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There the Sun's declining ray
Paphian airs in ambush sleep Fairer paints the parting day :
On the still bosom of the deep; There tbe woodlark louder sings,
Paphian maids around her move, Zephyr moves on softer wings,
Keen-ey'd Hope, and Joy, and Love: Groves in greener bonours rise,
Their rosy breasts a thousand Cupids lave, Purer azure spreads the skies;
And dip their wanton wings, and beat the buxom There the fountains clearer flow,
wave. Flowers in brighter beauty blow:
But mark, of more than vulgar mein,
With regal grace and radiant eye,
A form in youthful majesty!
n! Are the woes the bad bewail;
For her the conscious sea subsides; Distant fell Remorse, and Pain,
Old Ocean curbs bis thund'ring tiles, And Frenzy smiling o'er her chain! Grief's quick pang, Despair's dead groan,
O'er the glassy-bosom'd main
Venus leads her laughing train ;
The Paphian maids move graceful by her side, Lives the happy villager!
And o'er the buxom waves the rosy Cupids ride, In his hospitable cell,
Fly, ye fairy-footed hours ! Love, and Truth, and Freedom dwell;
Fly, with aromatic flowers ! And, with aspect mild and free,
Such as bath'd in orient dews, The graceful nymph, Simplicity.
Beauty's living glow diffuse ; Hail, ye liberal graces, hail !
Such as in Idalia's grove Natives all of Arden's vale:
Breathe the sweets, the soul of love! for, with Peace and Virtue, there
Come, genial god of chaste delight, Lives the happy villager.
With wreathes of festive roses crown'd, And torch that burns with radiance bright,
And liberal robe that sweeps the ground ! HYMENEAL.
Bring the days of golden joy, ON THE MARRIAGE OF HIS PRESENT MAJESTY.
Pleasures pure, that never cloy! Awake, thou everlasting lyre!
Bring to Britain's happy pair, That once the mighty Pindar strung,
All that's kind, and good, and fair! When wrapt with more than mortal fire,
George to thee devotes the day : The gods of Greece he sung ! Awake!
lo! Hymen, haste away. Arrest the rapid foot of Time again
Daughters of Jove! ye virgins sage, With liquid notes of joy, and pleasure's melting
That wait on Camus' boary age; strain.
That oft his winding vales along Crown'd with each beauteous flower that blows
Have smooth'd your silver-woven song; On Acidalia's tuneful side;
O wake once more those lays sublime, With all Aopia's rosy pride,
That live beyond the wrecks of time ! Where numerous Aganippe flows;
To crown your Albion's boasted pair,
The never-fading wreath prepare ; From Thespian groves and fountains wild,
While her rocks echo to this strain,
“ The friends of freedom and of Britain reign." Fair Urania's favour'd child'! George to thee devotes the day:
SONG. lo ! Hymen, haste away!
'Tis o'er, the pleasing prospects o'er!
My weary heart can hope no more-
Then welcome, wan Despair !
Approach with all thy dreadful train!
Wild Anguish, Discontent and Pain, 0, give the fair that blooms for Britain's throne, Thy melting charms of love, thy soul-enchanting
And thorny-pillow'd Care. zone!
Gay Hope, and Ease, and Joy, and Rest,
All, all that charms the peaceful breast,
For ever I resign.
Let pale Anxiety instead,
That has not where to lay her head,
And lasting woe, be mine.
My eyes for Solyman will flow
in silent grief again; She comes, the conscious sea subsides; Old Ocean curbs bis thund'ring tides :
Who, wand'ring o'er some mountain drear, Smooth the silken surface lies,
Now haply sheds the peusive tear,
And calls on me in vain.
Perhaps, along the lonely shores,
He now the sea's blue breast explores,
To watch the distant sail;
So lightly lie the turf on thee, Perhaps, on Sundah's hills forlorn,
Because thou lor'st simplicity.
And life's last spirits fail.
THE PASTORAL PART OF
MILTON'S EPITAPHIUM DAMONIS. Almena yet may find her love,
O FOR the soft lays of Himeria's maids !
The strains that died in Arethusa's shades ;
And all his villas learn the Doric song.
