But lest I fall by subtler foes, And quell the rebels of the heart. THE MIDSUMMER'S WISH. AN ODE. BY THE SAME. O PHŒBUS! down the western sky, Come, gentle Eve, the friend of Care, And cheer me with a lambent light. Lay me where o'er the verdant ground Improve the peaceful hour with wine, Let music die along the grove; Around the bowl let myrtles twine, And every strain be tuned to love. Come, Stella, queen of all my heart! Whilst all my wish and thine complete, Let sighing gales our sighs repeat, Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return. Let me, when Nature calls to rest, And bid the waking world farewell. AUTUM N. AN ODE. BY THE SAME. ALAS! with swift and silent pace 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay, Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away, And Summer fruits desert the bough. The verdant leaves that play'd on high, As Boreas strips the bending trees. The fields that waved with golden grain, As russet heaths, are wild and bare; Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain, Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there. No more while through the midnight shade, Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade, From this capricious clime she soars ; Vain wish! me fate compels to bear Compels to breathe polluted air, What bliss to life can Autumn yield, If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail; And Ceres flies the naked field, And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? Oh! what remains, what lingers yet, Haste-press the clusters, fill the bowl; Still-still the jocund strain shall flow, The pulse with vigorous rapture beat: My Stella with new charms shall glow, And every bliss in wine shall meet. WINTER. AN ODE. BY THE SAME. No more the morn with tepid rays Unfolds the flower of various hue: Noon spreads no more the genial blaze, Nor gentle eve distils the dew. The lingering hours prolong the night, By gloomy twilight half reveal'd, The snow-topt cot, the frozen-rill. |