COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY, 1795.
WITH many a pause and oft reverted eye
I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet songsters near
Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.
Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock
That on green plots o'er precipices browse :
From the deep fissures of the naked rock
The Yewtree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs
('Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white)
Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats,
I rest-and now have gained the topmost site.
Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets
My gaze! Proud towers, and cots more dear to me,
Elm-shadow'd fields, and prospect-bounding sea.
Deep sighs my lonely heart: I drop the tear:
Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here!
IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.
O PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love
To rest thine head beneath an olive tree,
I would that from the pinions of thy dove
One quill withouten pain yplucked might be!
For O! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee,
And fain to her some soothing song would write,
Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,
Who vowed to meet her ere the morning light,
But broke my plighted word—ah! false and recreant wight!
Last night as I my weary head did pillow
With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engrost,
Chill Fancy drooped wreathing herself with willow,
As though my breast entombed a pining ghost.
From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast,
Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way;
But leave me with the matin hour, at most!
As night-closed floweret to the orient ray,
My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey."
But Love, who heard the silence of my thought,
Contrived a too successful wile, I ween:
And whispered to himself, with malice fraught-
"Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen:
To-morrow shall he ken her altered mien!"
He spake, and ambushed lay, till on my bed
The morning shot her dewy glances keen,
When as I'gan to lift my drowsy head—
'Now, Bard! I'll work thee woe!" the laughing Elfin said.
Sleep, softly-breathing God! his downy wing
Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart;
When twanged an arrow from Love's mystic string,
With pathless wound it pierced him to the heart.
Was there some magic in the Elfin's dart? Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance? For straight so fair a Form did upwards start (No fairer decked the bowers of old Romance) That Sleep enamoured grew, nor moved from his sweet trance!
My Sara came, with gentlest look divine;
Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam:
I felt the pressure of her lip to mine!
Whispering we went, and Love was all our theme-
Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem,
He sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did 'bide,
That I the living image of my dream
Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh’d—
"O! how shall I behold my Love at even-tide!"
PUBLISHED ANONYMOUSLY AT BRISTOL, IN SEPTEMBER, 1795.
UNBOASTFUL Bard! whose verse concise yet clear
Tunes to smooth melody unconquered sense,
May your
fame fadeless live, as "never-sere
The Ivy wreathes yon Oak, whose broad defence
Embowers me from Noon's sultry influence!
For like that nameless Rivulet stealing by,
Your modest verse to musing quiet dear,
Is rich with tints heaven-borrowed; the charmed eye Shall gaze undazzled there, and love the softened sky.
Circling the base of the Poetic mount
A stream there is, which rolls in lazy flow
Its coal-black waters from Oblivion's fount;
The vapour-poisoned Birds, that fly too low,
Fall with dead swoop, and to the bottom go.
Escaped that heavy stream on pinion fleet
Beneath the Mountain's lofty frowning brow,
Ere aught of perilous ascent you meet,
A mead of mildest charm delays the unlabouring feet.
Not there the cloud-climbed rock, sublime and vast,
That like some giant king o'erglooms the hill;
Nor there the Pine-grove to the midnight blast
Makes solemn music! But the unceasing rill
To the soft Wren or Lark's descending trill
Murmurs sweet under-song mid jasmine bowers.
In this same pleasant meadow, at your will
I ween, you wandered-there collecting flowers
Of sober tint, and herbs of med'cinable powers!
There for the monarch-murdered Soldier's tomb
You wove the unfinished wreath of saddest hues ;
And to that holier chaplet added bloom
Besprinkling it with Jordan's cleansing dews.t
But lo! your Henderson awakes the Muse-‡
His Spirit beckoned from the Mountain's height!
You left the plain and soared 'mid richer views!
So Nature mourned, when sunk the First Day's light,
With stars, unseen before, spangling her robe of night.
↑ John the Baptist, a Poem.
Monody on John Henderson.
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—
You are in tears!
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