 | Poems |  |
1
BOOK THE FIRST.
TO FRIENDS.
If, generous friends, your memories be not slow,When backward your own goodness ye might trace;
And ye will only keep the virtuous pace,
Still to do good, and forward still to go;
Ye will remember, that a heedless thing,
Lingering, as with enchantment, once would stray,
Or lost in thought, or borne on fancy's wing,
Where willowy Cam glides-on his silent way;
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And song, though simple, can from care beguile!)
And he would seem to talk with fields and trees,
Or forms unseen, that fancy taught to smile:
For me—remembrance still shall love those days,
If friendship but approve my visionary lays.
3
TO A LADY:
WITH SOME VISIONS OF THE AUTHOR'S.
Anna, when I that open face survey,And read the gentle language of those eyes,
How the dark hour of bigot dulness flies!
How springs my soul to hail the cheerful day!
What lifts, like female worth, the lyric lay?
Hear, then, how long I wander'd, lost in night,
Till late, the Muse did with enlivening ray
Relume my eyes, and fill with new delight:
Then song could please, and charm the soul of woe,
Prompt the bold thought, and kindle freedom's fire:
And, Anna, this to female worth I owe,
And still, at Beauty's call, I strike the lyre.
The rapturous youthful dream no more I share,
Yet shall the visions live, if they but please the fair.
4
ODE ON THE RETURN OF A PUBLIC ANNIVERSARY.
I
While War thro' distant nations roamsWith fiery eye and blood-stain'd spear,
And Pity o'er the warriors' tombs
Hangs the pale wreath, and drops a tear;
While thousands bleed, while thousands die,
Let Britons heave the generous sigh.
II
Mirth hails in vain the festal day;The Muse in vain prepares the song;
The note of triumph dies away,
And Horror chills the poet's tongue;
For thousands bleed, for thousands die,
And Britons heave the generous sigh.
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III
By all the gallant warriors slain,By all the tender hearts that mourn,
The orphan,—and the widow-train,
We pray, sweet Peace, thy blest return!
But oh! while thousand Britons die,
Let Britons heave the generous sigh.
1794.
6
SONG,
WRITTEN FOR AN ANNUAL MEETING OF HEREFORDSHIRE YEOMEN, On occasion of a Popular Election at the end of Autumn.
I
Lo! smiling with fruit the gay orchards appear,Soon the juice shall enliven the glass,
The husbandman welcome the close of the year,
And toast in a bumper his lass.
Hail tree! so reviving to Englishmen's eyes!
What tree upon earth is so fair?
Hail juice! not the grape of Italian skies
With beverage so sweet shall compare.
II
But this tree, tho' Britons now call it their own,Was brought from a far distant shore,
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Still it charm'd other nations before.
But in England there grew a still more lovely tree,
Both the native and pride of the soil,
Of life-giving fruit, and of branches so free,
That they spread, and look'd fair thro' the isle.
III
Lo! the nations, on foliage and fruitage so gay,While gazing, with envy repin'd,
And a stem, which they seize, bear in triumph away,
To plant under heavens more kind.
The generous exotic, ye nations, receive,
And with patience and industry rear:—
Oh! may its rich nectar from sorrow relieve,
And the children of Poverty cheer!
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IV
Proceed, youthful tree, fruit a thousand-fold bear,Wide and wide be your branches display'd!
And long as its blessings the planters shall share,
Let strangers repose in the shade!
And ye, Britons, rejoice when ye view the blest tree,
As abroad ye may wantonly roam;
But beware, while the sapling looks smiling and free,
Lest the parent tree wither at home.
9
TO AN ENTHUSIAST.
Were you, my friend, some nimble-winged thing,
That could with eagle speed extend your flight,
Then might you range the world,
Then pierce each lonely place:
That could with eagle speed extend your flight,
Then might you range the world,
Then pierce each lonely place:
Whether 'twere lazar-house, or dungeon drear,
Or hill, or beetling cliff, or time-worn cave,
Where Misery sat and sigh'd
Her troubles, still unseen;
Or hill, or beetling cliff, or time-worn cave,
Where Misery sat and sigh'd
Her troubles, still unseen;
And there, perchance, at eve her hollow eye
On the hard stone at times might drop the tear—
As once the dame, who mourn'd
Her hapless children's fate.
On the hard stone at times might drop the tear—
As once the dame, who mourn'd
Her hapless children's fate.
10
Then had you, gentle friend, the chymic art
Of some young bee, that roves from flow'r to flow'r,
How fondly might you rove,
What balmy sweets exhale!
