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There the Sun's declining ray
Fairer paints the parting day:
There the woodlark louder sings,
Zephyr moves on softer wings,
Groves in greener honours rise,
Purer azure spreads the skies;
There the fountains clearer flow,
Flowers in brighter beauty blow:
For, with Peace and Virtue, there
Lives the happy villager.
Distant still from Arden's vale
Are the woes the bad bewail;
Distant fell Remorse, and Pain,
And Frenzy smiling o'er her chain!
Grief's quick pang, Despair's dead groan,
Are in Arden's vale unknown:
For, with Peace and Virtue, there
Lives the happy villager!
In his hospitable cell,
Love, and Truth, and Freedom dwell;
And, with aspect mild and free,
The graceful nymph, Simplicity.
Hail, ye liberal graces, hail!
Natives all of Arden's vale:
For, with Peace and Virtue, there
Lives the happy villager.
ON THE MARRIAGE OF HIS PRESENT MAJESTY.
AWAKE, thou everlasting lyre!
That once the mighty Pindar strung,
When wrapt with more than mortal fire,
The gods of Greece he sung! Awake!
Arrest the rapid foot of Time again
With liquid notes of joy, and pleasure's melting strain.
Crown'd with each beauteous flower that blows
On Acidalia's tuneful side;
With all Aonia's rosy pride,
Where numerous Aganippe flows;
From Thespian groves and fountains wild,
Come, thou yellow-vested boy,
Redolent of youth and joy,
Fair Urania's favour'd child'!
George to thee devotes the day:
Io! Hymen, haste away!
Daughter of the genial main!
Queen of youth and rosy smiles,
Queen of dimple-dwelling wiles;
Come with all thy Paphian train :
O, give the fair that blooms for Britain's throne,
Thy melting charms of love, thy soul-enchanting
Daughter of the genial main !
Bring that heart-dissolving power, Which once in Ida's sacred bower The soul of Jove oppos'd in vain :
The sire of gods thy conquering charms confess'd; And, vanquish'd, sunk, sunk down of Juno's fost'ring breast.
She comes, the conscious sea subsides;
Old Ocean curbs his thund'ring tides:
Smooth the silken surface lies,
Where Venus' flow'ry chariot flies:
But mark, of more than vulgar mein,
With regal grace and radiant eye,
A form in youthful majesty !
Britain, hail thy favour'd queen!
For her the conscious sea subsides;
Old Ocean curbs his thund'ring tides,
O'er the glassy-bosom'd main
Venus leads her laughing train ;
The Paphian maids move graceful by her side,
And o'er the buxom waves the rosy Cupids ride.
Fly, ye fairy-footed hours!
Fly, with aromatic flowers!
Such as bath'd in orient dews,
Beauty's living glow diffuse;
Such as in Idalia's grove
Breathe the sweets, the soul of love!
Come, genial god of chaste delight,
With wreathes of festive roses crown'd,
And torch that burns with radiance bright,
And liberal robe that sweeps the ground!
Bring the days of golden joy,
Pleasures pure, that never cloy!
Bring to Britain's happy pair,
All that's kind, and good, and fair! George to thee devotes the day : lo! Hymen, haste away. Daughters of Jove! ye virgins sage, That wait on Camus' boary age; That oft his winding vales along Have smooth'd your silver-woven song; O wake once more those lays sublime, That live beyond the wrecks of time! To crown your Albion's boasted pair, The never-fading wreath prepare; While her rocks echo to this strain, "The friends of freedom and of Britain reign."
To watch the distant sail;
Perhaps, on Sundah's hills forlorn,
He faints, with aching toil o'erborn,
And life's last spirits fail.
Ah, no! the cruel thought forbear!
Avaunt, thou fiend of fell despair,
That only death canst give!
While Heav'n eternal rules above,
Almena yet may find her love,
And Solyman may live!
AT A VILLAGE IN LORRAIN.
OCCASIONED BY A TRADITION CONCERNING A TREE OF ROSEMARY,
O THOU, whom love and fancy lead
To wander near this woodland hill,
If ever music smooth'd thy quill,
Or pity wak'd thy gentle reed,
Repose beneath my humble tree,
If thou lov'st simplicity.
Stranger, if thy lot has laid
In toilsome scenes of busy life,
Full sorely may'st thou rue the strife
Of weary passions ill repaid.
In a garden live with ne,
If thou lov'st simplicity.
Flowers have sprung for many a year
O'er the village maiden's grave,
That, one memorial sprig to save,
Bore it from a sister's-bier;
And, homeward walking, wept o'er me
The true tears of simplicity.
