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“ The genial power that speeds the goldeu dart,
Each charm of tender passion shall inspire ; Children of Fancy, whither are ye fed? With fund affection All the mutual heart, Where have ye borne those hope-enliven'd And feed the flame of ever-young desite. hours,
“ Come, gentle Loves! your myrtle garlands That once with myrtle garlands bound my head,
bring; That once bestrew'd my vernal path with The smiling bower with cluster*d roses spread; flowers ?
Come, gentle airs ! with incense-dropping wing In yon fair vale, where blooms the beechen grove, The breathing sweets of vernal odour shed. Where winds the slow wave thru the flowery “ Hark, as the strains of swelling music rise, plain,
Ilow the notes vibrate on the far ring gale ! To these fond arms you led the tyrant, Love,
Auspicions glories beam atong the skies, With Fear and Hope and Polly in his train. And powers vaseen the happy moments My lyre, that, left at careloss distance, hung
hail ! Light on some pale branch of the osier shade, “ Extatic hours! so every distant day To lays of amorous blandishment you strung, Like this serene on downy wings shall move;
And o'er my sleep the lulling music play'd. Rise crown'd with joys that triumph o'er decay, “Rest, gentle youth! while on the quivering The faithsul joys of Fancy and of Love."
ELEGY IL. " In this fair vale eternal Spring shall smile, AND were they vain, those soothing lays ye And Time unenvious crown each roseate hour;
sung? Eternal joy shall every care beguile,
Children of Fancy! yes, your song was vain ; Breathe in each gale, and bloom in every On each soft air thongh rapt Attention hubg, flower.
And Silence listen'd on the sleeping plain. “ This silver stream, that down its crystal way The strains yet vibrate on my ravish'd ear,
Frequent has led thy musing steps along, And still to smile the mimic beauties seem, Shall, still the same, in sunny mazes play, Though now the visionary scenes appear
And with its murmurs melodise thy song. Like the faint traces of a vanish'd dream. “Unfadiug green shall these fair groves adorn; Mirror of life! the glories thus depart
Those living meads immortal flowers unfold; Of all that youth and love and fancy frame, In rosy smiles shall rise each blushing morn, When painful Anguish speeds the piercing dart, And every evening close in clouds of gold.
Or Envy blasts the blooming flowers of fame. “The tender Loves that watch thy slumbering rest, Nurse of wild wishes, and of fond desires,
And round thee flowers and balmy myrtles strew, The prophetess of Fortune, false and rain, Shall charm, thro’all approaching life, thy breast, To scenes where Peace in Ruin's arms espires With joys for cver pure, for ever new.
Fallacious Hope deludes her hapless train,
Go, Siren, gothy charms on others try; “O born to thoughts, to pleasures more sublime
My beaten bark at length has reach'd the shore: Than beings of inferior nature prove! Yet on the rock my dropping garments lie; To triumph in the golden hours of time, And let me perish if I trust thee more.
And feel the charins of fancy and of love! Come, gentle Quiet ! long-neglected maid ! “ High-favour'd man! for him unfolding fair O come, and lead me to thy mossy cell;
In orient light this native landscape smiles; There unregarded in the peaceful shade, For him sweet Hope disarms the hand of Care,
With calm Repose and Silence let me dwell. Exalts his pleasures, and his grief beguiles. Come happier hours of sweet unanxious rest, “ Blows not a blossom on the breast of Spring, When all the struggling passions shall sub- Breathes not a gale along the bending mead, side;
Trills not a songster of the soaring wing, When Peace shall clasp me to her plumy breast, But fragrance, health, and melody succeed.
And smooth my silent minutes as they glide. “O let me still with simple Nature live, But chief, thou goddess of the thoughtless eye, My lowly field-flowers on her altar lay,
Whom never cares or passions discompose, Enjoy the blessings that she meant to give, O, blest Insensibility, be nigh,
And calmly waste my inoffensive day! And with thy soothing hand my weary eyelids « No titled name, no envy-teasing dome, close.