How Thyrsis mourn'd his long lov'd Damon
What sighs he utter'd, and what tears he shedOCCASIONED BY A TRADITION CONCERNING A
Ye dim retreats, ye wandering fountains knos,
Ye desert wilds bore witness to his woe:
Where oft in grief he past the tedious day,
Or lonely languish'd the dull night away. To wander near this woodland bill,
Twice had the fields their blooming honours If ever music smooth'd thy quill,
bore; Or pity wak'd thy gentle reed,
And Autumn twice resign'd his golden store, Repose bereath my humble tree,
Unconscious of his loss, while Thyrsis staid If thou lov'st simplicity.
To woo the sweet Muse in the Tuscan shade:
Crown'd with ber favour, when he sought agaia Stranger, if thy lot has laid In toilsome scenes of busy life,
His flock forsaken, and his native plain;
When to his old elm's wonted shade return'dFull sorely may'st thon rue the strife
Then-ihen, he miss'd his parted friend—and Of weary passions ill repaid.
mourn'd. In a garden live with ine, If thou lov'st simplicity.
And go, he cry'd, my tender lambs, adieu!
Your wretched master has no time for you. Flowers have sprung for many a year
Yet are there pow'rs divine in Earth or sky? O'er the village maiden's grave,
Gods can they be who destin'd thee to die? That, one memorial sprig to save,
And shalt thou mix with shades of vulgar name; Bore it from a sister's bier;
Lost thy fair honours, and forgot thy fame? And, homeward walking, wept o'er me Not he, the god whose golden wand restrains The true tears of simplicity.
The pale ey'd people of the gloomy plains, And soon, her cottage window near,
Of Damon's fate shall thus regardless be, With care my slender stem she plac'd; Or suffer vulgar shades to herd with thee. And fondly thus her grief embrac'd;
Then go, he cry'd, &c. And cherish'd sad remembrance dear:
Yet while one strain my trembling tongue For love sincere and friendship free Are children of simplicity.
Not unlamenied, shepherd, shalt thou die. When past was many a painful day,
Long in these fields thy fame shall flourish fair, Sluw-pacing o'er the village green,
And Daphnis only greater honours share; In white were all its inaidens seen,
To Daphnis only purer vows be paid, And bore my guardian friend away.
Wbile Pan or Pales loves the vulgar shade. Ah death! what sacrifice to thee,
If truth or science may survive the grave, The ruins of simplicity.
Or, what is more, a poet's friendship sare, One gen'rous swain her heart approv'd,
Then go, &c. A youth whose food and faithful breast,
These, these are thine: for me what hopes With many an artless sigh confess'd,
remain ? In Nature's language, that he lov'd:
Save of long surrow, and of anguish vain. But, stranger, 'tis no tale to thee,
For who, still faithful to my side, shall go, Unless thou lov'st simplicity.
Like thee, through regions clad with chilling He died-and soon her lip was cold,
snow? And soon her rosy cheek was pale;
Like thee, the rage of fiery summers bear, 'The village wept to hear the tale,
When fades the wan flower in the burning air? When for both the slow bell toll’d
The lurking dangers of the chase essay, Beneath yon flow'ry turf they lie,
Or sooth with song and various tales the day? The lovers of simplicity.
Then go, &c. Yet one boon have I to crave;
To whom shall I my hopes and fears impart? Stranger, if thy pity bleed,
Or trust the cares and follies of my heart? Wilt thou do one tender deed,
Whose gentle councils put those cares to flight! And strew my pale flowers o'er their grave? Whose cheerful converse cheat the tedious night?
The social hearth when automn's treasures store, One gentle tear the British Chloris gave, Chill blow the winds without, and through the Chloris the grace of Maldou's purple wavebleak elm roar,
In raio—my grief no soothing words disarm, Then go, &e.
No future hopes, nor present good can charm. When the fierce suns of summer noons invade,
Then go, &c. And Pan reposes in the green-wood shade, The happier flocks one social spirit moves, The shepherds hide, the nymphs plunge down the same their sports, their pastures and their the deep,
So herd the various natires of the main,
And Proteus drives in crowds his scaly train ; Alas! now lonely round my fields I stray,
The feather'd tribes too find an easier fate, And lonely seek the pasture's wonted way.