Of some young bee, that roves from flow'r to flow'r,
How fondly might you rove,
What balmy sweets exhale!
Then, blest employment! with what tender skill
Wondering might you those honeyed treasures mix,
And form a sovereign balm
To heal the mourner's heart!
Wondering might you those honeyed treasures mix,
And form a sovereign balm
To heal the mourner's heart!
Were you, my friend, some dart-emitting god,
Like him, who pierc'd in Græcia mortal hearts,
How might you range the world,
And find each gladsome place!
Like him, who pierc'd in Græcia mortal hearts,
How might you range the world,
And find each gladsome place!
Whether 'twere village green, or city gay,
How might you roving find each cheerful scene,
Where youths and maidens smile,
And carol thro' the day!
How might you roving find each cheerful scene,
Where youths and maidens smile,
And carol thro' the day!
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And when, perchance, with joy-illumin'd eye,
Thoughtless of love, they frolic'd in the dance,
How might you throw your dart,
And flit unseen away!
Thoughtless of love, they frolic'd in the dance,
How might you throw your dart,
And flit unseen away!
Then you again might change your tiny form,
Stand forth the god, protector of the fair,
Your head with roses crown'd,
And in your hand a torch!
Stand forth the god, protector of the fair,
Your head with roses crown'd,
And in your hand a torch!
Then you might light the lovers on their way,
Then sing the song, that should endear their hearts,
Till they should love, and love,
And still grow old in love!
Then sing the song, that should endear their hearts,
Till they should love, and love,
And still grow old in love!
Ah! could you fondly climb yon orient sun,
Ride on his beam, and travel round the world,
How might you, crown'd with light,
Cheer all the nations round!
Ride on his beam, and travel round the world,
How might you, crown'd with light,
Cheer all the nations round!
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Yes, friend, were you like that refulgent sun,
How might you in your daily course dispense
Light, liberty, and love,
Still travelling to bless!
How might you in your daily course dispense
Light, liberty, and love,
Still travelling to bless!
Were you—but cease, enthusiast, cease your speed;
For what avail, O man, fantastic flights?
Why muse ideal deeds,
Heedless of what is true?
For what avail, O man, fantastic flights?
Why muse ideal deeds,
Heedless of what is true?
You are nor bee, nor sun, nor sprite, nor god—
You are a humble, weak, unwinged thing,
The frail inhabitant
Of this poor clod of earth!
You are a humble, weak, unwinged thing,
The frail inhabitant
Of this poor clod of earth!
And has not this poor earth, that very spot,
Where thou art wont to move, enough of range?
Ah! where then would st thou move?
Behold your proper sphere!
Where thou art wont to move, enough of range?
Ah! where then would st thou move?
Behold your proper sphere!
13
Cease then, enthusiast: thy slender bark,
How should it hope to cross the mighty sea?
Keep close to shore—or ah!
Thy bark shall founder soon.
How should it hope to cross the mighty sea?
Keep close to shore—or ah!
Thy bark shall founder soon.
14
FROM ANACREON.
“Anacreon, you are growing old;”Thus by the women I am told:
“Take your glass, and there survey
Falling locks and temples gray:”—
But I neither know, nor care,
How my locks and temples are:
This I know, if old I be,
Mirth and Love will quickly flee;
And, if Death will soon be here,
I should seize the pleasure near.
18
ODE TO THE CAM.
I
Soon shall the young ambrosial SpringWanton forth, in garlands gay,
And, spreading soft her virgin wing,
Shall wed the Lord of day.
Soon shall reviving Nature homage yield,
And, breathing incense, lead her tuneful train
O'er hill and dale, soft vale, and cultur'd field;
The bard, the lover, and the jocund swain,
Their new-born joys shall sing; earth, sea, and sky,
All wake for thee, fair Spring, their sweetest minstrelsy!
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II
What tho' the winds, and sleety shower,May seem awhile to hush the grove?
Soon, wak'd by nature's living power,
Shall breathe the voice of love?
The lark gay-mount, to hail the purple dawn,
And its clear matin carol thro' the sky,
The throstle's mellow warblings cheer the morn,
The linnet softly trill on hawthorn nigh;
The mists shall vanish soon, and soon the breeze
Kiss every glowing flower, and fan the trembling trees.—
III
I, too, the cheering warmth shall feel,And join the rapturous choral song,
Musing smooth numbers, as I steal,
O Cam! thy banks along.
