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The peaceful poet please ;
Nor ceaseless toils for fordid gains,
Nor purple pomp, nor wide domains,
Nor heaps of wealth,nor power, norstatesman's schemes,
Nor all deceiv'd Ambition's feverish dreams,
Lure his contented heart from the sweet vale of ease.
PLEASURES of MELANCHOL Y.
Written in the Year 1745.
By Mr. THOMAS WARTON. M OTHER of musings, Contemplation sage, WV Whose grotto stands upon the topmost rock Of Teneriff: ’mid the tempestuous night, On which, in calmest meditation held, Thou hear'st with howling winds the beating rain And drifting hail descend; or if the skies Unclouded shine, and through the blue serene Pale Cynthia rolls her filver-axled car, Whence gazing stedfast on the spangled vault Raptur'd thou fit'st, while murmurs indistinct Of distant billows footh thy pensive car
P4 ; With
With hoarse and hollow sounds ; fecure, felf-blest,: -
There oft thou listen'st to the wild uproar. - .
Of Aeets encount'ring, that in whispers low i
Ascends the rocky summit, where thou dwell'st ..
Remote from man, conversing with the spheres ! ..
O lead me, queen sublime, to solemn glooms
Congenial with my soul; to cheerless Ihades, ' ; ?
To ruin'd seats, or twilight cells and bow'rs,
Where thoughtful Melancholy loves to muse, fun!!
Her fav’rite midnight haunts. The laughing scenes ,
Of purplé Spring, where all the wanton train , ?g"
Of Smiles and Graces seem to lead the dance i
In sportive round, while from their hands they show'r i
Ambrosial blooms and flow'rs, no longer charm; si
Tempe, no more I court thy balmy breeze,,
Adieu green vales ! ye broider'd meads, adieu!! !
Beneath yon ruin'd abbey's moss-grown piles !
Oft let me fit, at twilight hour of eve,
Where through some western window the pale moon "
Pours her long-levell'd rule of streaming light ;
While sullen sacred silence reigns around,
Save the lone screech-owl's note, who builds his bowie:
Amid the mould'ring caverns, dark and damp,
Or the calm breeze, that rustles in the leaves
Of Aaunting ivy, that with mantle green
Invests fome wasted tow'r. Or let me tread
Its neighb'ring walk of pines, where mus'd of old
The cloyster'd brother: through the gloomy void *
That far extends beneath their ample arch ."
As on I pace, religious horror wraps“.."
My soul in dread repose. But when the world. "
Is clad in Midnight's raven-colour'd robe,
'Mid hollow charnels let me watch the flame.
Of taper dim, shedding a livid glare
O'er the wan heaps ; while airy voices talk... .?
Along the glimm’ring walls : or ghostly shape .
At distance seen, invites with beck’ning hand
My lonesome steps, through the far-winding vaults. --
Nor undelightful is the solemn noon! : n
Of night, when haply wakeful from my couch' ..
I start: lo, all is motionless around!
Roars not the rushing wind; the fons of men...':
And every beast in mute oblivion lie'; .
All nature's hush'd in silence and in Neép.
O then how fearful is it to reflect,
That through the still globe's aweful solitude, ?
No being wakes but me! 'till stealing seep
My drooping temples bathes in opiate dews.
Nor then let dreams, of wanton folly born,
My senses lead through flowery paths of joys
But let the sacred Genius of the night
Such mystic visions fend, as Spenser saw,
When through bewildring Fancy's magic maze,
To the fell house of Busyrane, he led
Th' unshaken Britomart; or Milton knew,
When in abstracted thought he first conceivd
All heav'n in tumult, and the Seraphim
Come tow'ring, arm'd in adamant and gold.
Let others love soft summer's ev'ning smiles,
As, list’ning to the distant water-fall,
They mark the blushes of the streaky west;
I choose the pale December's foggy glooms.
Then, when the fullen shades of ev’ning close,
Where through the room a blindly-glimm’ring gleam
The dying embers scatter, far remote
From Mirth’s mad shouts, that thro' th' illumin'd roof
Resound with festive echo, let me fit,
Bleft with the lowly cricket's drowsy dirge.
Then let my thought contemplative explore
This fleeting state of things, the vain delights,
The fruitless toils, that ftill our search elude,
As through the wilderness of life we rove.
This sober hour of silence will unmask
False Folly's smiles, that like the dazzling spells
Of wily Comus cheat th' unweeting eye
With blear illusion, and persuade to drink
That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair
Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man.
Eager we taste, but in the luscious draught
Forget the pois’nous dregs that lurk beneath.
Few know that elegance of soul refin'd,
Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy
From Melancholy's scenes, than the dull pride
Of tasteless splendor and magnificence
Can e’er afford. Thus Eloise, whose mind
Had languish'd to the pangs of melting love,
More genuine transport found, as on some tomb
Reclin'd, she watch'd the tapers of the dead;
Or through the pillard iles, amid pale shrines
Of imag’d saints, and intermingled graves,
Mus’d a veild votaress : than Flavia feels,
As through the mazes of the festive ball,
Proud of her conquering charms, and beauty’s blaze,
She floats amid the filken fons of dress,
And shines the fairest of th' affembled fair.
When azure noon-tide cheers the dædal globe,..