And soon, her cottage window near,
With care my slender stem she plac'd;
And foudly thus her grief embrac'd;
And cherish'd sad remembrance dear:
For love sincere and friendship free
Are children of simplicity.
When past was many a painful day,
Slow-pacing o'er the village green,
In white were all its maidens seen,
And bore my guardian friend away.
Ah death what sacrifice to thee,
The ruins of simplicity.
One gen'rous swain her heart approv'd,
A youth whose fond and faithful breast,
With many an artless sigh confess'd,
In Nature's language, that he lov'd:
But, stranger, 'tis no tale to thee,
Unless thou lov'st simplicity.
He died-and soon her lip was cold,
And soon her rosy cheek was pale;
The village wept to hear the tale,
When for both the slow bell toll'd-
Beneath yon flow'ry turf they lie,
The lovers of simplicity.
Yet one boon have I to crave;
Stranger, if thy pity bleed,
Wilt thou do one tender deed,
And strew my pale flowers o'er their grave?
So lightly lie the turf on thee, Because thou lov'st simplicity.
THE PASTORAL PART OF MILTON'S EPITAPHIUM DAMONIS. O FOR the soft lays of Himeria's maids! The strains that died in Arethusa's shades; Tun'd to wild sorrow on her mournful shore. When Daphnis, Hylas, Bion breath'd no more! Thames' vocal wave shall ev'ry note prolong, 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 shed-
Ye dim retreats, ye wandering fountains know,
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.
Twice had the fields their blooming honours
And Autumn twice resign'd his golden store,
Unconscious of his loss, while Thyrsis staid
To woo the sweet Muse in the Tuscan shade:
Crown'd with her favour, when he sought again
His flock forsaken, and his native plain;
When to his old elm's wonted shade return'd—
Then then, he miss'd his parted friend—and
And go, he cry'd, my tender lambs, adieu!
Your wretched master has no time for you.
Yet are there pow'rs divine in Earth or sky?
Gods can they be who destin'd thee to die?
And shalt thou mix with shades of vulgar name;
Lost thy fair honours, and forgot thy fame?
Not he, the god whose golden wand restrains
The pale ey'd people of the gloomy plains,
Of Damon's fate shall thus regardless be,
Or suffer vulgar shades to herd with thee.
Then go, he cry'd, &c.
Yet while one strain my trembling tongue may try,
Not unlamented, shepherd, shalt thou die.
Long in these fields thy fame shall flourish fair,
And Daphnis only greater honours share;
To Daphnis only purer vows be paid,
While Pan or Pales loves the vulgar shade.
If truth or science may survive the grave,
Or, what is more, a poet's friendship save,
Then go, &c.
These, these are thine: for me what hopes remain ?
Save of long sorrow, and of anguish vain.
For who, still faithful to my side, shall go,
Like thee, through regions clad with chilling
Like thee, the rage of fiery summers bear,
When fades the wan flower in the burning air?
The lurking dangers of the chase essay,
Or sooth with song and various tales the day?
Then go, &c.
To whom shall I my hopes and fears impart? Or trust the cares and follies of my heart? Whose gentle councils put those cares to flight? Whose cheerful converse cheat the tedious night?
Thy hazel, Tyt rus, has no charms for me; Nor yet thy wild ash, lov'd Alphesibee, No more shall fancy wave her rural dream, By Egan's willow, or Amynta's stream, The trembling leaves, the fountains cool serene, The murmuring zephyr, and the mossy green— These smile unseen, and those unheeded play, I cut my shrubs, and careless walk'd away. Then go, &c.
Mopsus, who knows what fates the stars dispense,
And solves the grove's wild warblings into sense. Thus Mopsus mark'd—“ what thus thy spleen can move?
Some baleful planet, or some hopeless love?
The star of Saturn oft annoys the swain,
And in the dull cold breast long holds his leaden
One gentle tear the British Chloris gave, Chloris the grace of Maidou's purple waveIn vain-my grief no soothing words disarm, No future hopes, nor present good can charm. Then go, &c.
The happier flocks one social spirit moves, The same their sports, their pastures and their loves;
Their hearts to no peculiar object tend,
None knows a fav'rite, or selects a friend.
So herd the various natives of the main,
And Proteus drives in crowds his scaly train ;
The feather'd tribes too find an easier fate,
The meanest sparrow still enjoys his mate;
And when by chance or wearing age she dies,
The transient loss a second choice supplies.
Man, hapless man, for ever doom'd to know
The dire vexations that from discord flow,
In all the countless numbers of his kind,
Can scarcely meet with one congenial mind;
The tender union breaks, and breaks his heart.
