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Do thou descend, and bless my ravish'd sight,
Veil'd in soft visions of serene delight.

At thy command the gale that passes by
Bears in its whispers mystic harmony.

Thou wav'st thy wand, and lo! what forms appear!
On the dark cloud what giant shapes career!
The ghosts of Ossian skim the misty vale,
And hosts of Sylphids on the moon-beams sail.

This gloomy alcove darkling to the sight,
Where meeting trees create eternal night:
Save, when from yonder stream, the sunny ray,
Reflected, gives a dubious gleam of day;
Recals, endearing to my alter'd mind,

Times, when beneath the boxen hedge reclined,
I watch'd the lapwing to her clamorous brood;
Or lured the robin to its scatter'd food;
Or woke with song the woodland echo wild,
And at each gay response delighted smiled.
How oft, when childhood threw its golden ray
Of gay romance o'er every happy day,
Here would I run, a visionary boy,

When the hoarse tempest shook the vaulted sky,
And, fancy led, beheld the Almighty's form
Sternly careering on the eddying storm;
And heard, while awe congeal'd my inmost soul,
His voice terrific in the thunders roll.
With secret joy, I view'd with vivid glare
The vollied lightnings cleave the sullen air;
And, as the warring winds around reviled,
With awful pleasure big,—I heard and smiled.
Beloved remembrance!-Memory which endears
This silent spot to my advancing years.
Here dwells eternal peace, eternal rest,
In shades like these to live is to be bless'd,

While happiness evades the busy crowd,
In rural coverts loves the maid to shroud.
And thou too, Inspiration, whose wild flame
Shoots with electric swiftness through the frame,
Thou here dost love to sit with up-turn'd eye,
And listen to the stream that murmurs by,
The woods that wave, the grey owl's silken flight,
The mellow music of the listening night.
Congenial calms more welcome to my breast
Than maddening joy in dazzling lustre dress'd,
To Heaven my prayers, my daily prayers, I raise,
bless my unambitious days,

That ye may

Withdrawn, remote, from all the haunts of strife,
May trace with me the lowly vale of life,

And when her banner Death shall o'er me wave,
May keep your peaceful vigils on my grave.
Now as I rove, where wide the prospect grows,

A livelier light upon my vision flows.

No more above th' embracing branches meet,
No more the river gurgles at my feet,

But seen deep down the cliff's impending side,
Through hanging woods, now gleams its silver tide.
Dim is my upland path,-across the green
Fantastic shadows fling, yet oft between

The chequer'd glooms, the moon her chaste ray sheds
Where knots of bluebells droop their graceful heads,
And beds of violets blooming 'mid the trees,
Load with waste fragrance the nocturnal breeze.

Say, why does Man, while to his opening sight
Each shrub presents a source of chaste delight,
And Nature bids for him her treasures flow,
And gives to him alone his bliss to know,
Why does he pant for Vice's deadly charms
Why clasp the syren Pleasure to his arms?

And suck deep draughts of her voluptuous breath,
Though fraught with ruin, infamy, and death?
Could he who thus to vile enjoyment clings,
Know what calm joy from purer sources springs;
Could he but feel how sweet, how free from strife,
The harmless pleasures of a harmless life,
No more his soul would pant for joys impure,
The deadly chalice would no more allure,
But the sweet portion he was wont to sip,
Would turn to poison on his conscious lip.
Fair Nature! thee, in all thy varied charms,
Fain would I clasp for ever in my arms!

Thine are the sweets which never, never sate,
Thine still remain through all the storms of fate.
Though not for me, 'twas Heaven's divine command
To roll in acres of paternal land,

Yet still my lot is bless'd, while I enjoy
Thine opening beauties with a lover's eye.

Happy is he, who though the cup of bliss
Has ever shunn'd him when he thought to kiss,
Who, still in abject poverty or pain,
Can count with pleasure what small joys remain :
Though were his sight convey'd from zone to zone,
He would not find one spot of ground his own,
Yet, as he looks around, he cries with glee,
These bounding prospects all were made for me:
For me yon waving fields their burden bear,
For me yon labourer guides the shining share.
While happy I in idle ease recline,

And mark the glorious visions as they shine.
This is the charm, by sages often told,
Converting all it touches into gold.

Content can soothe, where'er by fortune placed,
Can rear a garden in the desert waste.

How lovely, from this hill's superior height, Spreads the wide view before my straining sight. O'er many a varied mile of lengthening ground, E'en to the blue ridged hill's remotest bound, My ken is borne; while o'er my head serene, The silver moon illumes the misty scene; Now shining clear, now darkening in the glade, In all the soft varieties of shade.

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Behind me, lo! the peaceful hamlet lies,

The drowsy god has seal'd the cotter's eyes.
No more, where late the social faggot blazed,
The vacant peal resounds, by little raised;

But lock'd in silence, o'er Arion's star

The slumbering Night rolls on her velvet car:
The church bell tolls, deep-sounding down the glade,
The solemn hour for walking spectres made;
The simple plough-boy, wakening with the sound,
Listens aghast, and turns him startled round,
Then stops his ears, and strives to close his eyes,
Lest at the sound some grisly ghost should rise.
Now ceased the long and monitory toll,
Returning silence stagnates in the soul;

Save when, disturb'd by dreams, with wild affright,
The deep-mouth'd mastiff bays the troubled night:
Or where the village alehouse crowns the vale,
The creaking sign-post whistles to the gale.
A little onward let me bend my way,

Where the moss'd seat invites the traveller's stay.
That spot, oh! yet it is the very same;

That hawthorn gives it shade, and gave it name:
There yet the primrose opes its earliest bloom,
There yet the violet sheds its first perfume.
And in the branch that rears above the rest
The robin unmolested builds its nest.
"Twas here, when hope, presiding o'er my breast,
In vivid colours every prospect dress'd:
"Twas here, reclining, I indulged her dreams,
And lost the hour in visionary schemes.
Here, as I press once more the ancient seat,
Why, bland deceiver! not renew the cheat!
Say, can a few short years this change achieve,
That thy illusions can no more deceive!
Time's sombrous tints have every view o'erspread,
And thou too, gay seducer, art thou fled?
Though vain thy promise, and the suit severe,
Yet thou couldst guile Misfortune of her tear,

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