SEE how that pair of billing doves
With open murmurs own their loves;
And, heedlefs of cenforious eyes,
Pursue their unpolluted joys.
No fears of future wants moleft
The downy quiet of their neft;
No int'reft join'd the happy pair,
Securely bleft in Nature's care,
While her chaste dictates they pursue,
For conftancy is Nature too.
THE REVENGE OF AMERICA.
WHEN fierce Pizarro's legions flew
O'er ravag'd fields of rich Peru,
Struck with his bleeding people's woes,
Old India's awful Genius rofe.
He fat on Andes' topmost stone,
And heard a thousand nations groan.
For grief his feathery crown he tore,
To fee huge Plata foam with gore;
He broke his arrows, ftampt the ground,
To view his cities fmoking round.
What woes, he cry'd, hath luft of gold
O'er my dear country widely roll'd!
Plunderers, proceed! my bowels tear,
But ye fhall meet deftruction there.
From the deep-vaulted mine shall rise
Th'infatiate fiend, pale Av'rice!
Whose steps fhall trembling Justice fly,
Peace, Order, Law, and Amity!
I fee all Europe's children curst
With lucre's univerfal thirft:
The rage that sweeps my fons
My baneful gold shall well repay.
THE LAST ADIEU.
COMPANION of my tender age,
Serenely gay, and fweetly fage,
How blithfome were we wont to rove
By verdant hill or shady grove,
Where fervent bees, with humming voice,
Around the honey'd oak rejoice,
And aged elms with awful bend
In long cathedral walks extend!
Lull'd by the lapfe of gliding floods,
Cheer'd by the warbling of the woods,
How bleft my days, my thoughts how free,
In sweet society, with thee!
Then all was joyous, all was young,
And years unheeded roll'd along ;
But now the pleafing dream is o'er,
These scenes muft charm me now no more;
Loft to the field, and torn from you—
Farewell---a long, a long, a last adieu !
O SOLITUDE, romantic maid!
Whether by nodding towers you tread,
Or haunt the defart's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes' clifted fide,
Or by the Nile's coy fource abide,
Or, starting from your half year's sleep,
From Hecla view the thawing deep;
Or, at the purple dawn of day,
Palmyra's ruins vaft furvey,
You, Reclufe, again I woo,
And again your steps pursue,
Plum'd Conceit himself furveying,
Folly with her shadow playing,
Purse-proud, elbowing Infolence,
Bloated empiric, puff'd Pretence;
Noife that through a trumpet speaks,
Laughter in loud peals that breaks,
Intrusion with a fopling's face,
(Ignorant of time and place)
Sparks of fire Diffention blowing,
Ductile, court-bred Flattery bowing;
Restraint's stiff neck, Grimace's leer,
Squint-ey'd Cenfure's artful fneer,
Ambition's buskin's steep'd in blood,
Fly thy prefence, Solitude!
WHEN all Nature's hush'd asleep,
Nor Love nor Guilt their vigils keep,
Soft you leave your cavern'd den,
And wander o'er the works of men.
But when Phosphor brings the dawn,
By her dappled courfers drawn,
Again you to the wild retreat,
And the early huntsman meet,
Where, as you pensive pace along,
You catch the diftant fhepherd's fong,
Or brush from herbs the pearly dew,
Or the rifing primrose view.
|