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No rose unfold its blushing beauties near,
Tho' here no stately tulip spread its bloom,
Nor towering lily deck the gay parterre:
(Inclos'd within the garden's fair domain,
These all, in eastern pride, shall hold their golden reign:—)
IV
Yet wild flowers o'er the fruitful scene,Warm'd by the touch of gentle May,
Shall rise, obedient to their queen,
In simple beauty gay.
To me the violet sheds the richest sweet;
To me the kingcup shines with brightest hues;
The primrose pale, like modest virtue neat,
E'en the meek daisy, can instruct the Muse:
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And in the field-flow'r views a more than master's hand.
V
E'en now the sunbeam, dazzling-bright,Quick-dances on the crisped stream;
And soft, tho' fleeting gales invite
The fond poetic dream:
Nor does in vain the swan majestic sail,
Nor glittering insect range the rushy brink;
Nor the fish sporting down the current steal,
And the light songsters on the margin drink;
Then, wild with bliss, shiver the painted wing,
And to their feather'd loves their sweetest wood-notes sing.
VI
Yet must we leave thy blooming reign:—And short that reign, thou lovely spring—
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Or wills the sovereign King!
Yes, all thy shadowy clouds, thy rainbow hues,
Thy flowers, and songs, thy gales, and glossy bloom,
All must be left, tho' friendly to the Muse;
And man, poor man, lie down in cheerless gloom;—
That season cold of death shall chill his tongue,
Nor beauty's smile return, that wak'd the vernal song.
VII
But speed the hours on restless wing?Must love's light season flit away?
Then hail, O man, the coming spring,
And seize the sweets of May:
Where now the bard of Camus' classic stream,
The skilful hand that wak'd th' Æolian lyre?
Ah! sleeps with him the spring-enamour'd theme,
From him the loves, and “Venus' train,” retire.—
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And Nature's spacious fields, great Newton, sleeps in night.
VIII
No more he treads this hallow'd ground,Nor tracks in thought yon boundless sky;
Ah! Science can but gaze around,
Then, like the Muse, shall die.
Oh! quit then, Fancy, queen of songs and wiles,
The pearl-enamell'd grot, the moss-grown cell,
Thy many thousand hills, and purple isles,
And deign, oh! deign, near sedgy Cam to dwell:
Still let the song of love the valleys cheer,
And blooming Science spread fair spring-time all the year.
24
A GLEE FOR THE SOMERSET-HOUSE LODGE OF FREEMASONS.
Lightly o'er the village green
Blue-ey'd fairies sport unseen,
Round and round, in circles gay—
Then at cock-crow flit away:
Thus, 'tis said, tho' mortal eye
Their merry freaks could never spy,
Elves for mortals lisp the pray'r,
Elves are guardians of the fair.
Thus, like elves, in mystic ring,
Merry masons drink and sing.
Blue-ey'd fairies sport unseen,
Round and round, in circles gay—
Then at cock-crow flit away:
Thus, 'tis said, tho' mortal eye
Their merry freaks could never spy,
Elves for mortals lisp the pray'r,
Elves are guardians of the fair.
Thus, like elves, in mystic ring,
Merry masons drink and sing.
Come, then, brothers, lead along
Social rites and mystic song!
Tho' nor madam, miss, or Bess,
Could our myst'ries ever guess;
Nor could ever learn'd divine
Sacred masonry define,
Round our order close we bind
Laws of love to all mankind!
Thus, like elves, in mystic ring,
Merry masons drink and sing.
Social rites and mystic song!
Tho' nor madam, miss, or Bess,
Could our myst'ries ever guess;
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Sacred masonry define,
Round our order close we bind
Laws of love to all mankind!
Thus, like elves, in mystic ring,
Merry masons drink and sing.
Health then to each honest man,
Friend to the masonic plan!
Leaving cynics grave to blunder,
Leaving ladies fair to wonder,
Leaving Thomas still to lie,
Leaving Betty still to spy,
Round and round we push our glass,
Round and round each toasts his lass.
Thus, like elves, in mystic ring,
Merry masons drink and sing.
Friend to the masonic plan!
Leaving cynics grave to blunder,
Leaving ladies fair to wonder,
Leaving Thomas still to lie,
Leaving Betty still to spy,
Round and round we push our glass,
Round and round each toasts his lass.
Thus, like elves, in mystic ring,
Merry masons drink and sing.
26
FROM ANACREON.
Bulls with horns kind Nature arms,Guards with hoof the horse from harms;
Hares with swiftness she endued,
With strength of teeth the lion brood;
Fish she taught to swim and play,
Birds to fly, and carol gay,
Man to reason: but has Heaven
Nought to gentle Woman given?
