Poetical fragments of the late Richard Alfred Millikin with an authentic memoir of his life |
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ODE TO THE LEE. |
 | Poetical fragments of the late Richard Alfred Millikin |  |
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ODE TO THE LEE.
------ Vos signa tubæque
Ite procul. ------
Tibul.
Ite procul. ------
Tibul.
Hail lee rever'd! along thy reedy shore,
In the gray silent eve in museful mood,
The doric strain to thy soft wave I pour,
Thy velvet banks or solemn woods among,
Where oft with uncouth pipe my youth hath woo'd
The gentle powers of song.—
In the gray silent eve in museful mood,
The doric strain to thy soft wave I pour,
Thy velvet banks or solemn woods among,
Where oft with uncouth pipe my youth hath woo'd
The gentle powers of song.—
Amid thy osiers green in summer heat,
Full oft my hours I've pass'd sincerely pleas'd,
To view the gorgeous day from mossy seat,
Or cool emblossom'd vale, when from the main,
In all his eastern pomp, he forth had blaz'd,
Or left the weeping plain.—
Full oft my hours I've pass'd sincerely pleas'd,
To view the gorgeous day from mossy seat,
Or cool emblossom'd vale, when from the main,
In all his eastern pomp, he forth had blaz'd,
Or left the weeping plain.—
Perhaps, regardful of some tender blade,
Some little humble plant by careless eye
Unmark'd, I there may wond'rous lessons read,
(A book with wisdom fraught if rightly scan'd)
There learn how rudely art essays to vie
With nature's master hand.—
Some little humble plant by careless eye
Unmark'd, I there may wond'rous lessons read,
(A book with wisdom fraught if rightly scan'd)
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With nature's master hand.—
The buzz of busy insects o'er my head,
The multitudes that rove the fields of air,
And chaunt their various song in sun or shade,
And all the changeful life that mov'd around,
Have call'd my thoughts to him, whose ceaseless care
To all alike is found.
The multitudes that rove the fields of air,
And chaunt their various song in sun or shade,
And all the changeful life that mov'd around,
Have call'd my thoughts to him, whose ceaseless care
To all alike is found.
Thy shades have heard my first essays of love,
When Sylvia's beauty then awoke the fire
That long hath burn'd; to sooth her ear I strove,
With rudely caroll'd lay, alas! how rude;
But she would listen as I touch'd my lyre,
With kindest promptitude.—
When Sylvia's beauty then awoke the fire
That long hath burn'd; to sooth her ear I strove,
With rudely caroll'd lay, alas! how rude;
But she would listen as I touch'd my lyre,
With kindest promptitude.—
And her to please (my highest wish) I strove,
And that obtain'd, the happiest bard was I,
With hazle crown'd and many a flower inwove,
That gem the grassy downs, a prize more sweet
Than bard olympic gain'd, when seated high
He sang the courser fleet.—
And that obtain'd, the happiest bard was I,
With hazle crown'd and many a flower inwove,
That gem the grassy downs, a prize more sweet
Than bard olympic gain'd, when seated high
He sang the courser fleet.—
Thy murmurs bland would soothe my pensive mind,
As oft reclin'd beside thy lambent wave;
Thy rushy margins whispering to the wind,
Joined to the prattling of the slender brook,
A varied melody and sweetness gave;
And all the charm partook.—
As oft reclin'd beside thy lambent wave;
Thy rushy margins whispering to the wind,
Joined to the prattling of the slender brook,
A varied melody and sweetness gave;
And all the charm partook.—
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The various changes of the chequer'd year,
Hither my steps attracted from the crowd,
Pale frowning winter arm'd with icy spear
Rattling in shining mail to ruin prone;
Each leafy bower with ruthless hand t'enshroud:
His storms in vain hath blown.—
Hither my steps attracted from the crowd,
Pale frowning winter arm'd with icy spear
Rattling in shining mail to ruin prone;
Each leafy bower with ruthless hand t'enshroud:
His storms in vain hath blown.—
Then, by new pleasures drawn, I fondly go
To skim thy level face with shining heel,
To trace the leveret through the dimpled snow,
In active sports to rouse life's languid fire;
But all unfond the harmless kind to kill,
Or with their foes conspire.—
To skim thy level face with shining heel,
To trace the leveret through the dimpled snow,
In active sports to rouse life's languid fire;
But all unfond the harmless kind to kill,
Or with their foes conspire.—
When spring with gentlest step returns in tears
To see the ruin wintry wars had done,
And with mild genial breath each wound repairs,
Decking with spicy wreaths thy shorn brow;
Then on thy lawns I hail the approaching sun,
And the bless'd change avow.—
To see the ruin wintry wars had done,
And with mild genial breath each wound repairs,
Decking with spicy wreaths thy shorn brow;
Then on thy lawns I hail the approaching sun,
And the bless'd change avow.—
When thirsty summer drinks each chiming rill,
My fervid limbs thy limpid flood receives,
Or the cool zephyrs on the russet hill
I court; and frequent join the cheerful hinds,
When yellow autumn heaps her golden sheaves,
Or her shrill bugle winds.—
My fervid limbs thy limpid flood receives,
Or the cool zephyrs on the russet hill
I court; and frequent join the cheerful hinds,
When yellow autumn heaps her golden sheaves,
Or her shrill bugle winds.—
And not unmindful of the bards of yore
The lights of other times, their simple strains
Deep in my mind I lay, a valued store,
Beneath your shades: the sire of past'ral song,
The learn'd swain who piped on Mantuan plains,
To whom all powers belong.—
The lights of other times, their simple strains
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Beneath your shades: the sire of past'ral song,
The learn'd swain who piped on Mantuan plains,
To whom all powers belong.—
And he
who sweetly mourn'd his Bion dead,
Bion who could with melting force complain,
Nor Rosalinda's shepherd be unread
That whilom charm'd his Mulla's lucid stream,
And oft remember'd be that polish'd swain,
Who sang along the Thame.—
Bion who could with melting force complain,
Nor Rosalinda's shepherd be unread
That whilom charm'd his Mulla's lucid stream,
And oft remember'd be that polish'd swain,
Who sang along the Thame.—
Oft too for him
shall drop the pitying tear,
Who on thy banks his tuneful harp unstrung,
With broken numbers sweet could win the ear;
And though with skill the lyre he early ey'd,
A wild unmeasur'd strain at length he sung,
Then broke his harp and died.—
Who on thy banks his tuneful harp unstrung,
With broken numbers sweet could win the ear;
And though with skill the lyre he early ey'd,
A wild unmeasur'd strain at length he sung,
Then broke his harp and died.—
While other streams more pompous praise may boast,
The Thames her navies throng'd and peopled shore;
Proud Taio,—waves that kiss a golden coast,
The Rhine her banner'd sides and shouts of war,
And all, alas! her grapes distain'd with gore;
And Neva own a Czar.—
The Thames her navies throng'd and peopled shore;
Proud Taio,—waves that kiss a golden coast,
The Rhine her banner'd sides and shouts of war,
And all, alas! her grapes distain'd with gore;
And Neva own a Czar.—
Yet on thy plains where love and peace are found,
How calm cou'd I life's gaudier prospects lose;
To thee by every tenderest cincture bound,
Thy vocal glades in each returning year
At the first blush of spring and at the close,
Thy constant praise should hear.—
How calm cou'd I life's gaudier prospects lose;
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Thy vocal glades in each returning year
At the first blush of spring and at the close,
Thy constant praise should hear.—
| Poetical fragments of the late Richard Alfred Millikin | |