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Ho spends his empty hours at play,
And there behold a bloomy mead,
In blushes the descending Sun
But, oh! how bless'd would be the day,
1' Abergisney:' the name of a seat belonging to the author's brother.
you met with
my love, Oh, Sun, did you see her?-ah! surely you did: 7 'Mong what willows, or woodbines, or reeds, is she hid? Ye tall whistling pines, that on yonder hill grow, And o'erlook the beautiful valley below, Did you see her a-roving in wood or in brake? Or bathing her fair limbs in some silent lake?
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 knowAnd 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 dis
play'd, And dart in my eyes at each whispering shade: I'd search every tuft in my diligent tour, I'd unravel the woodbines, and look in each bower, Till I found out my Clio, and ended my pain, And made myself quiet, and happy again.
TO AARON HILL, ESQ.
ON HIS POEM CALLED GIDEON. [Those lines in this poem marked with inverted commas are taken out of
the poem called Gideon.]
When Gideon was your lofty song!
fair soul reflected strong
Bright in the chambers of your mind! Say, have you trod Arabia's spicy vales,
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. On Gideon's pages beautifully shine,
Surprising pictures rising to my sight, With all the life of colours and of line,
And all the force of rounding shade and light,
And all the grace of something more divine! High on a hill, beneath an oak’s broad arm,
I see a youth divinely fair, • Pensive he leans his head on his left hand;
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, And o'er his shoulders loosely flows his amber-colour'd
Slow from the plain the melting dews,
In terraced stages mount up high,
TB * From stage to stage, broad steps of half-hid stone
With curling moss and blady grass o'ergrown,
Down in a dungeon deep,
With swift and furious stride,
A warlike figure strikes my eye!
, you err: And we the mighty author greatly wrong;
To gather beauties here and there,
As but a scatter'd few there were, While every word 's a beauty in his song!
TO MR SAVAGE,
SON OF THE LATE EARL RIVERS.
Sink not, my friend, beneath misfortune's weight,
Wealth dims the eyes of crowds, and while they gaze,
9 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
A few, however, yet expect to find,
Thee, Savage, these (the justly great) admire,