The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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 | III. |
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| THE INVITATION.
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| IV. |
 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
THE INVITATION.
ADDRESSED TO MR. C[HARLES] O[RR].
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these
A youth of labour with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since he cannot conquer, learns to fly.
Goldsmith.
A youth of labour with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since he cannot conquer, learns to fly.
Goldsmith.
From Schuylkill's rural banks, o'erlooking wide
The glitt'ring pomp of Philadelphia's pride,
From laurel groves that bloom for ever here,
I hail my dearest friend with heart sincere,
And fondly ask, nay, ardently implore
One kind excursion to my cot once more.
The fairest scenes that ever blest the year,
Now o'er our vales and yellow plains appear:
The richest harvests choke each loaded field,
The ruddiest fruit our glowing orchards yield:
In green, and gold, and purple plumes array'd,
The gayest songsters chant in ev'ry shade.
O, could the Muse but faithfully pourtray
The various pipes that hymn our rising day!
Whose thrilling melody can banish care,
Cheer the lone heart, and almost soothe despair;
My grateful verse should with their praises glow,
And distant shores our charming warblers know;
And you, dear sir, their harmony to hear
Would bless the strain that led your footsteps here.
The glitt'ring pomp of Philadelphia's pride,
From laurel groves that bloom for ever here,
I hail my dearest friend with heart sincere,
And fondly ask, nay, ardently implore
One kind excursion to my cot once more.
The fairest scenes that ever blest the year,
Now o'er our vales and yellow plains appear:
The richest harvests choke each loaded field,
The ruddiest fruit our glowing orchards yield:
In green, and gold, and purple plumes array'd,
The gayest songsters chant in ev'ry shade.
345
The various pipes that hymn our rising day!
Whose thrilling melody can banish care,
Cheer the lone heart, and almost soothe despair;
My grateful verse should with their praises glow,
And distant shores our charming warblers know;
And you, dear sir, their harmony to hear
Would bless the strain that led your footsteps here.
When morning dawns, and the bright sun again
Leaves the flat forests of the Jersey main,
Then through our woodbines wet with glitt'ring dews
The flower-fed Humming-Bird his round pursues,
Sips with inserted tube the honey'd blooms,
And chirps his gratitude, as round he roams;
While richest roses, though in crimson drest,
Shrink from the splendour of his gorgeous breast.
What heav'nly tints in mingling radiance fly!
Each rapid movement gives a diff'rent dye;
Like scales of burnish'd gold they dazzling show,
Now sink to shade, now furnace-bright they glow.
Leaves the flat forests of the Jersey main,
Then through our woodbines wet with glitt'ring dews
The flower-fed Humming-Bird his round pursues,
Sips with inserted tube the honey'd blooms,
And chirps his gratitude, as round he roams;
While richest roses, though in crimson drest,
Shrink from the splendour of his gorgeous breast.
What heav'nly tints in mingling radiance fly!
Each rapid movement gives a diff'rent dye;
Like scales of burnish'd gold they dazzling show,
Now sink to shade, now furnace-bright they glow.
High on the waving top of some tall tree,
Sweet sings the Thrush to morning and to me;
While round its skirts, 'midst pendant boughs of green,
The orange Baltimore is busy seen.
Prone from the points his netted nest is hung,
With hempen cordage, curiously strung:
Here his young nestlings safe from danger lie,
Their craving wants the teeming boughs supply;
Gay chants their guardian, as for food he goes,
And waving breezes rock them to repose.
The white-wing'd Woodpecker, with crimson crest,
Who digs from solid trunks his curious nest,
Sees the long black snake stealing to his brood,
And screaming, stains the branches with its blood.
Sweet sings the Thrush to morning and to me;
While round its skirts, 'midst pendant boughs of green,
The orange Baltimore is busy seen.
Prone from the points his netted nest is hung,
With hempen cordage, curiously strung:
Here his young nestlings safe from danger lie,
Their craving wants the teeming boughs supply;
Gay chants their guardian, as for food he goes,
And waving breezes rock them to repose.
The white-wing'd Woodpecker, with crimson crest,
Who digs from solid trunks his curious nest,
Sees the long black snake stealing to his brood,
And screaming, stains the branches with its blood.
Here o'er the woods the tyrant Kingbird sails,
Spreads his long wings, and every foe assails;
Snaps the returning bee with all her sweets,
Pursues the Crow, the diving Hawk defeats,
Darts on the Eagle downwards from afar,
And 'midst the clouds, prolongs the whirling war.
Deep in the thickest shade, with cadence sweet,
Soft as the tones that heaven-bound pilgrims greet;
Sings the Woodrobin, close retir'd from sight,
And swells his solo 'mid the shades of night.
Spreads his long wings, and every foe assails;
Snaps the returning bee with all her sweets,
346
Darts on the Eagle downwards from afar,
And 'midst the clouds, prolongs the whirling war.
Deep in the thickest shade, with cadence sweet,
Soft as the tones that heaven-bound pilgrims greet;
Sings the Woodrobin, close retir'd from sight,
And swells his solo 'mid the shades of night.
Here sports the Mocking-Bird with matchless strain,
Returning back each warbler's notes again;
Now chants a Robin, now o'er all the throng
Pours out in strains sublime the Thrush's song;
Barks like the Squirrel, like the Cat-bird squalls,
Now “Whip-poor-will” and now “Bob White” he calls.
Returning back each warbler's notes again;
Now chants a Robin, now o'er all the throng
Pours out in strains sublime the Thrush's song;
Barks like the Squirrel, like the Cat-bird squalls,
Now “Whip-poor-will” and now “Bob White” he calls.
