He spends his empty hours at play, And there behold a bloomy mead, In blushes the descending Sun Kisses the streams, while slow they run; Or dusky clouds do interpose. The fields are left, the labouring hind But, oh! how bless'd would be the day, And not alone and solitary stray! THE INQUIRY. YE poor little sheep, ah! well may ye stray, 133 140 150 Tell where have you been, have you met with my love, 1'Abergasney:' the name of a seat belonging to the author's brother. Oh, Sun, did you see her?-ah! surely you did: 7 Did you see her a-roving in wood or in brake? Ye mountains, that look on the vigorous East, And the North, and the South, and the wearisome West, Pray tell where she hides her-you surely do know— And let not her lover pine after her so. Oh, had I the wings of an eagle, I'd fly Along with bright Phoebus all over the sky; Like an eagle look down, with my wings wide display'd, And dart in my eyes at each whispering shade: I'd unravel the woodbines, and look in each bower, TO AARON HILL, ESQ. ON HIS POEM CALLED GIDEON. 20 [Those lines in this poem marked with inverted commas are taken out of the poem called Gideon.] TELL me, wondrous friend, where were you Or gathered bays beside Euphrates' stream, Or lonely sung with Jordan's water-falls, While heavenly Gideon was your sacred theme? Or have you many ages given To close retirement and to books! And held a long discourse with Heaven, And noticed Nature in her various looks! Full of inspiring wonder and delight, Slow read I Gideon with a greedy eye, Like a pleased traveller that lingers sweet On some fair and lofty plain Where the sun does brightly shine, And glorious prospects all around him lie. Surprising pictures rising to my sight, And all the force of rounding shade and light, High on a hill, beneath an oak's broad arm, 'Pensive he leans his head on his left hand; 20 20 His smiling eye sheds sweetness mixed with awe, His right hand, with a milk-white wand, some figure seems to draw! A nameless grace is scatter'd through his air, 30 And o'er his shoulders loosely flows his amber-colour'd hair!' Above, with burning blush the morning glows, The waking world all fair before him lies; 'Slow from the plain the melting dews, To kiss the sunbeams, climbing, rise,' &c. Methinks the grove of Baal I see, In terraced stages mount up high, And wave its sable beauties in the sky. From stage to stage, broad steps of half-hid stone With curling moss and blady grass o'ergrown, Down in a dungeon deep, Where through thick walls, oblique the broken light From narrow loopholes quivers to the sight, With swift and furious stride, Close-folded arms, and short and sudden starts. Revolves escape Here in red colours glowing bold A warlike figure strikes my eye! The dreadful sudden sight his foes behold To gather beauties here and there, 41 50 60 TO MR SAVAGE, SON OF THE LATE EARL RIVERS. SINK not, my friend, beneath misfortune's weight, Shame on the dull, who think the soul looks less, It is the mind's for ever bright attire, . The mind's embroidery, that the wise admire! That which looks rich to the gross vulgar eyes Is the fop's tinsel which the grave despise. Wealth dims the eyes of crowds, and while they gaze, The coxcomb's ne'er discovered in the blaze! As few the vices of the wealthy see, So virtues are concealed by poverty. Earl Rivers! In that name how wouldst thou shine! Thy verse how sweet! thy fancy how divine! 20 30 A few, however, yet expect to find, Among the misty millions of mankind, Who proudly stoop to aid an injured cause, And o'er the sneer of coxcombs force applause, Who, with felt pleasure, see fair Virtue rise, And lift her upwards to the beck'ning prize! Or mark her labouring in the modest breast, And honour her the more, the more depress'd. Thee, Savage, these (the justly great) admire, Thee, quickening judgment's phlegm with fancy's fire! Thee, slow to censure, earnest to commend, An able critic, but a willing friend. |