No glittering wealth my tutor's wishes crave; Then shall the cares of love and glory cease,
So Health and Peace be near my humble home, And all the fond anxieties of fame;
A cool stream murmur, and a green tree wave: Alike regardless in the arms of Peace,
“So may the sweet Euterpe not disdain If these extol, or those debase a name.
At Eve's chaste hour her silver lyre to bring ; In Lyttelton though all the Muses praise, The Muse of pity wake her soothing strain,
His generous praise shall then delight no more, And tune to sympathy the trembling string. Nor the sweet magic of his tender lays
“Thus glide the pensive moments, o'er the vale Shall touch the bosom which it charm'd be
While floating shades of dusky night descend : fore.
Not left untold the lover's tender tale, Nor then, though Malice, with insidious guise Nor unenjoyed the heart-enlarging friend. Of Friendship, ope the unsuspecting breast;
“To love and friendship flow the social bowl! Nor then, tho' Envy broach her blackening lies, To attic wit and elegance of mind;
Shall these deprive me of a moment's rest. To all the native beauties of the soul, Ostate to be desir'd! when hostile rage
The simple charms of truth, and sense refin'd. Prevails in human more than savage haunts; “ Then to explore whatever ancient sage When man with man eternal war will wage, Studious from Nature's early volume drew,
And never yield that mercy which he wants. To chase sweet Fiction through her golden age, When dark Design invades the cheerful bour, And mark how fair the sun-flower, Science, And draws the heart with social freedom warm,
blew ! Its cares, its wishes, and its thoughts to pour, “ Haply to catch some spark of eastern fire,
Smiling insidious with the hopes of harm Hesperian fancy, or Aunian ease; Vain man, to other's failings still severe, Some melting note from Sappho's tender lyre, Yet not one foible in himself can find;
Some strain that Love and Phoebus taught to Another's faults to Folly's eye are clear,
please. But to her own e'en Wisdom's self is blind.
“ When waves the grey light o'er the mountain's O let me still, from these low follies free,
(ray; This sordid malice, and inglorious strife,
Then let me meet the morn's first beauteous Myself the subject of my censure be,
Carelessly wander from my sylvan shed, And teach my heart to comment on my life. And catch the sweet breath of the rising day. With thee, Philosophy, still let me dwell; “ Nor seldom, loitering as I muse along, [bore; My tutor'd miod from vulgar meanness save;
Mark from what flower the breeze its sweetness Bring Peace, bring, Quiet to my humble cell,
Or listen to the labour-soothing song And bid them lay the green turf op my grave.
Of bees that range the thymy uplands o'er. “ Slow let me climb the mountain's airy brow,
The green height gain'd, in museful rapture
Sleep to the murmur of the woods below, "[lie, ELEGY III.
Or look on Nature with a lover's eye. Bright O'er the green hills rose the morning ray, “ Delightful hours ! O, thus for ever flow;
The wood-lark's song resounded on the plain ; Led by fair Fancy round the varied year : Fair Nature felt the warm embrace of day So shall my breast with nativeraptures glow,
And smil'd thro'all her animated reign. Nor feel one pang from folly, pride, or fear. When young Delight, of Hope and Fancy-bort, “Firm be my heart to Nature and to Truth,
His head on tufted wild thyme half-reclin'd, Nor vainly wander from their dictates sage : Caught the gay colours of the orient morn, So Joy shall triumph on the brows of youth,
And thence of life this picture vain desiga'd. So Hope shall smooth the dreary paths of age." Those airs 'that, breathing 'o'er the breast a ELEGY IV.
Led amorous Echo down the long, long vale, O!1! yet, ye dear, deluding visions stay!
Delighted; studious from thy sweeter strain Fond hopes, of Innocence and Fancy born!
To melodise her own ; when fancy-lorn, For you I'll cast these waking thoughts away,
She mourns in anguish o'er the drooping breast For one wild dream of life's romantic morn.