The meaest sparrow still enjoys his mate; Or in soine din vale's mournful shade repose
And when by chance or wearing age she dies, There pensive wait the weary day's slow close,
The transient loss a second choice supplies. While showers descend, the gloomy teinpest Man, hapless man, for ever dooin'd to know
The dire vexations that from discord fow,
In ali the countless numbers of his kind,
Can scarcely meet with one congenial mind;
If baply found, Death wings the fatal dart, Where once fair harvest cloth'd my cultur'd The tender union breaks, and breaks his heart. plain,
Then go, &c.
Ah me! what erronr tempted me to go
O’er foreign mountains, and thro' Alpine snow? My flocks no longer find a master's care;
Too great the price to mark in Tyber's gloom Ev'n piteons as they gaze with looks of dumb The mournful image of departed Rome! despair.
Nay, yet immortal, could she boast again
The glories of her aniversal reign,
And all that Maro left his fields to see, Thy hazel, Tytorus, has no charms for me;
Too great the purchase to abandon thee! Nor yet thy wild ash, lov'd Alphesibee,
To leave thee in a land no longer seen! No more shall fancy ware her rural dream, Bid mountains rise, and oceans roll betwer By Ægan's willow, or Amynta's stream,
Ah! not embrace thee!--not to see thee dre
Then go, &c.
Ye Tuscan shepherds, pardon me tur 123 Mopsus, who knows what fates the stars dis- Dear to the Muse, to me for ever den pense,
The youth I mourn a Tuscan tite in And solves the grove's wild warblings into sense, See Lydian Lucca : for her son dep Thus Mopsus mark'd "what thus thy spleen days of ecstacy! when wrap: 1.2 can move?
Where Arno wanders down bis fr Some baleful planet, or some hopeless love? Pluck'd the pale violet, press co* The star of Saturn oft annoys the swain,
Or bade the myrtle's balms iratan And in the dull cold breast long holds his leaden | Delighted, heard amid the way reign."
Menalcas strive with Lreita 133
Oft would my voice the time and
The osier basket, and a
Francino crown'd me Gay smiles and love on that soft season wait;
And Dati 3 taerar es He's twice a wretch whom beauty wounds too late."
2 The Team E
as far as I Milton seems to have borrowed this senti.
Colony Thi ment from Guarini:
á whe Che se t'assale a la canuta etate
profesora Amoroso talento,
FROM THE BANKS OF THE IRWAN.
TO A LADY,
ON READING AN ELEGY WRITIEN BY HER ON THE
SEARCH OF HAPPINESS. LAMB, could the Muse that boasts thy forming care,
To seek the lovely nymph you sing, Unfold the grateful feelings of my heart, I've wander'd many a weary mile, Her hand for thee should many a wreath prepare, From grove to grove, from spring to spring;
And cull the choicest flowers with studious art. If here or there she deign'd to smile. For mark'd by thee was each imperfect ray
Nay what I now must blush to say, That haply wander'd o'er my infant mind;
For sure it bap'd in evil hour; The dawn of genius brighten'd into day,
I once so far mistook my way, As thy skill open'd, as thy lore refin'd.
To seek her in the haunts of power.
How should success my search betide,
When still so far I wander'd wrong?
Was listning to Maria's song. Thorude the strain, tho' artless was the draught;
Delighted thus with you to stay,
What hope have I the nymph to see;
Or bring her in your arms to me?
“Where trembling poplars shade their parent One humble garlaud from th’ Aonian tree !
vale, With joy I'd bind thy favour'd brows again,
And tune to melody the mountain gale;
Where Irwan murmurs musically slow,
Friend of my heart, behold thy poet laid
In the dear silence of his native shade!
Ye sacred vales, whereof the Muse, unseen, F
ROM scenes where fancy no excursion tries, Led my light steps along the moon-light green; Nor trusts her wing to sinoke-envelop'd skies; Ye scenes, where peace and fancy held their Far from the town's det sted haunts remov'd,
reign, And nought but thee deserted that I lov'd; For ever lov'd, and once enjoy'd again! From noise and folly and the world got free, Ah! where is now that nameless bliss refio'd, One truant thought yet only stays for thee. That tranquil hour, that vacancy of mind ? What is that world which makes the heart its As sweet the wild rose bears its balmy breast; slave?
