« PrécédentContinuer »
Written at the Approach of Spring. Stern Winter hence with all his train removes,
And cheerful skies, and limpid streams are seen ; Thick-sprouting foliage decorates the groves;
Reviving herbage robes the fields in green. Yet lovelier scenes th' approaching inonths prepare ;
When blooming Spring's full beauty is display'd, The smile of beauty ev'ry vale thall wear,
The voice of fong enliven ev'ry made. O Fancy, paint not coming days too fair!
Oft for the prospects sprightly May tould yield, Rain-pouring clouds have darken'd all the air,
Or snows untimely whiten'd o'er the field :
The smile of beauty, and the voice of song;
E’en vernal hours glide unenjoy'd along.
Where Pride and Folly high dominion hold ,
O’er proftrate Virtue in pursuit of gold. The graffy.lane, the wood furrounded field,
The rude stone-fence, with fragrant wall-flow'ro gay, The clay-built cot, to me more pleasure yield
Than all the pomp imperial doma display:
And yet ev'n here, amid these secret shades,
These simple fcenes of unreprov'd delight, Affliction's iron hand my breast invades,
And Death's dread dart is ever in my fight. While genial funs to genial show'rs succeed,
(The air all mildness, and the earth all bloom,) While herds and focks range sportive o'er the mead,
Crop the sweet herb, and snuff the rich perfunie ; O wly alone to hapless man deny'd
To taste the bliss inferior beings boast ? O why this fate, that fear and pain divide
His few short hours on earth's delightful coaft? Ob cease! no more of Providence complain !
'Tis sense of guilt that wakes the mind to woe; Gives force to fear, adds energy to pain,
And palls each'joy by Heav'n indulg'd below :
Or ill propension ripens into fin ?
Ere dear-bought knowledge end the peace within?
As to the sportive warblers on the trees, To them their jorys fincere the seasons yield,
And all their days and all their prospects please. Such mine, when firit from London's crowded streets,
Rov'd my young steps to Surry's wood-crown'd bills, O'er new-blown meads, that breath'd a thousand sweets,
By Mady coverts, and by crystal rills. Q happy hours, beyond recov'ry fled!
V hat fuere I now, that can your loss repay,
While o'er my mind these glooms of thought are fpread,
And veil the light of life's meridian ray? Is there no pow'r this darkness to remove ?
"The long-lost joys of Eden to restore ? Or raise our views to happier seats above,
Where fear, and pain, and death, fall be no more? Yes, those there are, who know a Saviour's love
The long-loft joys of Eden can restore, And raise their views to happier seats above,
Where fear, and pain, and death shall be no more : These grateful thare the gift of Nature's hand;
And in the varied scenes that round them thine, (Minute and beautiful, the awful and the grand,)
Admire th' amazing workmanship divine. Blows not a flow'ret in th' enamelle, vale,
Shines not a pebble where the riv'let Atrays, Sports not an insed on the spicy gale,
But claims their wonder and excites their praise. For them e'en vernal Nature looks more gay,
For them more lively hues the fields adorn ; To them more fair the faireft sinile of day,
To them more sweet the sweetefi breath of morda They feel the bliss that Hope and Faith supply ;
They pass ferene th' appointed hours that bring The day that wasts them to the realms on high,
The day that centres in eternal Spring.
of music breaks away, Nor less the found my notice draws, For that 'tis heard in freedom's caufe.
The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,
* Alluding to Camoens, the Portuguese Epic Poet; of whose Lusiad we have a masterly translation by Mickle, + Aluding to Milton, Pope, &c.
Where Want extends het chilling shades,
See Rowley's Poems; supposed to have been written by Chatterton, an unhappy youth born at Bristol.
& Mr. Porter, the excellent translator of Eschylus and Euripides. Il Glover's Leonidas.
Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered,