head upon his master's cheek was found,
While the obstructed waters mourn'd around.
But sordid fouls are ever in distress,
To bless himself each must a second bless;
Then kindle on 'till he the world embrace,
And in love's Cæstus gird the human race.
Thus social grief can finer joys impart
Than the dull pleasures of a miser's heart:
Thus with more force can melancholy warm,
Than wild ambition's solitary charm.
And oh, just heav'n, what gift canst thou bestow,
What gem so precious as a tear for woe?
A tear more full of thee, oh pow'r divine,
Than all the dross that ripens in the mine!
As man with man, with creature creature keeps,
In summer feeds in view, in winter creeps
More fondly close; but take the lamb apart
From its lov'd mother, then the social heart
'Plains in its voice, while sad, the dam around
Bleats at the theft, and leaves uncropt the ground.
In yonder huts, at this profound of night,
The twelfth hour striking as the line I write,
In yonder scatter'd huts, now ev'ry swain,
With ev'ry maid and matron of the plain,
In sleep's soft arms on wholsome pallets prest,
Breathe forth the social passion as they rest:
But should dire fate the father make its prey,
Or snatch untimely one lov'd child away;
Or bear the faithful housewife to the tomb,
Or should the damsel sicken In her bloom,
No aid from fancy seeks the sorrowing heart,
But truth, with force unborrow'd, points the dart.
For me, as weary of myself I rise,
To seek the rest which wakeful thought denies?
O'er the lov'd mansion as I lonely range,
Condemn'd at ev'ry step to feel the change;
Through each apartment, where so oft my heart
Hath shar'd each grace of nature and of art,
Where memory marks each object that I see,
And fills the bosom, oh my friend, with thee;
Through each apartment as I pass along,
Pause for relief, and then pursue my song;
For me, who now with midnight taper go,
To lose in sleep's oblivious shade my woe,
No greater good my closing thoughts can bless,
Ere this remember'd, little couch I press,
Than the sweet hope that at this sacred hour
My friend enjoys kind nature's balmy power;
Than the soft wish which on my bended knee,
I offer up, Eliza, warm for thee!
Wife of my friend, alike my faithful care,
Alike the object of each gentle pray'r;
Far distant tho' thou art, thy worth is near,
And my heart seals its blessing with a tear.