Written in the Year 1745.
By Mr. THOMAS WARTON.
OTHER of mufings, Contemplation sage, Whofe grotto stands upon the topmoft rock
Of Teneriff: mid the tempestuous, night, On which, in calmeft meditation held,
Thou hear'ft with howling winds the beating rain And drifting hail defcend; or if the skies Unclouded shine, and thro' the blue ferene Pale Cynthia rolls her filver-axled car, Whence gazing ftedfaft on the spangled vault Raptur'd thou fit ft, while marmurs indiftinct Of diftant billows footh thy penfive ear With hoarfe and hollow founds; fecure, self-bleft, There oft thou liften'ft to the wild aproar. Of fleets encount'ring, that in whispers low Afcends the rocky fummit, where thou dwell'st Remote from man, converfing with the fpheres! O lead me, queen fublime, to folemn glooms Congenial with my foul; to chearless shades,
To ruin'd feats, or twilight cells and bow'rs, Where thoughtful Melancholy loves to mufe, Her fav'rite midnight haunts. The laughing scenes Of purple Spring, where all the wanton train Of Smiles and Graces feem to lead the dance
In fportive round, while from their hands they fhow'r Ambrofial blooms and flow'rs, no longer charm; Tempe, no more I court thy balmy breeze, Adieu green vales! ye broider'd meads, adieu ! Beneath yon' ruin'd abbey's mofs-grown piles Oft let me fit, at twilight hour of eve,
Where thro' fome western window the pale moon Pours her long-levell'd rule of ftreaming light; While fullen facred filence reigns around,
Save the lone screech-owl's note, who builds his bow'r Amid the mould'ring caverns dark and damp, Or the calm breeze, that ruftles in the leaves Of flaunting ivy, that with mantle green Invests fome wafted tow'r. Or let me tread
Its neighb'ring walk of pines, where mus'd of old The cloyster'd brother: thro' the gloomy void That far extends beneath their ample arch As on I pace, religious horror wraps
My foul in dread repofe. But when the world Is clad in Midnight's raven-colour'd robe, 'Mid hollow charnels let me watch the flame Of taper dim, fhedding 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, thro' the far-winding vaults. Nor undelightful is the folemn noon
Of night, when haply wakeful from my couch I ftart: lo, all is motionless around!
Roars not the rushing wind; the sons of men And every beast in mute oblivion lie; All nature's hush'd in filence and in sleep. O then how fearful is it to reflect, That thro' the ftill globe's aweful folitude, No being wakes but me! 'till stealing fleep My drooping temples bathes in opiate dews. Nor then let dreams, of wanton folly born, My fenfes lead thro' flowery paths of joy; But let the facred Genius of the night Such myftic vifions fend, as Spenfer faw, When thro' bewild'ring Fancy's magic maze, To the fell house of Busyrane, he led Th' unfhaken Britomart; or Milton knew, When in abstracted thought he first conceiv'd All heav'n in tumult, and the Seraphim Come tow'ring, arm'd in adamant and gold. Let others love foft fummer's ev'ning smiles,
As, lift'ning to the diftant water-fall,
They mark the blushes of the streaky west;
I choose the pale December's foggy glooms.
Then, when the fullen fhades of ev'ning close,
Where thro' the room a blindly-glimm'ring gleam The dying embers scatter, far remote
From Mirth's mad fhouts, that thro' th' illumin'd roof Refound with feftive 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 fearch elude, As thro' the wilderness of life we rove.
This fober hour of filence will unmask
Falfe Folly's fmiles, that like the dazzling spells Of wily Comus cheat th' unweeting eye With blear illufion, and perfuade to drink That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man. Eager we tafte, but in the lufcious draught Forget the pois'nous dregs that lurk beneath. Few know that elegance of foul refin'd, Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy From Melancholy's fcenes, than the dull pride Of tasteless splendor and magnificence Can e'er afford. Thus Eloife, whose mind Had languish'd to the pangs of melting love, More genuine transport found, as on fome tomb Reclin'd, fhe watch'd the tapers of the dead; Or thro' the pillar'd iles, amid pale shrines Of imag'd faints, and intermingled graves, Mus'd a veil'd votarefs: than Flavia feels,
As thro' the mazes of the festive ball
Proud of her conquering charms, and beauty's blaze, She floats amid the filken fons of drefs,
And fhines the fairest of th' affembled fair.
When azure noon tide chears the dædal globe, And the bleft regent of the golden day
Rejoices in his bright meridian bow'r,
How oft my wishes ask the night's return, That beft befriends the melancholy mind!
Hail, facred Night! thou too fhalt share my fong! Sifter of ebon-fcepter'd Hecat, hail!
Whether in congregated clouds thou wrap'ft Thy viewless chariot, or with filver crown Thy beaming head encircleft, ever hail! What tho' beneath thy gloom the forceress-train, Far in obfcured haunt of Lapland-moors,
With rhymes uncouth the bloody cauldron blefs; Tho' Murder wan, beneath thy shrouding shade Summons her flow-ey'd vot'ries to devife Of fecret flaughter, while by one blue lamp In hideous conf'rence fits the liftening band, And start at each low wind, or wakeful found: What tho' thy ftay the pilgrim curfeth oft, As all benighted in Arabian waftes
He hears the wilderness around him howl
With roaming monsters, while on his hoar head The black defcending tempeft ceafelefs. beats; Yet more delightful to my penfive mind.
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