Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Tis not for vulgar souls to feel
Those sacred sympathies refin'd,
That o'er the Poet's bosom steal,
When nature, to his glowing mind,
Each varied form, each colour gives,
Where rich the bloom of beauty lives.

For him yon smooth and shadowy green
In contrast with the craggy steep,
Hath charms, by common eyes unseen;
As o'er the lawn with airy sweep
That oak's extensive foliage flows,
And to the summer-sunbeam glows.

By fancy fir'd, his eye perceives
New pleasure in the unsullied stream,
That to the rose's vivid leaves
Reflects a crimson-tinctur'd gleam;
And wanders down the daisied vale,
To the tall aspin twinkling pale.

For him yon fawns in many a maze
The splendour of the morning court;
Or group'd, enjoy the genial blaze,
As satiate of their frolic sport;
And, with a charm confest by few,
The setting glory still pursue.

He sees some faery power illume
The orient hills with richer light,
Chasing the mist's disparted gloom:
He sees, upon the mountain-height,
Some faery power the pencil hold
To paint the evening-cloud with gold.

There, as the deep and stilly shade
On night's pale bosom seems to rest,
And, from the glimmering azure, fade
The last cool tints that streak the west;
He heaves—tho' others wonder why—
He cherishes the pensive sigh.

If, then, a livelier passion move
The Poet's breast, to nature true;
If in such scenes, with looks of love,
He trace a more attractive hue;
His heart what exstacy inspires,
The female form when beauty fires!

Light, as on air, her steps advance:
Others may gaze with pleasur'd eye—
He casts a more enamour'd glance;
He breathes a more delicious sigh!
Others may hail the enchanting sight—
He faints with tremulous delight!

That graceful negligence of mien;
And, mantling as emotions rise,
The blush of languishing sixteen
To win the soul by sweet surprize;
Those tresses, which luxuriant rove
To kiss the heaving bloom of love—

And melting o'er the accordant keys
Touch'd by her rosy fingers fleet,
Those tones, which, as the dying breeze,
Mix with a voice divinely sweet—
Others unwonted ardours boast;
But, O Letitia, he is lost!

Nor less his Taste and Genius prize
The gay Honoria's artless youth;
Oft as her more effulgent eyes,
Beaming intelligence and truth,

And, kindling quick with fancy, dart
The expression of the untroubled heart—

Ere with a spirit unreprest
Her easy converse steal the hours,
Where shines, in blessing others blest,
A soul unconscious of its powers;
Ere warbled yet a woodnote wild
Proclaim her, Nature's favourite child.

And, if a Mary's glance so meek,
So gentle—so retir'd an air,
Her native loveliness bespeak;
While, as the radiance of the star
That softly gilds the evening-dew,
Her's is a trembling lustre too;

O, if her heart such feelings breathe,
So tender as her blushes tell,
His hand shall weave a modest wreath
To suit her timid sweetness well;

And ever to her worth awake,
Shall guard it for his Mary's sake.

Such are the forms he values most:
Waves the rich foliage o'er the lawn;
The dales their roseate treasures boast;
In sunny mazes sports the fawn;
The rills their liquid amber pour—
Still, still he fondly fancies more.

“Come, Mary! grace the Poet's shade;
“O come, to harmonize the whole!”
Yet, if he meet the melting maid,
Her beauty fills his ravish'd soul!
The lawn, the vale, new charms may own—
The charms he sees in her alone!