Woman moves in beauty's charms
Stronger than the force of arms;
Charms like helmet that secure,
And, like javelin, swift and sure:
Helmet, lance of fire, and shield,
All to beauteous Woman yield.
27
SONNET.
Sweet Maid! when sickness pales that angel-face,Like the rude worm that riots on the rose,
Still goodness in thy gentle bosom glows,
And beauty will not leave her favourite place.
Still round thy languid eye will steal a smile,
As underneath a cloud the sun-beams play,
Kind harbingers of more resplendent day,
Though the full orb conceal himself awhile.
But ah! since Melancholy's baleful hand
Vile poppy-dews hath o'er thy temples spread,
And Death, methinks, looks busy round that bed,
All-hopeless Pity near shall take her stand:
Oh! she shall spare for thee her softest sigh:
For thou wast Pity's child, the friend of Misery.
28
ODE
ON THE CLOSE OF AUTUMN, AFTER RAMBLING THROUGH CAMBRIDGESHIRE AND ESSEX.
I
Now farewell Summer's fervid sky,That, while the sun thro' cancer rides,
With chariot slow and feverish eye,
Scorches the beech-clad forest-sides!
And farewell earlier Autumn's milder ray,
Which, the warm labours of the sickle o'er,
Could make the heart of swain industrious gay,
Viewing in barn secure his wheaten store:
What time the social hours moved blithe along,
Urg'd by the nut-brown ale and jolly harvest-song.
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II
What different sounds around me rise!Now midst a barren scene I rove,
Where the rude haum in hillocks lies,
Where the rash sportsman frights the grove.
Ah, cruel sport! ah, pain-awakening sound!
How hoarse your death-note to his listening ear,
Who late, wild-warbled music floating round,
Blest the wild warblers of the rising year;
Who, as each songster strain'd his little throat,
Grateful himself would try the soft responsive note.
III
Yet still in Autumn's fading formThe tender melting charms we trace,
Such as, love's season past, still warm
The sober matron's modest face;
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Blue-mantled skies, light-fring'd with golden hues,
Brooks, whose swoln waters mottled leaves o'erspread,
Fields, where the plough its steady course pursues,
And woods, whose many-shining leaves might move
Fancy's poetic hand to paint the orange grove.
IV
Oh! still,—for Fancy is a child—Still with the circling hours I play,
And feast on hips and blackberries wild,
Like truant school boy gay:
Or eager plunge in cool pellucid stream,
Heedless, that Summer's sultry day is fled;
Or muse, as breathes the flute, some rural theme,
Such theme as Fancy's song may yet bestead;
Or, stretch'd at ease, will teach the listening groves,
In tuneful Maro's strains, some rosy rustic loves.
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V
Now bear me to the distant wood,And bear me to the silent stream,
Were erst I stray'd in serious mood,
Lost in some rapturous dream.
To me, O Hornsey, what retreat so fair?
What shade to me so consecrate as thine?
And on thy banks, poor streamlet, did I care
For all the spring haunts of the tuneful Nine?
Ah! pleasures, how ye lengthen as ye fade!
As spreads the sun's faint orb at twilight's dubious shade!
VI
For, oh pale stream! how many a tearI mingled in thy waters slow!
32
Youth takes its tale of woe.
And thus thro' life: for what is human life?
A changeful day, a motley-tinctur'd scene;
How quick succeed the hours of peace and strife!
How sombre tints o'erspread the cheerful green!
E'en while fair Hope lights-up her brightest sky,
She wavers 'midst her doubts, and learns to heave a sigh.
VII
But, lo! the sun now seeks the west,And, see, the distant landscape dies!
And now, with anxious cares oppress'd,
I view yon dome arise!
Ah! soon, too soon, I give the faint adieu,
And sleeps my song, as fades the cheerful day;
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And hag ey'd Spleen November's call obey.
Ye fields, ye groves, whose every charm could please;
Ye gentle friends, adieu, and, farewell, rural ease.
VIII
Yet field, and grove, and gentle friend,When Memory bids, shall re-appear;
Quick, where she lifts her wand, ascend
The long-departed year:
The choirs, whose warblings charm'd the youthful spring,
And Summer's glittering tribes, and all that now
Of Autumn fades, their mingled charms shall bring;
And the full year 'mid Winter's reign shall glow;
While Fancy, as the vision'd forms arise,
Shall pencil woods and groves, and streams and purple skies.
