Is thy return, than bloomy morn's approach,
Ev'n then, in youthful prime of opening May,
When from the portals of the faffron eaff
She sheds fresh rofes, and ambrofial dews.
Yet not ungrateful is the morn's approach,"
When dropping wet fhe comes, and clad in clouds,
While thro' the damp air fcowls the louring fouth,
Blackening the landscape's face, that grove and hill
In formlefs vapours undiftinguifh'd swim':'
Th' afflicted fongfters of the fadden'd groves
Hail not the fullen gloom; the waving elms
That hoar thro' time, and rang'd in thick array,
Enclose with stately row fome rural hall,
Are mute, nor echo with the clamors hoarfe
Of rooks rejoicing on their airy boughs;
While to the shed the dripping poultry crowd,
A mournful train: fecure the village-hind
Hangs o'er the crackling blaze, nor tempts the storm;
Fix'd in th' unfinish'd furrow refts the plough:
Rings not the high wood with enliv'ning fhouts
Of early hunter: all is filence drear;
And deepest fadnefs wraps the face of things.
Thro' POPE's foft fong tho' all the Graces breathe,
And happieft art adorn his Attic page;
Yet does my mind with fweeter tranfport glow,
As at the root of moffy trunk reclin'd,
In magic SPENSER'S wildly-warbled fong
I fee deferted Una wander wide
Thro' wafteful folitudes, and lurid heaths,
Weary, forlorn; than when the fated fair,
Upon the bofom bright of filver Thames,
Launches in all the luftre of brocade,
Amid the fplendors of the laughing Sun.
The gay description palls upon the sense,
And coldly ftrikes the mind with feeble bliss.
Ye Youths of Albion's beauty-blooming ifle,
Whose brows have worn the wreath of luckless love,
Is there a pleasure like the penfive mood,
Whofe magic wont to footh your soften'd fouls?
O tell how rapturous the joy, to melt
To Melody's affuafive voice; to bend
Th' uncertain ftep along the midnight mead,
And pour your forrows to the pitying moon,
By many a flow trill from the bird of woe
Oft interrupted; in embowering woods
By darkfome brook to mufe, and there forget
The folemn dulnefs of the tedious world,
While Fancy grafps the vifionary fair:
And now no more th' abftracted ear attends
The water's murm'ring lapfe, th' entranced eye
Pierces no longer thro' th' extended rows
Of thick-rang'd trees; 'till haply from the depth
The woodman's ftroke, or diftant-tinkling team,
Or heifer ruffling thro' the brake alarms
Th' illuded fenfe, and mars the golden dream.
e Belinda. See Rape of the Lack.
These are delights that absence drear has made
Familiar to my foul, e'er fince the form
Of young Sapphira, beauteous as the Spring,
When from her vi'let-woven couch awak'd
By frolic Zephyr's hand, her tender cheek
Graceful fhe lifts, and blufhing from her bow'r,
Iffues to cloath in gladsome-glift'ring green
The genial globe, firft met my dazzled fight:
These are delights unknown to minds profane,
And which alone the penfive foul can taste.
The taper'd choir, at the late hour of pray'r,
Oft let me tread, while to th' according voice
The many-founding organ peals on high,
The clear flow-dittyed chaunt, or varied hymn,
"Till all my foul is bath'd in ecftafies,
And lap'd in Paradise. Or let me fit
Far in fequefter'd iles of the deep dome,
There lonesome liften to the facred founds,
Which, as they lengthen thro' the Gothic vaults,
In hollow murmurs reach my ravish'd ear.
Nor when the lamps expiring yield to night,
And folitude returns, would I forfake
The folemn mansion, but attentive hear
The due clock fwinging flow with sweepy fway,
Measuring Time's flight with momentary found.
Nor let me fail to cultivate my mind
With the foft thrillings of the tragic Muse,
Divine Melpomene, fweet Pity's nurse,
Queen of the stately ftep, and flowing pall.
Now let Monimia mourn with ftreaming eyes
Her joys incestuous, and polluted love:
Now let foft Juliet in the gaping tomb
Print the laft kifs on her true Romeo's lips,
His lips yet reeking from the deadly draught.
Or Jaffeir kneel for one forgiving look.
Nor feldom let the Moor of Desdemone
Pour the mifguided threats of jealous rage.
By foft degrees the manly torrent fteals
From my fwoln eyesg and at a brother's woe
My big heart melts in fympathizing tears.
What are the fplendors of the gaudy court, Its tinfel trappings, and its pageant pomps? To me far happier feems the banish'd Lord Amid Siberia's unrejoycing wilds
Who pines all lonefome, in the chambers hoar
Of fome high caftle that, whofe windows dim
In diftant ken discover trackless plains,
Where Winter ever whirls his icy car;
While ftill-repeated objects of his view,
The gloomy battlements, and ivied spires"
That crown the folitary dome, arise ;
While from the topmost turret the flow clock,
Far heard along th' inhospitable wastes,
With fad-returning chime awakes new grief;
Ev'n he far happier feems than is the proud,
The potent Satrap, whom he left behind
'Mid Mofcow's golden palaces, to drown
In eafe and luxury the laughing hours.
Illuftrious objects ftrike the gazer's mind
With feeble blifs, and but allure the fight,
Nor rouze with impulfe quick th' unfeeling heart.
Thus feen by fhepherd from Hymettus' brow,
What dædal landscapes fmile! here balmy grovés,
Refounding once with Plato's voice, arise,
Amid whose umbrage green her filver head
Th' unfading olive lifts; here vine-clad hills
Lay forth their purple ftore, and funny vales
In profpect vaft their level laps expand,
Amid whose beauties glistering Athens tow'rs.
Tho' thro' the blissful fcenes Iliffus roll
His fage-infpiring flood, whofe winding marge
The thick-wove laurel fhades; tho' rofeate Morn
Pour all her fplendors on th' empurpled scene;
Yet feels the hoary Hermit truer joys,
As from the cliff that o'er his cavern hangs,
He views the piles of fall'n Perfepolis
In deep arrangement hide the dark some plain.
Unbounded waste! the mould'ring obelifc
Here, like a blafted oak, afcends the clouds ;
Here Parian domes their vaulted halls difclofe
Horrid with thorn, where lurks th' unpitying thief,
Whence flits the twilight-loving bat at eve,
And the deaf adder wreathes her spotted train,
The dwellings once of elegance and art.
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