Page images
PDF
EPUB

Perhaps some gay Lothario now is laid

In “narrow cell," and freed from mortal care: Perhaps some charming artless lovely maid,

Her sex's pride, the fairest of the fair.

Ah! what is beauty, what is elegance?

What is the radiance of the brightest eye? When death begins to lead the awful dance*,

We turn to dust, and are but vanity.

Say, can bright beauty's magic power save

Its lov'd possessor from the loathsome tomb? O! while ambition's colours round us wave,

Can we escape th' inevitable doom?

Nor wealth, nor power, nor proud looks avail,

Inexorable Death no favour shows;
We all must travel through the gloomy vale,

That leads to endless joys, or endless woes.

• Alluding to Hans Holbein's painting of the “Dance

of Death."

THE TEAR OF SYMPATHY.

To Maria, on reading to her Sterne's beautiful Story

of that Name.

As Sterne's pathetic tale you hear,

Why rudely check the rising sigh? Why seek to hide the pitying tear,

Whose lustre aids the brilliant eye?

Tears which lament another's woe,

Unveil the goodness of the heart; Uncheck'd, unheeded these should flow

They please beyond the pow'r of art.

Does not yon crimson-tinted rose,

Whose op'ning blush delights the view, More splendid colouring disclose,

When brightly gemm'd with morning dew?

So shall Maria's beauteous face,

Drest in more pleasing charms appear; When aided by the matchless grace

Of Pity's sympathizing Tear.

THE NATURALIST'S

SUMMER EVENING'S WALK,

BY THE REV. MR. WHITE.

Wyen day declining sheds a milder gleam, What time the may-fly haunts the pool or stream; When the still owl skims round the glassy mead, What time the timorous hare limps forth to feed : Then be the time to steal adown the vale, And listen to the vagrant cuckoo's tale: To hear the clamorous curlew call his mate, Or the soft quail his tender pain relate. To see the swallow sweep the dark’ning plain, Belated, to support her infant traiv : To mark the swift, in rapid giddy ring, Dash round the steeple, unsubdu'd of wing. Amusive birds!-Say, where your hid retreat, When the frost rages, and the tempests beat? Whence your return by such nice instinct led, When spring, soft season, lifts her bloomy head? Such baffled searches mocks man's prying pride, The God of Nature is your secret guide. While deep'ning shades obscure the face of day, To yonder bench, leaf-shelter’d, let us stray; Till blended objects fail the swimming sight, And all the fading landscape sinks in night;

THE TEAR OF SYMPATHY.

To Maria, on reading to her Sterne's beautiful Story

of that Name.

As Sterne's pathetic tale you hear,

Why rudely check the rising sigh? Why seek to hide the pitying tear,

Whose lustre aids the brilliant eye?

Tears which Jament another's woe,

Unveil the goodness of the beart; Uncheck'd, unheeded these should flow

They please beyond the pow'r of art.

Does not yon crimson-tinted rose,

Whose op'ning blush delights the view, More splendid colouring disclose,

When brightly gemm'd with morning dew?

So shall Maria's beauteous face,

Drest in more pleasing charms appear; When aided by the matcbless grace

Of Pity's sympathizing Tear.

THE NATURALIST'S

SUMMER EVENING'S WALK,

BY THE REV. MR. WHITE.

When day declining sheds a milder gleam, What time the may-fly haunts the pool or stream; When the still owl skims round the glassy mead, What time the timorous hare limps forth to feed : Then be the time to steal adown the vale, And listen to the vagrant cuckoo's tale: To hear the clamorous curlew call his mate, Or the soft quail his tender pain relate. To see the swallow sweep the dark’ning plain, Belated, to support her infant train : To mark the swift, in rapid giddy ring, Dash round the steeple, unsubdu'd of wing. Amusive birds!-Say, where your bid retreat, When the frost rages, and the tempests beat? Whence your return by such nice instinct led, When spring, soft season, lifts her bloomy head? Such baffled searches mocks man's prying pride, The God of Nature is your secret guide. While deep'ning shades obscure the face of day, To yonder bench, leaf-shelter'd, let us stray; Till blended objects fail the swimming sight, And all the fading landscape sinks in night;

« EelmineJätka »