34
FROM ANACREON.
Of Atreus' sons I wish to sing,To Cadmus fain would wake the string;
But still in vain my fingers rove;
The lyre will only sound to love.
So now at length the chords I change,
To give my lyre the boldest range;
Yet, with Alcides brave and strong,
And all his labours in my song,
His name the strings will not rebound,
Love lives, and breathes in every sound.
So, farewell, heroes all, for me;
Henceforth my Muse and I are free:
And gaily now I sweep my string,
For Love, and only Love, I sing.
35
PERAMBULATORY MUSINGS,
FROM BLENHBIM HOUSE, AT WOODSTOCK, IN OXFORDSHIRE, THE SEAT OF THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH, TO TITLEY HOUSE, IN HEREFORDSHIRE.
Where Blenheim's turrets rise to view,
And where, at length to nature true,
Grave Vanbrugh, wearying long his head,
Soften'd down his house of lead;
And where, as bends the spacious dome,
The rival arts of Greece and Rome
Still live in Rysbrac's free design,
And still in Rubens' colouring shine;
Where Marlborough's valour, Marlborough's praise,
The fair-wrought tapestry displays,
'Mid varying pleasures, thro' the day,
Who might not linger life away?
Or now, as spreads the fair domain
O'er lake, or lawn, o'er hill or plain,
Thro' woods, and groves, or vista clear,
The crystal rivulet sparkling near,
Still loitering, idly gay, along,
Muse as inspir'd, the Sylvan song?
And where, at length to nature true,
Grave Vanbrugh, wearying long his head,
Soften'd down his house of lead;
36
The rival arts of Greece and Rome
Still live in Rysbrac's free design,
And still in Rubens' colouring shine;
Where Marlborough's valour, Marlborough's praise,
The fair-wrought tapestry displays,
'Mid varying pleasures, thro' the day,
Who might not linger life away?
Or now, as spreads the fair domain
O'er lake, or lawn, o'er hill or plain,
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The crystal rivulet sparkling near,
Still loitering, idly gay, along,
Muse as inspir'd, the Sylvan song?
How vain the wish! How quick the change!
Thro' simpler scenes my footsteps range;
Where nature smiles in peerless grace,
And art but claims the second place;
Scenes, trimm'd by Shenstone, neat and gay,
Where Faunus' self might pipe all day:
So simple, too, that not a swain
But there might wake his rudest strain.
Hail! Leasowes, now I climb thy hill;
Now bless the babbling of each rill;
Now wander down the friary glade;
Till rous'd I hear the hoarse cascade,
And glows again thro' every grove
The soul of poesy and love:
Then soft I sigh in pastoral strain,
Nor dream of Bleinheim-house again.
Thro' simpler scenes my footsteps range;
Where nature smiles in peerless grace,
And art but claims the second place;
Scenes, trimm'd by Shenstone, neat and gay,
Where Faunus' self might pipe all day:
So simple, too, that not a swain
But there might wake his rudest strain.
Hail! Leasowes, now I climb thy hill;
Now bless the babbling of each rill;
Now wander down the friary glade;
Till rous'd I hear the hoarse cascade,
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The soul of poesy and love:
Then soft I sigh in pastoral strain,
Nor dream of Bleinheim-house again.
Sometimes sad, and sometimes gay,
Like careless pilgrim still I stray,
Till soon arriv'd at Hagley bower,
I sigh to linger there an hour;
Where Littleton in learned ease
Polish'd his verse, and prun'd his trees;
Where Pope, the tuneful groves among,
Soft as at Twickenham, pour'd the song;
And Thomson fix'd in colours clear
The changeful Seasons of the year.
Hail classic scenes! The willing muse
Her flowers of many-mingling hues
Might here entwine, and once again
Hagley bloom forth in cheerful strain.
Then, farewell, Shenstone's simpler scene;
The rustic seat, the meadow green,
Willows, that near the rivulet weep,
The murmuring bees, the milk-white sheep.
When Hagley's beauties rise to view,
Yes! I could bid you all, adieu!
Like careless pilgrim still I stray,
Till soon arriv'd at Hagley bower,
I sigh to linger there an hour;
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Polish'd his verse, and prun'd his trees;
Where Pope, the tuneful groves among,
Soft as at Twickenham, pour'd the song;
And Thomson fix'd in colours clear
The changeful Seasons of the year.
Hail classic scenes! The willing muse
Her flowers of many-mingling hues
Might here entwine, and once again
Hagley bloom forth in cheerful strain.
