Still soar, my Friend, those richer views among, Strong, rapid, fervent, flashing Fancy's beam! Virtue and Truth shall love your gentler song, But Poesy demands the impassioned theme; Waked by Heaven's silent dews at Eve's mild gleam What balmy sweets Pomona breathes around! But if the vext air rush a stormy stream,
Or Autumn's shrill gust moan in plaintive sound, With fruits and flowers she loads the tempest-honoured ground.
WRITTEN AT SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGEWATER, SEPTEMBER 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM BRISTOL,
"Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better, Received from absent friend, by way of Letter, For what so sweet can laboured lays impart
As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart."
NOR travels my meandering eye The starry wilderness on high;
Nor now with curious sight I mark the glow-worm, as I pass,
Move with "green radiance" through the grass, An emerald of light.
O ever present to my view! My wafted spirit is with you,
And soothes your boding fears: I see you all oppressed with gloom Sit lonely in that cheerless room- Ah me! You are in tears!
Beloved Woman! did you fly Chilled Friendship's dark disliking eye, Or Mirth's untimely din?
With cruel weight these trifles press A temper sore with tenderness,
When aches the Void within.
But why with sable wand unblest Should Fancy rouse within my breast Dim-visaged shapes of Dread? Untenanting its beauteous clay My Sara's soul has winged its way, And hovers round my head!
I felt it prompt the tender dream, When slowly sank the day's last gleam; You roused each gentler sense, As sighing o'er the blossom's bloom Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume With viewless influence.
And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans Through yon reft house! O'er rolling stones In bold ambitious sweep,
The onward-surging tides supply
The silence of the cloudless sky With mimic thunders deep.
Dark reddening from the channelled Isle* (Where stands one solitary pile
*The Holmes, in the Bristol Channel.
Unslated by the blast)
The watchfire, like a sullen star Twinkles to many a dozing tar Rude cradled on the mast.
Even there-beneath that light-house towerIn the tumultuous evil hour
Ere Peace with Sara came,
Time was, I should have thought it sweet To count the echoings of my feet, And watch the storm-vexed flame.
And there in black soul-jaundiced fit A sad gloom-pampered Man to sit, And listen to the roar :
When mountain surges bellowing deep With an uncouth monster leap
Plunged foaming on the shore.
Then by the lightning's blaze to mark Some toiling tempest-shattered bark; Her vain distress-guns hear; And when a second sheet of light Flashed o'er the blackness of the night- To see no vessel there!
But Fancy now more gaily sings; Or if awhile she droop her wings,
As sky-larks 'mid the corn,
On summer fields she grounds her breast: The oblivious poppy o'er her nest
Nods, till returning morn.
O mark those smiling tears, that swell The opened rose! From heaven they fell, And with the sun-beam blend. Blest visitations from above,
Such are the tender woes of Love Fostering the heart they bend!
When stormy Midnight howling round Beats on our roof with clattering sound, To me your arms you'll stretch: Great God! you 'll say-To us so kind, O shelter from this loud bleak wind The houseless, friendless wretch!
The tears that tremble down your cheek, Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek In Pity's dew divine;
And from your heart the sighs that steal Shall make your rising bosom feel The answering swell of mine!
How oft, my Love! with shapings sweet I paint the moment, we shall meet! With eager speed I dart-
I seize you in the vacant air,
And fancy, with a husband's care
press you to my heart!
'Tis said, in Summer's evening hour Flashes the golden-coloured flower
A fair electric flame:
And so shall flash my love-charged eye When all the heart's big ecstasy
Shoots rapid through the frame!
TO A FRIEND IN ANSWER TO A MELANCHOLY LETTER.
AWAY, those cloudy looks, that labouring sigh, The peevish offspring of a sickly hour!
Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's power, When the blind gamester throws a luckless die.
Yon setting sun flashes a mournful gleam Behind those broken clouds, his stormy train To-morrow shall the many-coloured main In brightness roll beneath his orient beam!
Wild, as the autumnal gust, the hand of Time Flies o'er his mystic lyre: in shadowy dance The alternate groups of Joy and Grief advance Responsive to his varying strains sublime!
Bears on its wing each hour a load of Fate; The swain, who, lulled by Seine's mild murmurs, led His weary oxen to their nightly shed,
To-day may rule a tempest-troubled State.
Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful smile Survey the sanguinary despot's might, And haply hurl the pageant from his height Unwept to wander in some savage isle.
There shiv'ring sad beneath the tempest's frown Round his tired limbs to wrap the purple vest; And mixed with nails and beads, an equal jest! Barter for food the jewels of his crown.
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