CHILDE ALARIQUE. PART FIRST. 1. "YE forests wide, from whom I feel the breath Of spring, that bears ten thousand odours, blow! Ye mountains, gay with purple blooming heath, Once more your scenery vanquishes my woe! Once more I feel poetic ardours glow! Through shadowy groves of never-fading pine, I watch the crystal currents glittering flow;Nor fairer rays within those waters shine, Than bright responsive gleams of rapture that are mine! 2. "O fool, to think that never, never more For me the pulse of joy would throb again, While yet far distant from the peaceful shore I combated the waves and wintry rain, And my frail bark was beaten back amain To the wild sea where ceaseless tempests blew fast moor'd, I smile at former pain; But now, Soft are the gales, the skies of lovely hue, And all my infant raptures swell my heart anew. 3. "Oh, Heaven! what ecstacy to weave again The purple heath-bell into garlands wild! Struggling I'll join Ambition's venal crew; And the sweet Muse that loves the mountain forest woo!" le 4. Thus, as the well known landscape open'd wide To the rude cliffs, beneath whose rocky steep, 'Twas his in transport all dissolved to weep, What time the fairy train their mystic revels keep. ore 5. Oh, who can tell the varied joys that wait The young enthusiast in the lonely shade, On Nature, in her richest charms array'd! That float on hill and dale!-Ah, happy he, 6. Go then, unapprehensive youth! explore Whate'er of rapture woodland scenes can yield! Be all of Nature's richest stores reveal'd From every copse wood grey and haunted steep on high! 7. See now the Childe to coverts green repair That on his ravish'd sight inviting swell!-Oh, dreams beloved! whilom I knew your influence well! 8. But now, alas! my feeble mind no more Is borne aloft on Fancy's azure wing; Those dreams have died, like ice-built temples hoar, That fade before the first warm breath of spring; Or like the wreck of dry leaves rustleing, That choak the pathway in November chill. Childe Alarique! thy songs of gladness sing; For thee they blossom yet on dale and hill; Pursue thy woodland path; of joyaunce take thy fill! Behold the youth that late we left at morn, Now eager watching the mild rays of even ; While the loved woodlark from his flowery thorn Carols a vesper hymn of praise to Heaven; And in the breeze ten thousand odours driven Bathes the Childe's forehead in ambrosial dew! What visions to his raptured sight are given! What shapes are glittering the copsewood through, What-while fair Twilight sheds her own enchanting hue! |