The peripatetic or, Sketches of the heart, of nature and society; In a series of politico-sentimental journals, in verse and prose, of the eccentric excursions of Sylvanus Theophrastus; Supposed to be written by himself [by John Thelwall] |
 | [I]. |
[Sweet attic warbler! poet of the skies!] |
 | II. |
| III. |
 | The peripatetic |  |
16
[Sweet attic warbler! poet of the skies!]
Sweet attic warbler! poet of the skies!
To thee not vainly comes the genial Spring
To give a sordid joy. Thy little breast,
Fond as it flutters with returning glow,
Quivers the strain of rapture, which imparts
Congenial transport to attentive man,
And pays the bounteous season, with its song,
For the kind boon her cheering smile bestows.
To thee not vainly comes the genial Spring
To give a sordid joy. Thy little breast,
Fond as it flutters with returning glow,
Quivers the strain of rapture, which imparts
Congenial transport to attentive man,
And pays the bounteous season, with its song,
For the kind boon her cheering smile bestows.
Wake, sons of earth! who boast superior souls,
And hail the healthful gales with equal gratitude,
And give to other hearts the bliss ye feel.
The season teems instruction; and each gale
Pregnant with lib'ral blessings, far-diffus'd,
Whispers the strain of soul-expanding love—
Of love etherial! such whose genial tear,
Roll'd down the cheek of cherub-thron'd Compassion,
Melts the obdurate frost of stern distress,
And gives the stream of hope again to flow.
And hail the healthful gales with equal gratitude,
And give to other hearts the bliss ye feel.
The season teems instruction; and each gale
Pregnant with lib'ral blessings, far-diffus'd,
Whispers the strain of soul-expanding love—
Of love etherial! such whose genial tear,
Roll'd down the cheek of cherub-thron'd Compassion,
Melts the obdurate frost of stern distress,
And gives the stream of hope again to flow.
Yes, all is hope, and gratitude, and joy!
Murmurs this prattling rill—whose margeant turf
Drinks from its lucid urn a livelier hue—
Murmurs it not of peace and thankful praise?
Teems not the herbage thick with grateful dew?
Which, heaven-ascending, decks the radiant face
Of yonder azure sky, that sheds its smiles
To cheer the wak'ning verdure, and adorn
With gay enamel all its foodful turf!
Ah! joins not all—all Nature's gen'ral voice
To swell the chorus of yon strain of joy?
Murmurs this prattling rill—whose margeant turf
Drinks from its lucid urn a livelier hue—
Murmurs it not of peace and thankful praise?
Teems not the herbage thick with grateful dew?
Which, heaven-ascending, decks the radiant face
Of yonder azure sky, that sheds its smiles
To cheer the wak'ning verdure, and adorn
With gay enamel all its foodful turf!
Ah! joins not all—all Nature's gen'ral voice
To swell the chorus of yon strain of joy?
17
Then pour—sweet poet of the radiant morn!
Pour thy loud hymn of rapture on the ear
Of All-bestowing Providence! nor cease
Till Philomela, from the list'ning woods,
With other strains relieve thy wearied throat:
Strains seeming sad, and solemn as the hour;
Though yet of like devotion with thy own:
Instructive her's of resignation's charm,
And thine instinct with gratitude and love!
Pour thy loud hymn of rapture on the ear
Of All-bestowing Providence! nor cease
Till Philomela, from the list'ning woods,
With other strains relieve thy wearied throat:
Strains seeming sad, and solemn as the hour;
Though yet of like devotion with thy own:
Instructive her's of resignation's charm,
And thine instinct with gratitude and love!
| The peripatetic | |