The fields refign their latest bloom;
No more the breezes waft perfume,
No more the ftreams in mufic roll:
But fnows fall dark, or rains refound;
And, while great nature mourns around, .
Her griefs infect the human foul.
Hence the loud city's bufy throngs
Urge the warm bowl and fplendid fire :
Harmonious dances, feftive fongs
Against the fpiteful heaven confpire,
Meantime perhaps with tender fears
Some village-dame the curfew hears,
While round the hearth her children play :·
At morn their father went abroad;
The moon is funk, and deep the road
She fighs, and wonders at his stay.
But thou, my lyre, awake, arife,
And hail the fun's returning force :
Even now he climbs the northern fkies,
And health and hope attend his courfe.
Then louder howl the aërial waste,
Be earth with keener cold embrac'd,
Yet gentle hours advance their wing;
And fancy, mocking winter's might,
With flowers and dews and streaming light
Already decks the new-born fpring.
O fountain of the golden day,
Could mortal vows promote thy speed,
How foon before thy vernal ray
Should each unkindly damp recede !
How foon each hovering tempest fly,
Whofe ftores for mischief arm the sky,
Prompt on our heads to burst amain,
To rend the foreft from the steep,
Or, thundering o'er the Baltic deep,
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain!
But let not man's unequal views
Prefume o'er nature and her laws :
'Tis his with grateful joy to use
The indulgence of the fovran cause,
Secure that health and beauty fprings
Through this majestic frame of things,
Beyond what he can reach to know;
And that heaven's all-fubduing will,
With good the progeny of ill,
Attempereth every state below.
How pleafing wears the wintery night,
Spent with the old illuftrious dead!
While, by the taper's trembling light,
I feem thofe awful fcenes to tread
Where chiefs or legislators lie,
Whofe triumphs move before my eye
In arms and antique pomp array'd;
While now I tafte the Ionian fong,
Now bend to Plato's god-like tongue
Refounding through the olive fhade.
But fhould fome chearful, equal friend
Bid leave the ftudious page a while,
Let mirth on wisdom then attend,
And focial ease on learned toil.
Then while, at love's uncareful shrine,
Each dictates to the god of wine
Her name whom all his hopes obey,
What flattering dreams each bofom warm,
While abfence, heightening every charm,
Invokes the flow-returning May!
May, thou delight of heaven and earth,
When will thy genial star arise?
The aufpicious morn, which gives thee birth,
Shall bring Eudora to my eyes.
Within her fylvan haunt behold,
As in the happy garden old,
She moves like that primeval fair:
Thither, ye filver-founding lyres,
Ye tender fmiles, ye chafte defires,
Fond hope and mutual faith, repair.
And if believing love can read
His better omens in her eye,
Then shall my fears, O charming maid,
And every pain of absence die :
Then shall my jocund harp, attun'd
To thy true ear, with fweeter found
Purfue the free Horatian fong:
Old Tyne shall listen to my tale,
And Echo down the bordering vale
The liquid melody prolong.
To a FRIEND, UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE.
INDEED, my Phædria, if to find
That wealth can female wishes gain
Had e'er difturb'd your thoughtful mind,
Or coft one ferious moment's pain,
I fhould have faid that all the rules,
You learn'd of moralifts and fchools,
Were very useless, very vain.
Yet I perhaps mistake the cafe
Say, though with this heroic air,
Like one that holds a nobler chace,
You try the tender lofs to bear,
Does not your heart renounce your tongue?
Seems not my cenfure ftrangely wrong
To count it fuch a flight affair?
When Hefper gilds the shaded sky,
Oft as you feek the well-known grove,
Methinks I fee you caft your eye
Back to the morning scenes of love :
Each pleafing word you heard her fay,
Her gentle look, her graceful way,
Again your struggling fancy move..
IV.
Then tell me, is your foul intire ?
Does Wisdom calmly hold her throne ?
Then can you question each defire,
Bid this remain, and that begone?
No tear half-starting from your eye?
No kindling blush you know not why?
No ftealing figh, nor ftifled groan ?
Away with this unmanly mood!
See where the hoary churl appears,
Whofe hand hath feiz'd the favorite good
Which you referv'd for happier years :
While, fide by fide, the blushing maid
Shrinks from his vifage, half-afraid,
Spite of the fickly joy she wears.
Ye guardian powers of love and fame,
This chafte, harmonious pair behold;
And thus reward the generous flame
Of all who barter vows for gold.
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