 | Poems By The Reverend Mr. Hoyland |  |
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ODE V. To Sleep.
I
Offspring of Night, whose languid Visage wearsDeath's milder Lineaments! thy friendly Art
With lenient Balm the drooping Soul repairs,
And in a sweet Oblivion laps the Heart.
Come, gentle Queen! thy noiseless Wings diffuse,
And, o'er my humble Cell, ah! shake thy opiate Dews.
II
The vent'rous Seaman, mid the rocking Shrouds,Touch'd with thy potent Wand, his Toil foregoes;
And while loud Billows mingle with the Clouds,
Hangs on the Mast in terrible Repose;
Stretch'd on his Shield beneath tempestuous Skies,
Thou bid'st the Warrior close his formidable Eyes.
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III
Then why, capricious Pow'r! to me delay'dThy Blessings? Peace protects my rural Hill:
These tranquil Haunts no ruder Sounds invade
Than drowzy Murmurs from a falling Rill;
Than the warm-whisper'd Sigh, when Lovers true,
Beneath their fav'rite Oak the tender Vow renew.
IV
I know, and I applaud thy virtuous Pride;Thou wilt not lull the Traitor's perjur'd Head:
Let mute Attendants guard their Patron's Side,
And Tapers burn, as round the noble Dead;
Yet still he wakes; yon Falchion gleaming nigh
Betrays his guilty Fears; that groan his Misery.
V
I know, that from the impure Recess of Lust,The ghastly Ruffian's Floor with Slaughter red,
Thou fly'st; and bid'st stern Conscience ever just
With all her Furies haunt th'accursed Bed;
While hideous Shrieks and livid Light appall
The Traveller wand'ring near th'inhospitable Wall.
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VI
I know, that all the Treasures of the West,Or precious Gems, that eastern Quarries hold,
Wou'd ne'er from thee obtain one Hour of Rest
For the pale Slave, whose Bosom pines for Gold:
Not all that Nature's azure Round contains,
Would bribe thee to the Roof where Hell-born Malice reigns.
VII
But am I these? My Soul indignant spurnsThe lying Imputation: yet, betray'd
To various Ills in Dust and Ashes mourns
Her Ardours quench'd, her vivid Pow'rs decay'd:
Misfortune opes her Quiver; ling'ring Pain,
And Sickness, dip the Darts in more than Indian Bane.
VIII
Some lofty Minds, that boast a firmer Frame,Adversity's rough Storms undaunted bear;
Their Faculties expanding brighter Flame,
Like Beacons blazing in a ruffled Air;
But in my feeble Heart the Spark divine
Fades as a dying Lamp, and all its Hopes decline.
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IX
Ah, when shall I, soft Sleep, thy Influence find?What happy Clime the gentle Charm will yield?
Waft me, ye Sails, where blows the tepid Wind
O'er Orange Groves, where Citron strew the Field!
Ah, no! mid these my hapless Youth has stray'd,
Nor met thy soothing Smiles beneath the fragrant Shade.
X
Is there a Sage, whose philosophic Mind,Lur'd by the Moon's wan Lustre, upward springs
Swift as the darted Beam; and, unconfin'd
Its Flight thro' planetary Wonders wings?
There may'st thou well thy useless Power restrain,
Nor with lethargic Clouds his bright Conceptions stain.
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XI
Is there a Bard, who in seraphic Lays(Sublime, and fill'd with spirit-piercing Fire)
Pours to yon list'ning Orbs his Maker's Praise?
'Twere Sacrilege to hush the holy Lyre:
A Voice forbids; and Angels glitt'ring round
Strike their symphonious Harps; while Earth and Heav'n resound.
XII
But when, like me, some pensive Wretch withdrawnFar from the World within the darkling Grove
From dewy-finger'd Eve to purple Dawn,
Bemoans his Suff'rings, like a wounded Dove;
'Tis thine to give that Boon, which now I crave,
Repose profound as Death, and silent as the Grave.
XIII
I plead in vain; regardless of my WoeNo Strain can win thee to this flutt'ring Breast;
Yet soon that Grave shall lay my Sorrows low,
Where mingled sleep th'Oppressor and Opprest;
Till Heav'n to one eternal Morn restore
My ravish'd Eyes; and thou, and Death shall be no more.
FINIS.
| Poems By The Reverend Mr. Hoyland | |