WILLIAM COLLINS. And see, the fairy valleys fade; Dun Night has veiled the solemn view! Yet once again, dear parted shade, Meek Nature's child, again adieu! The genial meads assigned to bless Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes: "O! vales, and wild woods," shall he say, "In yonder grave your Druid lies!" TOBIAS SMOLLETT. 1721-1771. ODE TO LEVEN WATER. ON Leven's banks, while free to rove Pure stream, in whose transparent wave My youthful limbs I wont to lave; No rocks impede thy dimpling course, Still on thy banks so gaily green, May numerous herds and flocks be seen, And shepherds piping in the dale, And ancient faith that knows no guile, And industry embrowned with toil, And hearts resolved, and hands prepared, THE radiant ruler of the year At length his wintry goal attains, Soon to reverse the long career, And northward bend his steady reins. Now piercing half Potosi's height, Prone rush the fiery floods of light, Ripening the mountain's silver stores, While in some cavern's horrid shade The panting Indian hides his head, And oft the approach of eve implores. But lo! on this deserted coast How pale the sun, how thick the air! Mustering his storms, a sordid host! Lo! Winter desolates the year. The fields resign their latest bloom, No more their breezes waft perfume, No more the streams in music roll, But snows fall dark or rains resound, And while great Nature mourns around Her griefs infect the human soul. ODE ON THE WINTER SOLSTICE. Hence the loud city's busy throngs Urge the warm bowl and splendid fire; Harmonious dances, festive songs, Against the spiteful heaven conspire. Meantime, perhaps with tender fears, Some village-dame the curfew hears, While round the hearth her children play: At morn their father went abroad; The moon is sunk and deep the road; She sighs, and wonders at his stay. But thou, my Lyre! awake, arise, Yet gentler hours advance their wing; O fountain of the golden day! Could mortal vows promote thy speed, Should each unkindly damp recede! To 'whelm the merchant's hopes of gain! MARK AKENSIDE. But let not man's unequal views Presume o'er Nature and her laws; 'Tis his with grateful joy to use The indulgence of the Sovereign Cause; Secure that health and beauty springs Through this majestic frame of things Beyond what he can reach to know, And that Heaven's all-subduing will, With good the progeny of ill, Attempereth every state below. How pleasing wears the wintry night, I seem those awful scenes to tread In arms and antique pomp arrayed; But should some cheerful equal friend Her name whom all his hopes obey, What flattering dreams his bosom warm, While absence, heightening every charm, Invokes the slow-returning May! |