The Peacock at Home; and Other Poems By Mrs. Dorset [i.e. Charlotte Smith] |
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WRITTEN IN SOUTHAMPTON IN 1806. |
 | The Peacock at Home; and Other Poems |  |
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WRITTEN IN SOUTHAMPTON IN 1806.
Thus didst thou smile, enchanting scene!
Thus Summer's hand in freshest green,
These oak-crown'd banks had dress'd;
So shone the sun in cloudless pride,
Such the blue heav'n the sparkling tide
Reflected on its breast.
Thus Summer's hand in freshest green,
These oak-crown'd banks had dress'd;
So shone the sun in cloudless pride,
Such the blue heav'n the sparkling tide
Reflected on its breast.
When gay of heart I sought thy strand,
To join a lov'd and social band,
In youth's delightful hours;
Joy in each bosom then beat high,
And pleasure beam'd from every eye,
And health and hope were ours.
To join a lov'd and social band,
In youth's delightful hours;
Joy in each bosom then beat high,
And pleasure beam'd from every eye,
And health and hope were ours.
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As yonder glancing sun-beam falls,
With glowing light on Calshot's walls,
And Vesta's purple height;
Soften'd by distance, so appears
In hope's false glass our future years,
To youth's deluded sight.
With glowing light on Calshot's walls,
And Vesta's purple height;
Soften'd by distance, so appears
In hope's false glass our future years,
To youth's deluded sight.
As with white sail and pennants gay,
Our gallant vessel won its way,
And caught the playful wind;
We fondly thought that such wou'd be
Our voyage thro' life's tempestuous sea,
Nor reck'd the storms behind.
Our gallant vessel won its way,
And caught the playful wind;
We fondly thought that such wou'd be
Our voyage thro' life's tempestuous sea,
Nor reck'd the storms behind.
We thought not then of threatening skies,
Nor yet what adverse winds might rise,
To drive us from the coast;
That tempest-tost on passion's tide,
How soon—unskill'd the helm to guide,
Might shipwreck'd peace be lost.
Nor yet what adverse winds might rise,
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That tempest-tost on passion's tide,
How soon—unskill'd the helm to guide,
Might shipwreck'd peace be lost.
Ah! why will memory once more,
Fond thoughts and vain regrets restore,
By time almost effac'd;
Why bid me count of that fair train,
How few! and those what wrecks,
To tell of tempests past?
Fond thoughts and vain regrets restore,
By time almost effac'd;
Why bid me count of that fair train,
How few! and those what wrecks,
To tell of tempests past?
Far happiest they, whose struggles o'er,
Have reach'd the port on death's safe shore,
And clos'd their troubl'ous day;
While my frail bark must still abide,
Neglect's cold winds, and sorrow's tide,
And urge her lonely way.
Have reach'd the port on death's safe shore,
And clos'd their troubl'ous day;
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Neglect's cold winds, and sorrow's tide,
And urge her lonely way.
But dark despair can ne'er o'erwhelm,
While Fortitude still keeps the helm,
With Patience at her side;
While Hope still points to happier lands,
And Faith entrusts to mortal hands,
Her compass for their guide.
While Fortitude still keeps the helm,
With Patience at her side;
While Hope still points to happier lands,
And Faith entrusts to mortal hands,
Her compass for their guide.
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