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But when of dawn the rosy dyes
Brighten o'er the blushing skies,
And the gray clouds their robes unfold,
Streak'd with purple, edg’d with gold,
And their blended colours throw
On the glitt’ring lake below,
See Health, the blooming village Maid,
Her cheek in native red array'd,
Her tresses gracefully untied, -
Which shame the artful hand of Pride,
Sprightly o'er the spangled lawn
Comes tripping like the nimble fawn:
Then at her work, the streams along,
Rudely trills the rural song !
Content, that lightens ev’ry care,
Sits smiling in her chearful eye;
While Luxury with anguid air
Leans on pale Envy pining by.
See Earth her Maker's milder image wear,
Profusely good, and exquisitely fair,
Spontaneous Graces catch the ravish’d view,
Scenes ever varying, beauties ever new.
The hills rejoice around, the vallies sing,
And e'en rough mountains gratulate the Spring,
While the gay quires, that haunt the shelt’ring shade,
Their untaught music mix, to glad the groves,
Where Contemplation, sweetly-pensive Maid,
With Peace and Rapture roves.
Rejoicing in the good, his hands bestow,
Th' Almighty Father looks well-pleas'd below;
But chief, his favourite work to see,
The pious, grateful, social Soul,
Where turned to Nature's harmony
The softest, sweetest passions roll;
That throbs in sympathy with woe,
That flames with friendship's holy glow,
That swells with wishes unconfin’d
To scatter blessings o'er Mankind,
And, in divine resembling lines imprest,
Loves his own image on the gen’rous breast.
PeAce of MiND.
[From the same Work.]
WEET Peace, divinely mild !
TY Fair Innocence's child
With looks of rapture such as Seraphs wear,
Come, graceful in thy hand
Waving thine olive wand, -
And speaking melody, that charms Despair!
Come, and my passions’ busy strife controul,
Breathe thy soft airs, and smooth my rushed soul!
- Here, while at Contemplation's favorite hour,
The meek-ey'd Eve, what time the ling’ring light
Yet glimmers o'er the sable of the night,
I feel thy soothing pow'r,
Be ev'ry blast, that shakes the rocking wood,
Howls o'er the hill, and plows the furrow'd flood,
Hush’d into rest; let Cynthia’s sober beam
Shed o'er the calm expanse a silver gleam,
And o'er the groves, and meads, and slumb'ring main,
Deep solemn silence reign :
Save let the Zephyrs breathe,
Among the rushes whispering beneath;
Save let the wild notes of the rippling rill
In melancholy music tremble still ;
And in hoarse murmur roar, the vales around,
The distant cataract's incessant sound.
Thou shunn’st Ambition’s proud tumultuous heart,
Plotting to counteract some rival’s art,
From project still to project tost,
*Till in the wild confusion lost;
Or tottering on the pinnacle of pow'r
On Fortune’s airy steep,
While the rude storms, and thunders round him roar,
And trembling, lest the swelling blast should sweep
His glories to the foaming deep.
• While Avarice, immur’d, alone
With midnight watches worn to bone,
Starting at ev'ry sound he hears,
And turning pale with fancied fears;
Wan Jealousy with squinting eyes,
And list’ning ears, and louring brow,
That in each nook, and corner pries,
Exploring, what he dreads to know ;
And Envy, that with anguish keen
Feels the dire vulture gnaw within ;
Dog-ey’d Resentment's boiling breast,
And pining liscontent, unblest
In full fruition, ask thy aid in vain,
For thou art still of Virtue's train.
To thee in vain the Tyrant prays, To give his anxious bosom ease. Invoking sleep's averted pow'r On the gilt couch he lays his aching head, But black Suspicion haunts the midnight hour, And frowning demons flit around the bed. Now music's tuneful charm he tries To close his rest-forsaken eyes, In all her modes of varied harmony, And bids the plaintive lute conspire With the full-resounding lyre, To chear his madding mind with temper'd melody.
Borne aloft on rapture's tide With sounding vigour now the numbers roll; Tender tones now gently glide, And melt, and sooth the soften’d soal. “Peace peace perturbed breast ! “Let this sweet descant lull thee to thy rest.” It will not be—then strike a bolder sound Let the horn’s mellow note In air wildly float, And wake the shrill echos around: Or call the gay Graces, and laughing-eyed Pleasures To trip hand in hand to the pipe's merry measures. But, ah! each master-hand in vain Raises, swells, or sinks the strain; All is jarring joyless din To the mind untun'd within; Still gnawing cares, and guilty fears forbid Lethean dew to light upon his lid.
“Vengeance 1” stern-eyed Conscience calls—
How the sound his heart appals'
See he starts, and stares around !
Ghastly forms of guilt arise,
Gory ghosts with piteous cries,
Pointing to the bleeding wound.
“What's that face of anguish there,
“Pale as its surrounding shroud 2
“What that dagger, shap'd in air,
“Crimson'd with a Brother's blood?”
Wild his bursting eye-balls roll;
Upright stands his bristled hair;
Horror shakes his immost soul,
Keen Remorse, and grim Despair.
Again he strives his leaden eye to close,
And care-worn nature fain wou'd seek repose;
“ Vengeance 1” the stern Tormentor howls again,
And a new horror thrills thro’ ev’ry vein.
Where then may Peace erect her stedfast throne 2
Within the pure, the pious breast alone,
Whose gentle passions, harmonis’d by love,
Are link’d to Man below, to 3. above:
Spite of the boast of Luxury, and Pride,
Within that narrow round—
And only there—her Paradise is found,
'Tis all a waste and desert world beside.
There smiling bands of watchful angels wait
To guard her tranquil bow’rs and blissful state,
And from the hallow’d limits drive afar
The furies,of the soul, and busy fiends of Care.
O blest the man! whose aims and ardors rise
On Faith's strong pinions soaring to the skies;
Yet, while conversing here with want and woe,
Acts the good minister of Heav'n below. /
The poor reliev'd, the widow's wrongs redrest,
The darken'd mind illum'd with heav'nly day,
The sympathies, that sooth the burden’d breast,
And wipe Affliction’s tear away,
These shall like fragrant incense rise,
Heav'n's sweet accepted sacrifice.
These on the friendly gen’rous mind
Will draw God’s choicest blessings down;
He'll mercy show for mercies shown,
And still be kindest to the kind.
[From Pos Ms by NATHAniel Bloomfield.]
OME, let us seek the woodland shade,
And leave this view of towns and towers:
Sweeter far the verdant mead,
And lonely dell's sequester'd bowers.
2 2. Why