« EelmineJätka »
T setting day and rising morn,
Wi' soul that still shall love thee, I'll ask of heav'n thy safe return,
Wi' a' that can improve thee. I'll visit aft the birken bush,
Where first thou kindly tald me Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush, Whilst round thou didst enfald me. To a' our haunts I will repair,
By greenwood shaw or fountain;
There will I tell the trees and flow'rs,
bonny grey-ey'd morning begins to peep, And darkness flies before the rising ray, The hearty hynd starts from his lazy sleep, To follow healthful labours of the day, Without guilty sting to wrinkle his brow, The lark and the linnet 'tend his levee, And he joins their concert, driving the plow, From toil of grimace and pageantry free. While fluster'd with wine, or madden'd with loss Of half an estate, the prey of a main, The drunkard and gamester tumble and toss, Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain. Be my portion health and quietness of mind, Plac'd at a due distance from parties and state, Where neither ambition nor avarice blind,
Reach him who has happiness link'd to his fate.
An Ode for Music.
WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
From the supporting myrtles round
Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,
With woeful measures, wan Despair,
But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair.
And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe.
The doubling drum with furious heat;
And tho' sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side
Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien; While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd,
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd,
With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd,
Pale Melancholy sat retir'd,
And from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul:
Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measures stole
Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away.
But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an aspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known; The oak-crown'd sisters,and their chaste-ey'd queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen
Peeping from forth their alleys green;
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,
And Sport leap'd up, and siez'd his beechen spear.
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial.
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd, But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing,
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round;
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,
As if he would the charming air repay,
O Music, sphere-descended maid,
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
ODE TO FEAR.
THOU, to whom the world unknown,
With all its shadowy shapes, is shewn; Who seest, appall'd, the unreal scene, While Fancy lifts the veil between: Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear!
I see, I see thee near.
I know thy hurried step; thy haggard eye!