University of Virginia Library

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44

TO SARAH, COUNTESS OF RUMFORD.

WRITTEN BY REQUEST, JANUARY, 1811.

The winds that breathe our mansions round,
So long and loud that Fancy's ear
Oft hears in each distressful sound
The groanings of the dying year—
These winds, though harsh their notes we deem,
Ere long shall sweep a softer string;
E'en now their tones but preludes seem
To merrier music from the spring.
That spring, as wont, a frolic fair,
Whene'er she treads our hills again,
Shall tempt thy truant steps to dare
Once more the perils of the main.
What powerful, what resistless hand
Beckons thee o'er a waste of wave,
Where other hills o'ertop the land,
Whose borders other waters lave?

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45

Thy Sire's? Ah, then no longer fail!
Cheer him, who cheers a grateful age;
And winged by duty, fly to hail
At once the father and the sage!
Oft the false lights that learning shows,
But lead the 'wildered wretch astray;
The meteor, Genius, often glows
Only to dazzle or dismay.
A nobler image pictures him;
(No baleful star in vengeance hurled;)
The Central Orb, whose blessed beam
Not only lights but warms the world.
Go then!—yet ah, could wish of mine
Embodied wait upon thy will,
'T would cause the sweetest suns to shine,
And bid the boist'rous gales be still!
Be thine the tributary hours
That Judgment rules, that Taste refines;
May Art present her fruits and flowers,
And Science ope her thousand mines.
Farewell! yet one request remains:
When Gallia's gayer scenes are shown,
Forget not, 'mid her fairy plains,
The modest merits of thine own.

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46

The humble pleasures deck our soil—
Pleasures which, simple as they seem,
Have ever mocked the worldling's toil,
And fled the guilty, gilded scene.
Wearied with flights the world around,
(Whilst war's red deluge drowns the rest,)
The doves of Peace at length have found
Within our ark a sheltered nest.
Here enterprise and toil engage,
And friendship firm, and awful truth.
Here kindness cheers the frost of age,
And counsel checks the fire of youth.
These are our boast—nor here alone
The social graces love to dwell;
But hallowed still in every home,
The hermit-virtues find a cell.
Here Temp'rance rules our vain desires,
Toil lifts—Contentment soothes the mind,
And holy Hope to heaven aspires,
And leaves the less'ning world behind.