Poems Chiefly Written in Retirement, By John Thelwall; With Memoirs of the Life of the Author. Second Edition |
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INVOCATION TO HEALTH.
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INVOCATION TO HEALTH.
Ah! where, rustic maiden! of hamlets the pride—
What heath dost thou rove? on what mountain reside?
Dost thou follow some sheep track, and bound up the hill?
Or wander, sedate, by the murmuring rill?
Thee, Health! I invoke; and, thy foot-marks to find,
Give my brow to the sun, and my locks to the wind.
What heath dost thou rove? on what mountain reside?
Dost thou follow some sheep track, and bound up the hill?
Or wander, sedate, by the murmuring rill?
Thee, Health! I invoke; and, thy foot-marks to find,
Give my brow to the sun, and my locks to the wind.
Then come, rustic maiden, whom anxious I woo,
In thy beauty appear, and my transports renew;
The balm of thy smiles o'er my senses distill,
And wake in my bosom thy exquisite thrill:
For Joy in thy loose-flowing vail is enshrin'd
And sports in thy locks, as they float on the wind.
In thy beauty appear, and my transports renew;
The balm of thy smiles o'er my senses distill,
And wake in my bosom thy exquisite thrill:
For Joy in thy loose-flowing vail is enshrin'd
And sports in thy locks, as they float on the wind.
But her carol is heard. Hark! in raptures how shrill
It bursts on mine ear from the brow of yon hill.
See, see, with light step, she descends from the rock,
Where she sou't the young kid that had strayd from the flock:
Of the wild thyme it brows'd, she a garland has twin'd,
Whence her hair, half unbraided, floats loose on the wind.
It bursts on mine ear from the brow of yon hill.
See, see, with light step, she descends from the rock,
Where she sou't the young kid that had strayd from the flock:
Of the wild thyme it brows'd, she a garland has twin'd,
Whence her hair, half unbraided, floats loose on the wind.
More bright is her hue than the brightness of dawn,
And the rose on her cheek than the rose of the thorn;
The blue-bell, besprinkled with dew, cannot vie
With the lustre that beams from her love-darting eye;
And sweeter her breath than the wreath she has twin'd,
Whence her hair, half unbraided, floats loose on the wind.
And the rose on her cheek than the rose of the thorn;
The blue-bell, besprinkled with dew, cannot vie
With the lustre that beams from her love-darting eye;
And sweeter her breath than the wreath she has twin'd,
Whence her hair, half unbraided, floats loose on the wind.
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Cheerly smiling her mouth, as when first the young bloom,
From lips tipt with orient, emit their perfume;
When thy vintage, Siluria, first germs on thy trees,
And we quaff the rich nectar in every breeze.
So hopeful her smile, from the wreath she has twin'd,
While her hair, half unbraided, floats loose on the wind.
From lips tipt with orient, emit their perfume;
When thy vintage, Siluria, first germs on thy trees,
And we quaff the rich nectar in every breeze.
So hopeful her smile, from the wreath she has twin'd,
While her hair, half unbraided, floats loose on the wind.
And see, as she brushes thro' woodland and brake,
New fragrance bursts forth, and new beauties awake,
Groves spread forth their branches their homage to pay,
The buds are more sweet, and the foliage more gay,
As emulous all in fresh wreaths to be twin'd,
Whence her hair, half-unbraided, may float on the wind.
New fragrance bursts forth, and new beauties awake,
Groves spread forth their branches their homage to pay,
The buds are more sweet, and the foliage more gay,
As emulous all in fresh wreaths to be twin'd,
Whence her hair, half-unbraided, may float on the wind.
The vales too rejoice. Hark! they join in the song,
As she bounds from the copse, and comes tripping along;
Peeping forth from their sod, cups and daisies are seen,
And the grass, late so grey, is all vital with green:
Flowers burst from each hedgerow, in wreaths to be twin'd,
Or to sport in her locks, as they float on the wind.
As she bounds from the copse, and comes tripping along;
Peeping forth from their sod, cups and daisies are seen,
And the grass, late so grey, is all vital with green:
Flowers burst from each hedgerow, in wreaths to be twin'd,
Or to sport in her locks, as they float on the wind.
Yes, this is the mistress, my Stella, I woo:
Yet no mistress for me, if not handmaid to you.
If my bosom to warm with fresh rapture she seek,
She must pencil those eyes, she must vermeil that cheek,
With her wreath of wild flow'rs she those temples must bind,
And sport in those locks, as they float on the wind.
Yet no mistress for me, if not handmaid to you.
If my bosom to warm with fresh rapture she seek,
She must pencil those eyes, she must vermeil that cheek,
With her wreath of wild flow'rs she those temples must bind,
And sport in those locks, as they float on the wind.
Come then, my lov'd partner! sit pensive no more,
For Maï invites, and stern Winter is o'er:
Let us stray thro' the woodlands, and climb the green hill,
From the Lark's early note to the Nightingale's trill.
Come—seek the sweet handmaid, where'er we may find,
And give all your cares, with your locks, to the wind.
For Maï invites, and stern Winter is o'er:
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From the Lark's early note to the Nightingale's trill.
Come—seek the sweet handmaid, where'er we may find,
And give all your cares, with your locks, to the wind.
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