Then, farewell, Shenstone's simpler scene;
The rustic seat, the meadow green,
Willows, that near the rivulet weep,
The murmuring bees, the milk-white sheep.
When Hagley's beauties rise to view,
Yes! I could bid you all, adieu!
Ever musing, ever ranging,
Ever pleas'd, yet ever changing,
Murmuring onward still I go,
As brooks thro' winding vallies flow,
That sparkle still, and still complain,
That every rude restraint disdain,
And gliding on some latent ore,
Steal something not possess'd before;
Then flow along in headlong haste,
And babble o'er the ferny waste.
Ever pleas'd, yet ever changing,
40
As brooks thro' winding vallies flow,
That sparkle still, and still complain,
That every rude restraint disdain,
And gliding on some latent ore,
Steal something not possess'd before;
Then flow along in headlong haste,
And babble o'er the ferny waste.
Ah! then, does nature deck in vain
The hill and vale, the grove, the plain?
And can her curious hand supply
Nothing to fix this vagrant eye?
Shall art still vary, still improve,
The winding walk, the tapering grove,
And yet man's restless heart implore,
With miser-mutterings, something more?
The hill and vale, the grove, the plain?
And can her curious hand supply
Nothing to fix this vagrant eye?
Shall art still vary, still improve,
The winding walk, the tapering grove,
And yet man's restless heart implore,
With miser-mutterings, something more?
Thus onward, slow I bend my way,
Till soon to Titley-house I stray,
And now delights me most of all
The fair retreat of Titley-hall;
Where near fair Eywood's seat is seen,
And Oxford smiles, like Beauty's queen;
Where Shobden's terrace glitters high,
And varying mountains meet the sky.
—But when such numerous charms invite,
Why most does Titley-house delight?
—Eliza there, melodious maid,
Such measures to my ears convey'd,
As had Cecilia been but near,
Cecilia had not scorn'd to hear:
Softly sad, or sweetly strong,
She directs the varied song,
To native scenes new charms can give,
And bids the breathing canvas live;
Or, as the sports and loves inspire,
Wakes the soul-subduing lyre;
Hence I welcom'd most of all
The fair retreat of Titley-hall.
Till soon to Titley-house I stray,
41
The fair retreat of Titley-hall;
Where near fair Eywood's seat is seen,
And Oxford smiles, like Beauty's queen;
Where Shobden's terrace glitters high,
And varying mountains meet the sky.
—But when such numerous charms invite,
Why most does Titley-house delight?
—Eliza there, melodious maid,
Such measures to my ears convey'd,
As had Cecilia been but near,
Cecilia had not scorn'd to hear:
Softly sad, or sweetly strong,
She directs the varied song,
42
And bids the breathing canvas live;
Or, as the sports and loves inspire,
Wakes the soul-subduing lyre;
Hence I welcom'd most of all
The fair retreat of Titley-hall.
Vocal groves and tuneful streams,
Kindling wild poetic dreams,
Where Dryad-nymphs are wont to stray,
Or Naiads swim in wanton play:
Mounts, that climb Jove's vaulted sky,
While Ocean's God rolls thundering by;
Vallies rich, and meadows fair,
Touch'd with Flora's pencil rare,
Rare, as when the nymph was led
By Zephyrus to her bridal bed,
(Then pencil'd did the fields appear,
In all the glories of the year:)
Widest glens, and deepest glades,
Curving walks, and hoarse cascades,
All, that Nature loves to impart,
Or owns the plastic charm of art;
All, that Fancy dares conceive,
Or Fiction's various hand can weave;
All—must cloy the sated eye,
Till beauty's lovely form be nigh:
Where woman walks, there seems to appear
The Venus of the smiling year;
Far from her, we feed on sighs,
Tho' roving fields of Paradise.
Kindling wild poetic dreams,
Where Dryad-nymphs are wont to stray,
Or Naiads swim in wanton play:
Mounts, that climb Jove's vaulted sky,
While Ocean's God rolls thundering by;
Vallies rich, and meadows fair,
Touch'd with Flora's pencil rare,
Rare, as when the nymph was led
By Zephyrus to her bridal bed,
(Then pencil'd did the fields appear,
In all the glories of the year:)
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Curving walks, and hoarse cascades,
All, that Nature loves to impart,
Or owns the plastic charm of art;
All, that Fancy dares conceive,
Or Fiction's various hand can weave;
All—must cloy the sated eye,
Till beauty's lovely form be nigh:
Where woman walks, there seems to appear
The Venus of the smiling year;
Far from her, we feed on sighs,
Tho' roving fields of Paradise.
