« ПредишнаНапред »
Here temples rise, amid whose hallow'd bounds
Spires the black pine, while thro' the naked street,
Once haunt of tradeful merchants, springs the grass :
Here columns heap'd on proftrate columns, torn
From their firm base, encrease the mould 'ring mass.
Far as the fight can pierce, appear the spoils
Of sunk, magnificence ! a blended scene
Of moles, fanes, arches, domes, and palaces,
Where, with his brother Horror, Ruin fits.
O come then, Melancholy, queen of thought !
O come with faintly look, and ftedfast step,
From forth thy cave embower'd with mournful yew,
Where to the distant curfeu's solemn found
Lift'ning thou fitt'ft, and with thy cypress bind
Thy votary's hair, and seal him for thy son.
But never let Euphrósyne beguile
With toys of wanton mirth my fixed mind,
Nor in my path her primrose-garland caft.
Tho' 'mid her train the dimpled Hebe bare
Her rosy bosom to th' enamour'd view;
Tho' Venus, mother of the Smiles and Loves,
And Bacchus, ivy.crown'd, in citron-bow'r
With her on nectar-Atreaming fruitage feaft:
What tho’’tis her’s to calm che low'ring skies,
And at her presence mild th' embattel'd clouds
Disperse in air, and o'er the face of heav'n
New day diffusive gleam at her approach ;
Yet are these joys that Melancholy gives,
Than all her witless revels happier far ;
These deep-felt joys, by Contemplation taught.
Then ever, beauteous Contemplation, hail !
From thee began, auspicious maid, my song,
With thee shall end : for thou art fairer far
Than are the nymphs of Cirrha's mossy grot;
To loftier rapture thou canst wake the thought,
Than all the fabling Poet's boasted pow'rs.
Hail, queen divine ! whom, as tradition tells,
Once, in his ev'ning-walk a Druid found,
Far in a hollow glade of Mona's woods;
And piteous bore with hospitable hand
To the close shelter of his oaken bow'r.
There soon the fage admiring mark'd the dawn
Of folemn musing in your pensive thought;
For when a smiling babe, you lov'd to lie
Oft deeply lift'ning to the rapid roar
Of wood-hung Meinai, stream of Druids old,
That lav'd his hallow'd haụnt with dashing wave.
A SONNET; written at W
DE in the Absence of
By the Same.
-DE, thy beechen flopes with waving grain
Border'd, thine azure views of wood and lawn,
Whilom could charm, or when the joyous Dawn
Gan Night's dun robe with fushing purple fain,
Or Evening drove to fold her woolly train;
Her faireft landscapes whence my Muse has drawn,
Too free with servile courtly phrase to fawn, Too weak to try the Bulkin's ftately Arain ;
Yet now no more thy slopes of beech and corn Nor prospects charm, fince He far-diftant ftrays
With whom I trac'd their sweets each eve and morn, From Albion far, to cull Hesperian bays;
In this alone they please, howe'er forlorn, That still they can recall those happier days.
HEN late the trees were stript by Winter pale,
Rejoyc'd to rove 'mid the bleak sylvan scene, On airy uplands caught the fragrant gale, And ere fresh morn the low.couch'd lark did hail :
Watching the found of earliest horn was feen.
But since gay Summer, thron`d in chariot teen, Is come to scorch each primrose sprinkled dále,
She chuses that delightful cave beneath
The crystal treasures of meek Ilis' stream;
And now all glad the temperate air to breathe,
While cooling drops distil from arches dim,
Binding her dewy locks with fedgy wreath
She fits amid the quire of Naiads trim.
To Lady HY. By Mr. de VOLTAIRE, .
Y would you know the paflion
You have kindled in my breaft,
Trilling is the inclination
That by words can be express'd.
In my filence fee the lover,
The love is by filence known;
In my eyes you'll bell discover
On Sir ROBERT WALPOLE's Birth-day,
AUGU'S T the 26th.
By the Honourable Mr. D-TON.
LL hail, auspicious day, whose with'd return
Bids every breast with grateful ardor burn,
While pleas'd Britannia that great man surveys
The Prince may trust, and yet the People praise:
One bearing greatest toils with greatest ease,
One born to serve us, and yet born to please ;
His foul capacious, yet his judgment clear,
His tongue is flowing, and his heart fincere:
His counsels guide, his temper chears our ifle,
And smiling gives three kingdoms cause to smile.
Auguft, how bright thy golden scenes
Thou fairest daughter of the various year,
On thee the fun with all his ardor glows,
On thee in dowry all its fruits bestows,
The greatest Prince, the foremost son of fame,
To thee bequeath'd the glories of his name;
Nature and Fortune thee their darling chose,
Nor could they grace thee more, 'till Walpole rose.
By steps to mighty things Fate makes her way,
The sun and Cæsar but prepar'd this day.
The Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse.
Written in the Year 1944.
S, by some tyrant's ftern command,
A wretch forfakes his native land,
In foreign climes condemnd to roam
An endless exile from his home;