« PreviousContinue »
To distant caves the lonely wand'rer dies,
To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies.
Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice,
Hear him o'erwhelm'd with forrow yet rejoice,
No womanish or wailing grief has part,
No, not a moment in his royal heart,
'Tis manly music, such as martyrs make,
Sufforing with gladness for a Saviour's fake ;
His foul exults, hope animates his lays,
The sense of mercy kindles into praise,
And wilds familiar with the lion's roar,
Ring with extatic sounds unheard before ;
'Tis love like his that can alone defeat
The foes of man, or make a desart sweet.
Religion does not cenfure or exclude
Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly pursu’d,
To study culture, and with artful toil
To meliorate and tame the stubborn foil,
To give diffimilar yet fruitful lands
The grain or herb or plant that each demands,
To cherish virtue in an humble state,
And share the joys your bounty may create,
To mark the matchless workings of the pow'r
That shuts within its feed the future fow'r,
Bid these in elegance of form excell,
In colour these, and those delight the smelt,
Sends nature forth the daughter of the skies,
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes ;
To teach the canvass innocent deceit;
Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet,
These, these are arts pursu'd without a crime,
That leave no ftain upon the wing of time.
Me, poetry (or rather, notes that aim
Feebly and vainly at poetic fame)
Employs, shut out from more important views,
Fast by the banks of the flow winding Ouse ;
Content, if thus fequester'd I may raise
A monitor's though not a poet's praise,
And while I teach an art too little known,
To close life wisely, may not waste my own.
REAS’NING at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things, whom instinct leads,
Are rarely known to-stray.
One silent eve I wanderd late,
And heard the voice of love,
The turtle thus address'd her mate,
And sooth'd the list'ning dove;
Our mutual bond of faith and truth,
No time shall disengage,
Those blessings of our early youth,
Shall cheer our latest age :
While innocence without disguise,
And constancy sincere,
Shall fill the circles of those eyes,
And mine can read them there :
v. Those ills that wait on all below,
Shall ne'er be felt by me, Or gently felt, and only so,
As being shar'd with thee.
When light’nings flash among the trees,
Or kites are hov'ring near,
I fear left thee alone they seize,
And know no other fear.
VII. 'Tis then I feel myself a wife,
And press thy wedded side, Resolv'd an union form’d for life,
Death never shall divide.
But oh! if fickle and uncharte
(Forgive a transient thought) Thou could become unkind at last, And scorn thy present lot,
IX. No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak, Denied th’ endearments of thine eye
This widow'd heart would break.