44
ODE ON LIBERTY.
WRITTEN ON A PUBLIC ANNIVERSARY.
Hall! more refulgent than the morning star,
Parent of bliss, for whom the nations sigh,
Thee, Liberty, I woo, and seem from far
To mark the brightness of thy raptur'd eye;
While, not to me unseemly, streams thy vest,
Thy locks wild-dancing to the frolic wind;
And, borne on flying feet, thou scorn'st to rest,
Save where meek Truth near thee her seat may find;
Soother of human life, blest Liberty!
Still range thro' nature's walks, and I will range with thee.
Parent of bliss, for whom the nations sigh,
Thee, Liberty, I woo, and seem from far
To mark the brightness of thy raptur'd eye;
While, not to me unseemly, streams thy vest,
Thy locks wild-dancing to the frolic wind;
And, borne on flying feet, thou scorn'st to rest,
Save where meek Truth near thee her seat may find;
Soother of human life, blest Liberty!
Still range thro' nature's walks, and I will range with thee.
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Say, dost thou love to climb the mountain's brow,
Or haunt meandring stream, or laughing plain?
Be mine with thee up mountain-heights to go,
Or wake by river's brink the pastoral strain;
Or tripping-light the flowery meads along,
A simple swain, 'mid hinds and virgins gay,
Pour forth to thee my merry evening song,
Unwearied with the raptures of the day;
And, when close-lock'd in Sleep's soft arms I lie,
Still flattering dreams shall wake the midnight ecstasy.
Or haunt meandring stream, or laughing plain?
Be mine with thee up mountain-heights to go,
Or wake by river's brink the pastoral strain;
Or tripping-light the flowery meads along,
A simple swain, 'mid hinds and virgins gay,
Pour forth to thee my merry evening song,
Unwearied with the raptures of the day;
And, when close-lock'd in Sleep's soft arms I lie,
Still flattering dreams shall wake the midnight ecstasy.
Or dost thou rather chuse to wear the veil
Of mild Philosophy, and walk unseen,
Serenely grave, along the cloister pale,
Or in the grove, or glen, or shaven green?
Oh! still be mine to tend thee on thy way;—
Like thee to feel,—to glow with all thy flame,
Gentle and clear, as the sun's smiling ray
At dawn, yet warm, as his meridian beam,
When wondering nations feel the piercing rays,
And think they view their god, and kindle into praise.
Of mild Philosophy, and walk unseen,
Serenely grave, along the cloister pale,
Or in the grove, or glen, or shaven green?
Oh! still be mine to tend thee on thy way;—
Like thee to feel,—to glow with all thy flame,
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At dawn, yet warm, as his meridian beam,
When wondering nations feel the piercing rays,
And think they view their god, and kindle into praise.
Such wast thou seen by Isis' silver flood,
In converse sweet with Locke, immortal sage;
Such too by Cam with him, whose bosom glow'd
With thy pure raptures, and the Muse's rage;
Nor less with him, who bore to distant climes
His country's love, and o'er her miseries sigh'd;
Brave injur'd patriot he, in evil times
Who nobly liv'd, and not ignobly died:
Who nobly liv'd, whose name shall ever live,
While zeal in Britain glows, while freedom shall survive.
In converse sweet with Locke, immortal sage;
Such too by Cam with him, whose bosom glow'd
With thy pure raptures, and the Muse's rage;
Nor less with him, who bore to distant climes
His country's love, and o'er her miseries sigh'd;
Brave injur'd patriot he, in evil times
Who nobly liv'd, and not ignobly died:
Who nobly liv'd, whose name shall ever live,
While zeal in Britain glows, while freedom shall survive.
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But shouldst thou e'er from Britain speed thy way,
On happier plains still linger with delight;
And, while her patriots hail this sacred day,
Oh! aid their counsels, and their battles fight:
May tyrants ne'er, those murd'rers of the world,
Austria's proud lord, and Prussia's faithless king,
Their blood-stain'd banners to the air unfurl'd,
O'er Freedom's sons the note of triumph sing:
Still with the great resolve the Poles inspire,
To live in thy embrace, or at thy feet expire.
On happier plains still linger with delight;
And, while her patriots hail this sacred day,
Oh! aid their counsels, and their battles fight:
May tyrants ne'er, those murd'rers of the world,
Austria's proud lord, and Prussia's faithless king,
Their blood-stain'd banners to the air unfurl'd,
O'er Freedom's sons the note of triumph sing:
Still with the great resolve the Poles inspire,
To live in thy embrace, or at thy feet expire.
