Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

Not fo the nights that in thy halls,

Once, Rofline, danc'd in joy along: Where owls now fcream along thy walls, Refounded mirth-infpiring fong...

Where bats now reft their footy wings,
Th' impurpl'd feast was wont to flow;
And beauty danc'd in graceful rings,
And princes fat, where nettles grow.

What now avails, how great? how gay?
How fair, how fine, their matchlefs dames?
Here sleeps their undiftinguifh'd clay;

And e'en the ftones have loft their names.

And yon gay crouds must foon expire,
Unknown, unprais'd, each fair-one's name!
Not fo the charms that bards infpire;
Increafing years increase their fame.

Oh, Mira! what is ftate or wealth?
The great can never love like me!
Wealth adds not days, nor quickens health,
Then, wiser thou, come happy be!

Come, and be mine! in this sweet spot,
Where Efk rolls clear his little wave,

We'll live, and Esk fhall, in a cot,
See joys that Rofline never gave.

HIGHAM

[blocks in formation]

BY MR. NICHOLLS.

N Higham Hill, when profpects fair
Salute the wand'ring fight,

I love to breathe the morning air,
And fleep the fummer night:
There, how charming 'tis to wake
When filver Cynthia reigns!
Whilft Philomel, from flow'ry brake,
Pours forth her love-lorn ftrains.

Then, oh! then, I love to rife,

And trace the broom-clad hill;

Whilft thro' the ftillness foftly flies
The whispers of the rill;
Nor elfe is heard to interpofe,

From dingle, bath, or dale,
Save Thames, foft kiffing, as he goes,
The rush-embroider'd vale.

As down the flope I traverse then,
I fcan with curious eye

The wonders Heav'n presents to men,

And wish the atheist by:

His mind, howe'er impervious grown

To theologick lore,

With me, I think, would quickly own

A fupernatural Pow'r!

When bufinefs dulls the mental pow'rs,

To Higham Hill I run,

And with the breath of op'ning flow'rs
There hail the rifing fun.

Then

Then how my foul revives again!

My fancy takes her flight;

The muse resumes her wonted ftrain,
And fings with new delight!

Let the proud thing of human race,
Who, like a fummer fly,

Scuds to-day from place to place,
And muft to-morrow die`;
Let him to greatnefs bend the knee,
Or heap up fordid wealth;

The top of Higham Hill for me,
That feat of Peace and Health!

Peace and Health! O, facred theme, With all that's blissful fraught!

The rest is but an empty dream,

Not worth a poet's thought:

May he, who ftrives for more than this,

Still turn a barren foil,

Nor ever meet a ray of bliss
To mitigate his toil!

Bear me from hence, fome rural god,

To Higham Hill again;

The choiceft bloom that decks the fod I'll scatter round thy fane :

For, O! I long, at fervid noon,

To breathe the blue-bell's fweet; To fit and hear the throftle's tune, Where spreading hazels meet;

Or ftray by hawthorn hedge, or rove

Adown the pathless way,

When ev'ry fong-bird chears his love

Beneath the bloom of May;

Till weary k herds retire to reft,

Till sheep are pent in fold,

Till Phoebus leaves the ruddy weft
With tints of burnifh'd gold!

If, when I ftray to Higham Hill,
I meet the ruftick throng,
They greet me with a right good will,
And note me for my fong:
For oft at May, in rural sport,
I spend with them the day,
And make the vices of a court
The burden of my lay.

And oft I've fang the tender ftrain,
The while the village maid
Was leaning on her fav'rite swain,
And all her heart betray'd.
The lofty theme I ne'er effay'd,
(Let Laureats fuch rehearse!)
But wherefoe'er my fancy ftray'd,
A moral mark'd my verfe.

Their loves to me the fhepherds tell,

What fwains have faithlefs prov'd;
What maids for beauty bear the belle,
And who are leaft belov'd:
The virgins come in modest guife,

I love their plaints to hear;
'Tis joy to foothe their artless fighs,
And ftop the starting tear.

No thorns obftru&t their path of life,

With health their farms abound; And, foes to law and lawless ftrife,

They live the zodiack round.

Το

[blocks in formation]

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero fate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around,

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound;

(So fhould defert in arms be crown'd.)

The lovely Thaïs by his fide,

Sat like a blooming Eaftern bride,

In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deferves the fair.

Timotheus, plac'd on high,

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre;
The trembling notes afcend the fky,

And heavenly joys infpire.
3 L

The

« ПредишнаНапред »