Of young Narcissus. From their amber ums,
Parting their green locks streaming in the sun, Ah! no : the sunshine o'er each object spread The Naiads rose and smild: nor since the day, By flattering Hope, the flowers that blew so
When first by music, and by freedom led Like the gay gardens of Armida, fied, [fair, From Grecian Acidale; nor since the day,
And vanish'd from the powerful rod of Care. When last from Arno's weeping fount they came, So the poor pilgrim, who in rapturous thought To smooth the ringlets of Sabrina's hair, Plans his dear journey to Loretto's shrine,
Heard they like minstrelsy-fountains and shades Seems on his way by guardian seraphs brought,
Of Twit'nam, and of Windsor fam'd in song! Sees aiding angels favour his design.
Ye heights of Clermont, and ye bowers of Ham ! Ambrosial blossoms, such of old as blew
That heard the fine strain vibrate through your
groves, By those fresh founts on Eden's happy plaiu, Ah ! where were then your long-lov'd Muses fed And Sharon's roses all his passage strew:
When Handel breath'd no more ?-aud thou, So Fancy dreams; but Fancy's dreams are
sweet queen, vain.
That nightly wrapt thy Milton's hallow'd ear Wasted and weary on the mountain's side, In the soft ecstacies of Lydian airs;
His way unknown, the hapless pilgrim lies, That since attun'd to Handel's high-wound lyre3 Or takes some ruthless robber for his guide, The lay by thee suggested; could'st not thou And prone beneath his cruel sabre dies. Soothe" with thy sweet song the grim fury's
breast? Life's morning-landscape gilt with orient light, Where Hope and joy and Fancy hold their Nor Virtue's smile attracts, nor Fame's loud
Cold-hearted Death! bis wanly-glaring eye reign,
(bright, The grove's green wave, the blue stream sparkling Can pierce his iron ear, for ever barr'd
trump The blythe Hours dancing round Hyperion's To gentle sounds: the golden voice of song, wain,
That charins the gloomy partner of his birth, In radiant colours youth's free band pourtrays, That soothes despair and pain, he hears no more,
Then holds the fattering tablet to his eye; Than rude winds, blust'ring from the Cambrian Nor thinks how soon the vernal grove decays,
cliffs, Nor sees the dark cloud gathering o'er the sky. The traveller's feeble lay. To court fair Fame, Hence Fancy conquer'd by the dart of Pain,
To toil with slow steps up the star-crown'd hill, And wandering far from her Platouic shade,
Where Science, leaning on her sculptur'd urn, Mourns o'er the ruins of her transient reign,
Looks conscious on the secret-working hand Nor unrepining sees her risions fade.
Of Nature ; on the wings of Genius borne,
To soar above the beaten walks of life, Their parent banish'd, hence her children fly,
Is, like the paintings of an evening cloud, The fairy race that fill'd her festive train ;
Th'amusement of an bour. Night, gloomy Night, Joy tears bis wreath, and Hope inverts her eye,
Spreads her black wings, and all the vision dies. And Folly wonders that her dream was vain.
Ere long, the heart, that heaves this sigh to
thee, Shall beat no more! ere long, on this fond lay
Which mourns at Handel's tomb, insulting Time A POEM TO THE MEMORY OF Shall strew his cankering rust. 'Thy strain perMR. HANDEL.
Thy sacred strain, shall the hoar warrior spare ; WRITTEN IN 1760.
For sounds like thine, at Nature's early birth, Spirits of music, and ye powers of song,
Arous'd him slumbering on the dead profound
Of dusky chaos; by the golden harps That wak'd to painful melody the lyre
Of choral angels summon'd to his race : Of young Jessides, when, in Sion's vale
And sounds like thine, when Nature is no more, He wept oʻer bleeding friendship; ye that Shall call him weary from the lengthen'd toils moarn'd,
Of twice ten thousand years. O would bis hand While Freedom,drooping o'er Euphrates' stream, Yet spare some portion of this vital flame, Her pensive harp on the pale osier hung, The trembling Muse that now faint effort makes Begin once more the sorrow soothing-lay. On young and artless wing, should bear thy Ah! where shall now the Muse fit numbers
praise find ? What accents pure to greet thy tuneful shade, 1 The water-music. Sweet harmonist? 'twas thine, the tender fall • Rorantesque comas a fronte removit ad Of piiy's plaintive lay; for thee the stream