If haply found, Death wings the fatal dart,
Then go, &c.
Ah me! what erronr tempted me to go
O'er foreign mountains, and thro' Alpine snow?
Too great the price to mark in Tyber's gloom
The mournful image of departed Rome!
Nay, yet immortal, could she boast again
The glories of her universal reign,
And all that Maro left his fields to see,
Too great the purchase to abandon thee!
To leave thee in a land no longer seen!-
Bid mountains rise, and oceans roll betwee
Ah! not embrace thee!-not to see thee die
Meet thy last looks, or close thy languid ere
Not one fond farewell with thy shade to send
Nor bid thee think of thy surviving friend
Ye Tuscan shepherds, pardon me this to
Dear to the Muse, to me for ever dear
The youth I mourn a Tuscan tite bure-
See Lydian Lucca for her son dep art.
O days of ecstacy! when wrapt 1 .at
Where Arno wanders down bis frwy
Pluck'd the pale violet, pressi
Or bade the myrtle's balmy fractal
Delighted, heard amid the ua:
Menalcas strive with Lreice E SIE.
Oft would my voice the nam
Nor haply all unheeded w
For, shepherds, yet I as
The osier basket, and
Francino crown'd me
And Dati 3 tangit me
2 The Toscans that migrated the dispersi as far as colony FRUE 3 When A De
professor & friend a m forecer a
ON READING AN ELEGY WRITTEN BY HER ON THE
SEARCH OF HAPPINESS.
LAMB, could the Muse that boasts thy forming To seek the lovely nymph you sing,
Unfold the grateful feelings of my heart,
Her hand for thee should many a wreath prepare,
And cull the choicest flowers with studious art.
For mark'd by thee was each imperfect ray
That haply wander'd o'er my infant mind;
The dawn of genius brighten'd into day,
As thy skill open'd, as thy lore refin'd.
Each uncouth lay that faulter'd from my tongue,
At eve or morn from Eden's murmurs caught;
Whate'er I painted, and whate'er I sung,
Tho' rude the strain, tho' artless was the
You wisely prais'd, and fed the sacred fire
That warms the breast with love and honest fame;
You swell'd to nobler heights the infant lyre, Rais'd the low thought, and check'd th' exuberant flame.
O could the Muse in future times obtain
One humble garlaud from th' Aonian tree ! With joy I'd bind thy favour'd brows again, With joy I'd form a fairer wreath for thee.
EPISTLE TO MR.
ROM Scenes where fancy no excursion tries,
Nor trusts her wing to smoke-envelop❜d skies;
Far from the town's detested haunts remov'd,
And nought but thee deserted that I lov'd;
From noise and folly and the world got free,
One truant thought yet only stays for thee.
What is that world which makes the heart
A restless sea, revolving wave on wave:
There rage the storms of each uncertain clime;
There float the wrecks of fortune and of time:
There hope's smooth gales in soft succession
I've wander'd many a weary mile,
From grove to grove, from spring to spring;
If here or there she deign'd to smile.
Nay what I now must blush to say,
For sure it hap'd in evil hour;
I once so far mistook my way,
To seek her in the haunts of power.
How should success my search betide,
When still so far I wander'd wrong?
For Happiness on Arrowe's side,
Was list'ning to Maria's song.
Delighted thus with you to stay,
What hope have I the nymph to see;
Unless you cease your magic lay,
Or bring her in your arms to me?
For ever lov'd, and once enjoy'd again!
Ah! where is now that nameless bliss refin'd,
That tranquil hour, that vacancy of mind?
its As sweet the wild rose bears its balmy breast;
As soon the breeze with murmurs sooths to rest;
As smooth the stream of silver Irwan flows;
As fair each flower along his border blows;
Yet dwells not here that nameless bliss refin'd,
That tranquil hour, that vacancy of mind.
Is it that knowledge is allied to woe;
And are we happy only e'er we know?
Is it that Hope withholds her golden ray,
That Fancy's fairy visions fade away?
Or can I, distant far from all that's dear,
Be happy only when Almena's near?
That truth, the feelings of my heart disclose:
Too dear the friendship for the friend's repose."
Thus mourn'd the Muse, when thro' his osiers
While disappointment hides the rock below.
The syren pleasures tune their fatal breath,
And lull you to the long repose of death.
What is that world? ah!-'tis no more
Than the vext ocean while we walk the shore.
Loud roar the winds and swell the wild waves
Lash the rude beach, and frighten all the sky;
No longer shall my little bark be rent,
Since Hope resign'd her anchor to Content.