For me, should I grow thoughtless, and thy name
Forget; should I wax cold, nor feel thy power;
Then, too, may Fancy sleep, nor love of fame
Uplift my soul beyond the passing hour.
May beauty never smile upon my strain;
May I be curs'd to live, some tyrant's tool,
Whistle to his mean likings, and my gain
Be this, to hear Ambition call me fool;
Begin, and end, at Folly's call my lays,
Dread the world's sneer, and truckle for it's praise.
Forget; should I wax cold, nor feel thy power;
Then, too, may Fancy sleep, nor love of fame
Uplift my soul beyond the passing hour.
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May I be curs'd to live, some tyrant's tool,
Whistle to his mean likings, and my gain
Be this, to hear Ambition call me fool;
Begin, and end, at Folly's call my lays,
Dread the world's sneer, and truckle for it's praise.
49
ODE ON SCIENCE.
I—1.
There are, who skim the stream of life,Who catch delight from every passing gale;
Their ear no sounds of grief assail,
They heed not nature's strife:
Bright skies illume their dawn of day,
While music wakes her magic powers;
No clouds obstruct their noon-tide ray,
And to soft measures move their evening hours:
Gaily, Love's idle rovers, on they glide,
And Pleasure, laughing Fair, the vessel deigns to guide.
I—2.
Their destin'd course some lonely bend,Where no propitious gales attend;
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The frantic scream, the din of war:
Struggling with storms, their mornings doubtful rise:
Sullen and slow proceed their hours along:
'Mid scowling tempests close their evening skies,
Nor soothes their ear the cheerful voice of song.
I—3.
But, lo! the sons of genius stand,And Science open spreads the volume fair;
And Friendship waves her hand,
To check the child of Mirth, to soothe the child of Care.
Nature assumes her smiling form,
Like Ocean resting from a storm:
From distant India's pearly shores,
From mystic Egypt's latent stores,
To where in Grecia's tuneful groves
The Graces wanton'd with the Loves,
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And savage nature smiles, and rises into day.
II—1.
Deep in a vale, remote from noise,Long bloom'd the lovely Stranger, fond to trace
The starry spheres, the world of soul, the grace
Of mystic truth; her joys,
And garment, simple: sages came;—
They mark her eye, her even soul,
The modest blush, the living flame,
From inward light, that o'er her visage stole.
—To them 'twas given to deck the lovely Dame,
In robes by Beauty wove, and lift her into fame.
II—2.
Saw you the sun dispensing light?Clouds soon have veil'd the glory bright.
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Beneath the misty frown of power,
Science lay hid;—then Goths and priests arose,
And scatter blasts and mildews wide around;
Till in the vale, where fruitful Arno flows,
Fair Science smil'd again, as on Parnassian ground.
II—3.
Now see her rise serenely great,Dispensing golden blessings from on high,
A sun, in more than royal state,
Supreme she rules, amidst a cloudless sky:
See Dulness close her eye of lead!
See Superstition's reptiles dead!
Sloth drag along her slimy way,
And Ignorance retire from day!
While Genius lifts his eye of fire,
Beholds the light, and strikes his lyre:
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Fields of perennial green, and fairer brighter skies.
III—1.
The blooming wreath of rapturous praiseNow weave with varied skill, and conscious pride,
As when, near Pisa's laurell'd side,
The Theban wove the bays.
Of soul serene, and eye sublime,
Immortal Science, hail! to thee,
Bright with the precious spoils of time,
We yield the crown, we bend the willing knee;
To thee the Virtues all obedient rise,
And Truth unveils her face, and looks with smiling eyes.
III—2.
“Ye sons of Mirth, and sons of Care,“See me the bower of bliss prepare:
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“Near me shall bloom immortal flowers;
“Oh! hither, then, your erring courses bend;
“Soon near my side shall Care forget to grieve;
“Here Mirth's wild crew may haply find a friend;
“And pining Melancholy dare to live!”
III—3.
Thus Science spoke aloud—when, lo!By Fancy's eye was seen the sacred choir,
That taught with vivid glow
The canvas first to shine, that waked the melting lyre.
And round and round their Queen they move,
Symphonious to the voice of Love.
Nor did in vain the thrilling dart
Of Music pierce the captiv'd heart,
Till every discord died away,
As clouds before the solar ray.
Thro' the wide earth th' harmonic chords resound;
While Rapture lifts her voice, and Goodness smiles around.
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