As soon the breeze with inurmurs sooths to rest; A restless sea, revolving wave on wave :
As smooth the stream of silver Irwan flows; There rage the storms of each uncertain clime; As fair each flower along his border blows; There float the wrecks of fortune and of time: Yet dwells not here that nameless bliss refin'd, There hope's smooth gales in soft succession That tranquil hour, that vacancy of mind. blow,
Is it that knowledge is allied to woe; While' disappointment hides the rock below. And are we happy only e'er we know? The syren pleasures tune their fatal breath, Is it that Hope withholds her golden ray, And lull you to the long repose of death.
That Fancy's fairy visions fade away?
Or can I, distant far froin all that's dear,
Too dear the friendship for the friend's repose." Lash the rude beach, and frighten all the sky; Thus mourn’d the Muse, when thro' his osiers No longer shall my little bark be rent,
wild, Since Hope resign'd her anchor to Content. The hill-born Irwan rais'd bis head and smild:
Like some poor fisher that, escap'd with life, “ Child of my hopes," he fondly cried, "forWill trust no more to elemental strife;
Nor let thy Irwan witness thy despair. (bear; But sits in safety on the green-bank side, Has peace indeed forsook my flow'ry shore? And lives upon the leavings of the tide ;
Shall Fame, and Hope, and Fancy charm ng Like him contented you your friend shall see,
more? As safe, as happy, and as poor as he.
Tho' Fame and Hope in kindred air depart,
jn vain-if grief shall waste thy blooming years, In what lone cave, what sacred cell,
Coeval with the birth of 'Time,
In awful silence dost thou dwell?
Oft in the depth of winter's reign,
As blew the bleak winds o'er the dale;
Has Fancy heard thy voice complain.
Oft in the dark wood's lonely way, With happier fancy, passions more refin'd,
Swift has she seen thee glancing by; Each soft'ning charm of tenderness to prove,
Or down the summer evening sky, And all the finer movements of the mind
Sporting in clouds of gilded day. From gifts like these say, what the boasted gain
If caught from thee the sacred fire, Of those who exquisitively feel or know?
That glow'd within my youthful breast; The skill from pleasure to extract the pain,
Those thoughts too high to be exprest, And open all the avenues of woe.
Genius, if thou didst once inspire, Yet shall we, Colman, at these gifts repine ?
O pleas'd accept this votive lay, Implore cold apathy to steel the heart?
That, in my native shades retir'd, Would you that sensibility resign,
And once, once more by thee inspir'd,
In gratitude I pay.
HYMN TO HOPE.
Μυνη δ' αυλοθι ΕΛΠΙΣ εν άρρηκτοισι δομοισιν
Eydov imagens “A thousand pleasures were not worth one
WRITTEN IN 1761.
Sun of the soul! whose cheerful ray
Darts o'er this gloom of life a smile; For genius brightens all the springs of sense.
Sweet Hope, yet further gild my way,
Yet light my weary steps awhile,
Till thy fair lamp dissolve in endless day.
O come with such an eye and mien,
He meditates his evening tale !
Nor leave behind thy fairy train, Than fear, or folly, fancies in a crown! Repose, Belief, and Fancy vain;
That towering on her wing sublime, As far each boon that Nature's hand bestows
Outstrips the lazy flight of Time, The worthless glare of fortune's train exceeds,
Riots on distant days with thee,
And opens all futurity,
O come! and to my pensive eye
Whose kind deception steals uso'er
Still opening to the distant sight
The sunshine of the mountain's height; To paint the nice diversities of mind,
Where scenes of fairer aspect rise,
Elysian groves, and azure skies.
Nor, led by kindness, longer lend thine ear: The family of Youth and Spring ;
The hours that glide in sprightly round, Would rob thee of a moment and a tear, The Mountain-nymphs with wild thyme crown'd;
Delight that dwells with raptur'd eye
On stream, or flower, or field, or sky:
And foremost in thy train advance
The Loves and Joys in jovial dance;
Nor last be Expectation seen,
Attended thus by Beleau's streams,
Oft hast thou sooth'd my waking dreams, VOL. XVI.