Like some poor fisher that, escap'd with life,
Will trust no more to elemental strife;
But sits in safety on the green-bank side,
And lives upon the leavings of the tide ;
Like him contented you your friend shall see,
As safe, as happy, and as poor as he.
The hill-born Irwan rais'd his head and smil'd:
"Child of my hopes," he fondly cried, "for-
Nor let thy Irwan witness thy despair.
Has peace indeed forsook my flow'ry shore?
Shall Fame, and Hope, and Fancy charm ne
Tho' Fame and Hope in kindred air depart,
Yet Fancy still should hold thee to her heart;
For, at thy birth, the village hind has seen
Her light wings waving o'er the shadowy green.
With rosy wreaths she crown'd the new-born
In vain-if grief shall waste thy blooming years, And life dissolve in solitude and tears."
TO GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ.
PREFIXED TO THE CORRESPONDENCE OF THEODOSIUS AND CONSTANTIA.
To live beneath the golden star of love,
With happier fancy, passions more refin'd, Each soft'ning charm of tenderness to prove,
And all the finer movements of the mind--
From gifts like these say, what the boasted gain
Of those who exquisitively feel or know?
The skill from pleasure to extract the pain,
And open all the avenues of woe.
Yet shall we, Colman, at these gifts repine?
Implore cold apathy to steel the heart?
Would you that sensibility resign,
And with those powers of genius would you part?
Ah me! my friend! nor deem the versé divine That weakness wrote in Petrarch's gentle
When once he own'd at love's unfav'ring shrine "A thousand pleasures were not worth one pain."
The dreams of fancy sooth the pensive heart;
For fancy's urn can new delights dispense:
The powers of genius purer joys impart ;
For genius brightens all the springs of sense.
O charm of every muse-ennobl❜d mind,
Far, far above the grovelling crowd to rise!
Leave the low train of trifling cares behind,
Assert its birthright, and affect the skies! O right divine, the pride of power to scorn! On fortune's little vanity look down! With nobler gifts, to fairer honours born,
Than fear, or folly, fancies in a crown! As far each boon that Nature's hand bestows The worthless glare of fortune's train exceeds, As yon fair orb, whose beam eternal glows,
Outshines the transient meteor that it feeds. To Nature, Colman, let thy incense rise,
For, much indebted, much hast thou to pay; For taste refin'd, for wit correctly wise,
And keen discernment's soul-pervading ray.
To catch the manners from the various face,
To paint the nice diversities of mind,
The living lines of character to trace,
She gave thee powers, and the task assign'd.
Seize, seize the pen! the sacred hour departs!
Nor, led by kindness, longer lend thine ear:
The tender tale of two ingenuous hearts
Would rob thee of a moment and a tear,
TO THE CENIUS OF WESTMORELAND.
HALL, hidden power of these wild groves, These uncouth rocks, and mountains grey! Where oft, as fades the closing day, The family of Fancy roves. VOL. XVI.
In what lone cave, what sacred cell, Coeval with the birth of 'Time, Wrapt in high cares, and thoughts sublime, In awful silence dost thou dwell?
Oft in the depth of winter's reign,
As blew the bleak winds o'er the dale;
Moaning along the distant gale,
Has Fancy heard thy voice complain.
Oft in the dark wood's lonely way,
Swift has she seen thee glancing by;
Or down the summer evening sky,
Sporting in clouds of gilded day.
If caught from thee the sacred fire,
That glow'd within my youthful breast;
Those thoughts too high to be exprest,
Genius, if thou didst once inspire,
O pleas'd accept this votive lay,
That, in my native shades retir'd,
And once, once more by thee inspir'd,
In gratitude I pay.
HYMN TO HOPE.
Μωνη δ' αυτόθι ΕΛΠΙΣ εν ἀρρηκτοισι δόμοισιν Ενδον έμιμνε
SUN of the soul! whose cheerful ray
Darts o'er this gloom of life a smile;
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,
As when by amorous shepherd seen;
While in the violet-breathing vale
He meditates his evening tale!
Nor leave behind thy fairy train,
Repose, Belief, and Fancy vain;
That towering on her wing sublime,
Outstrips the lazy flight of Time,
Riots on distant days with thee,
And opens all futurity.
O come! and to my pensive eye
Thy far-foreseeing tube apply,
Whose kind deception steals us o'er
The gloomy waste that lies before;
Still opening to the distant sight
The sunshine of the mountain's height;
Where scenes of fairer aspect rise,
Elysian groves, and azure skies.
Nor, gentle Hope, forget to bring The family of Youth and Spring; The hours that glide in sprightly round, 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, That wears a wreath of ever-green.
Attended thus by Beleau's streams, Oft hast thou sooth'd my waking dreams, ць