The lonely Redbird, too, adorns the scene
In brightest scarlet through the foliage green;
With many a warbler more,—a vocal throng
That, shelter'd here, their joyous notes prolong
From the first dawn of dewy morning grey,
In sweet confusion, till the close of day;
Ev'n when still night descends serene and cool,
Ten thousand pipes awake from yonder pool,—
Owls, crickets, tree-frogs, kitty-dids resound,
And flashing fire-flies sparkle all around.
Such boundless plenty, such abundant stores,
The rosy hand of Nature round us pours,
That every living tribe their powers employ,
From morn to eve, to testify their joy;
And pour from meadow, field, and boughs above,
One general song of gratitude and love.
Even now, emerging from their prisons deep,
Wak'd from their seventeen years of tedious sleep,
In countless millions, to our wondering eyes
The long-remember'd locusts glad arise;
Burst their enclosing shells, at Nature's call,
And join in praise to the great God of all.
In brightest scarlet through the foliage green;
With many a warbler more,—a vocal throng
That, shelter'd here, their joyous notes prolong
From the first dawn of dewy morning grey,
In sweet confusion, till the close of day;
Ev'n when still night descends serene and cool,
Ten thousand pipes awake from yonder pool,—
Owls, crickets, tree-frogs, kitty-dids resound,
And flashing fire-flies sparkle all around.
Such boundless plenty, such abundant stores,
The rosy hand of Nature round us pours,
That every living tribe their powers employ,
From morn to eve, to testify their joy;
And pour from meadow, field, and boughs above,
One general song of gratitude and love.
Even now, emerging from their prisons deep,
Wak'd from their seventeen years of tedious sleep,
In countless millions, to our wondering eyes
The long-remember'd locusts glad arise;
Burst their enclosing shells, at Nature's call,
And join in praise to the great God of all.
Come then, dear sir, the noisy town forsake,
With me awhile these rural joys partake;
Come, leave your books, your pens, your studious cares,
Come, see the bliss that God for Man prepares.
My shelt'ring bow'rs, with honeysuckles white,
My fishy pools, my cataracts invite;
My vines for you their clusters thick suspend,
My juicy peaches swell but for my friend;
For him who joins with elegance and art
The brightest talents to the warmest heart.
Here as with me at morn you range the wood,
Or headlong plunge amid the crystal flood,
More vig'rous life your firmer nerves shall brace,
A ruddier glow shall wanton o'er your face,
A livelier glance re-animate your eye,
Each anxious thought, each fretting care shall fly;
For here, through every field and rustling grove,
Sweet Peace and rosy Health for ever rove.
Come, then, O come! your burning streets forego,
Your lanes and wharves, where winds infectious blow;
Where sweeps and oystermen eternal growl,
Carts, crowds, and coaches harrow up the soul;
For deep majestic woods, and op'ning glades,
And shining pools, and awe-inspiring shades,—
Where fragrant shrubs perfume the air around,
And bending orchards kiss the flow'ry ground;
And luscious berries spread a feast for Jove,
And golden cherries stud the boughs above.
Amid these various sweets, thy rustic friend
Shall to each woodland haunt thy steps attend;
His solitary walks, his noontide bowers,
The old associates of his lonely hours;
While Friendship's converse, gen'rous and sincere,
Exchanging every joy and every tear,
Shall warm each heart with such an ardent glow,
As wealth's whole pageantry could ne'er bestow.
Perhaps (for who can Nature's ties forget?)
With me awhile these rural joys partake;
347
Come, see the bliss that God for Man prepares.
My shelt'ring bow'rs, with honeysuckles white,
My fishy pools, my cataracts invite;
My vines for you their clusters thick suspend,
My juicy peaches swell but for my friend;
For him who joins with elegance and art
The brightest talents to the warmest heart.
Here as with me at morn you range the wood,
Or headlong plunge amid the crystal flood,
More vig'rous life your firmer nerves shall brace,
A ruddier glow shall wanton o'er your face,
A livelier glance re-animate your eye,
Each anxious thought, each fretting care shall fly;
For here, through every field and rustling grove,
Sweet Peace and rosy Health for ever rove.
Come, then, O come! your burning streets forego,
Your lanes and wharves, where winds infectious blow;
Where sweeps and oystermen eternal growl,
Carts, crowds, and coaches harrow up the soul;
For deep majestic woods, and op'ning glades,
And shining pools, and awe-inspiring shades,—
Where fragrant shrubs perfume the air around,
And bending orchards kiss the flow'ry ground;
And luscious berries spread a feast for Jove,
And golden cherries stud the boughs above.
Amid these various sweets, thy rustic friend
Shall to each woodland haunt thy steps attend;
His solitary walks, his noontide bowers,
The old associates of his lonely hours;
While Friendship's converse, gen'rous and sincere,
Exchanging every joy and every tear,
Shall warm each heart with such an ardent glow,
As wealth's whole pageantry could ne'er bestow.
As underneath the flowery shade we sit,
348
Our thoughts may roam beyond the watery waste;
And see, with sadden'd hearts, in Memory's eye,
Those native shores, where dear-lov'd kindred sigh;
Where War and ghastly Want in horror reign,
And dying babes to fainting sires complain.
While we, alas! these mournful scenes retrace,
In climes of plenty, liberty, and peace;
Our tears shall flow, our ardent pray'rs arise,
That Heaven would wipe all sorrow from their eyes.
Thus, in celestial climes the heavenly train
Escap'd from Earth's dark ills, and all its pain,
Sigh o'er the scenes of suffering man below,
And drop a tear in tribute to our woe.
A--- W---n.
Gray's Ferry, July, 1800.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |