The peripatetic or, Sketches of the heart, of nature and society; In a series of politico-sentimental journals, in verse and prose, of the eccentric excursions of Sylvanus Theophrastus; Supposed to be written by himself [by John Thelwall] |
 | [I]. |
[Yes, Nature! yes: to my enthusiast eye] |
 | II. |
| III. |
 | The peripatetic |  |
210
[Yes, Nature! yes: to my enthusiast eye]
Yes, Nature! yes: to my enthusiast eye,
When vernal brightness flushes every charm,
Thy vivid rays and breathing tints supply
The fond delights that youthful Fancy warm.
Thy budding sweets, thy universal green,
(Save where the hawthorn blossoms to the view)
Thy carol'd strains, and perfum'd gales serene,
Thy mid-day blush, and tears of mattin dew,
All, all enchant; and in my glowing breast.
Rouse from long slumber Joy's ecstatic train,
While the gay spirits, now no more opprest,
Fly thro' each nerve and glow in every vein:
Nor less gay Summer, bounteous in her charms,
The grateful heart of Admiration warms.
When vernal brightness flushes every charm,
Thy vivid rays and breathing tints supply
The fond delights that youthful Fancy warm.
Thy budding sweets, thy universal green,
(Save where the hawthorn blossoms to the view)
Thy carol'd strains, and perfum'd gales serene,
Thy mid-day blush, and tears of mattin dew,
All, all enchant; and in my glowing breast.
Rouse from long slumber Joy's ecstatic train,
While the gay spirits, now no more opprest,
Fly thro' each nerve and glow in every vein:
Nor less gay Summer, bounteous in her charms,
The grateful heart of Admiration warms.
But, ah! when Autumn, sober-suited pow'r!
O'er the luxuriant herbage flings her veil,
With browner tints to tinge each artless bow'r,
When first the foliage flies before the gale;—
Then when each object drinks the deeper die,
And fresh varieties of sombre hue
Sort with the solemn glories of the sky,
With new delight thy alter'd charms I view;—
Charms that each vain fantastic joy restrain,
And lull each tumult of the way ward soul,
While Contemplation's heav'n-instructed vein
Awakes of Reason's pow'r the soft controul:
Ah! then, how sweet, how lasting, and serene
Thy Poet's joy to trace the rural scene!
O'er the luxuriant herbage flings her veil,
With browner tints to tinge each artless bow'r,
When first the foliage flies before the gale;—
Then when each object drinks the deeper die,
And fresh varieties of sombre hue
Sort with the solemn glories of the sky,
With new delight thy alter'd charms I view;—
Charms that each vain fantastic joy restrain,
And lull each tumult of the way ward soul,
While Contemplation's heav'n-instructed vein
Awakes of Reason's pow'r the soft controul:
211
Thy Poet's joy to trace the rural scene!
Nor shalt thou, Nature, when each softer charm,
Each fertile grace, and every radiant glow,
And all the smiles that deck thy hallow'd form
Are shook by sullen tempests from thy brow;
Nor shalt thou, then, while o'er the leafless glade
Scarce peers the distant sun, and o'er the ground,
Check'ring the glaring snows, the long, long shade
Spreads cheerless, while the north-wind yells around;
Not, then, O Nature! shall thy frown forlorn
To unremitting gloom and sullen care
Resign thy votary. Oft the tardy morn
My song shall wake: and oft at noon to share
Thy transient smile that gilds the mountain brow,
And o'er the trackless vales that glare below
Sheds its faint radiance, blithe will I repair
And snatch the short-liv'd boon; and where the oak
His naked branches o'er the frozen brook
Snow-crown'd extends, and in the feeble ray
Glitters the pendant icicle; ah! there,
Gazing with curious rapture, let me stray,
Where, branching oft, full many an antic spray
Convolving writhes, as burnish'd fold o'er fold
Writhes the envenom'd snake, and lifts in air
His curving neck across the trav'ller's way.
Such, beauteous still, and awful to behold,
The forest monarch stands; as o'er the storm
(Of innate worth secure) the naked form
Of Patriot Virtue in the trying hour
Majestic towers, while Faction's raging power
Howls thro' the trembling desolated clime!—
Unmov'd she stands—deserted, yet sublime,
The people's secret love—the hope of future time!
Each fertile grace, and every radiant glow,
And all the smiles that deck thy hallow'd form
Are shook by sullen tempests from thy brow;
Nor shalt thou, then, while o'er the leafless glade
Scarce peers the distant sun, and o'er the ground,
Check'ring the glaring snows, the long, long shade
Spreads cheerless, while the north-wind yells around;
Not, then, O Nature! shall thy frown forlorn
To unremitting gloom and sullen care
Resign thy votary. Oft the tardy morn
My song shall wake: and oft at noon to share
Thy transient smile that gilds the mountain brow,
And o'er the trackless vales that glare below
Sheds its faint radiance, blithe will I repair
And snatch the short-liv'd boon; and where the oak
His naked branches o'er the frozen brook
Snow-crown'd extends, and in the feeble ray
Glitters the pendant icicle; ah! there,
Gazing with curious rapture, let me stray,
Where, branching oft, full many an antic spray
Convolving writhes, as burnish'd fold o'er fold
Writhes the envenom'd snake, and lifts in air
His curving neck across the trav'ller's way.
Such, beauteous still, and awful to behold,
The forest monarch stands; as o'er the storm
(Of innate worth secure) the naked form
Of Patriot Virtue in the trying hour
Majestic towers, while Faction's raging power
212
Unmov'd she stands—deserted, yet sublime,
The people's secret love—the hope of future time!
| The peripatetic | |