aures. Ovid. Met. of silver-winding music sweeter play'd,
3 L'Allegro and Il Penseroso, set to music by And purer flow'd for thec-all silent now
4 See Milton's Lycidas.
Subline, above the mortal bounds of Earth, Through Bethoron proclaims the approaching With heavenly fire relume her feeble ray,
fight, And, taught by seraphs, frame her song for thee. I see the brave youth lead bis little band,
I feel, I feel the sacred impulse--hark ! With toil and hunger faint ; yet from his arm Wak'd from according lyres the sweet strains flow The rapid Syrian flies. Thus Henry once, In symphony divine: from air to air
The British Henry, with his way-worn troop, The trembling numbers fly: swift bursts away Subdu'd the pride of France-Now louder blows The flow of joy--now swells the flight of praise The martial clangor: lo Nicanor's host! Springs the sbrill trump aloft; the toiling chords with threat'ning turrets crown'd, slowly advance Melodious labour through the flying maze; The ponderous elephantsAnd the deep base bis strong sound rolls away, The blazing Sun, from many a golden shield Majestically sweet-Yet, Handel, raise,
Reflected gleams afar. Judean chief! Yet wake to higher strains thy sacred lyre : How shall thy force, thy little force, sustain The Name of ages, the Supreme of things, The dreadful shock! The great Messiah asks it: Hle whose hand The hero comes6_'Tis boundless mirth and soug, Led into form yon everlasting orbs,
And dance and triumph ; every labouring string, The harmony of Nature-He whose hand And voice, and breathing shell in concert strain Stretch'd o'er the wilds of space this beauteous To swell the raptures of tumultuous joy. ball,
O master of the passions and the soul, Whose spirit breathes through all his smiling Seraphic Handel! how shall words describe works
Thy music's conntless graces, nameless powers ! Music and love-yet, Handel, raise the strain. When he of Gaza7, blind and sunk in chains,
Hark! what angelic sounds, what voice divine On female treachery looks greatly down, Breathes through the ravisht air ! my rapt ear How the breast burns indignant ! in thy strain, feels
When sweet-voic'd piety resigns to Heaven, The harmony of Heaven. Hail sacred choir ! Glows not each bosom with the flame of virtue ? linmortal spirits, hail! If haply those
O'er Jeptha's votive maid when the soft lute That erst in favour'd Palestine proclaim'd Sounds the slow symphony of funeral grief, Glory and peace: her angel-haunted grores, Wbat youthful breast but melts with teuder pity? Her piny mountains, and her golden vales What parent bleeds not with a parent's woe? Re-echo'd peace-But, Oh, suspend the strain 0, longer than this worthless lay can live! The swelling joy's too much for mortal bounds! While fame and inusic soothe the human ear; 'Tis transport even to pain.
Be this thy praise : to lead the polish'd mind Yet, hark! what pleasing sounds invite mine | To virtue's noblest heights; to light the flame So venerably sweet?' 'Tis Sion's lute. [ear Of British freedom, rouse the generous thought, Behold her hero s! from his valiant brow Refine the passions, and exalt the soul Looks Judah's lion, on bis thigh the sword To love, to Heaven, to harınony and thee. Of vanquish'd Apollonius-The shrill trump
6 Chorus of youths, in Judas Maccabeus. s Judas Maccabeus.
7 See the Oratorio of Samson.
The sightless herd sequacious, who pursue
From Belvidere's fair groves, and mountains
O sacred guide! preceptress more sublime
Shall the dull inmate of pedantic walls,
Who knows of Nature, and of man no more See countless worlds of insect beings share
See earth, and air, and fre, and flood combine And scorn the scholar of humanity?
Of general good to aid she great design! Something of men these sapient drones may Where Ancon drags o'er Lincolo's Jurid plain, know,
Like a slow snake, bis dirty-winding train, of men that liv'd two thousand years ago. Where fogs eternal blot the face of day, Such human monsters if the world e'er knew, And the lost bittern moans his gloomy way.; As ancient verse, and ancient story drew! As wett we might, for nnpropitious skies,
If to one object, system, scene confin'd, The blameless native with bis clime despise, The sure effect is narrowness of mind.
As him who stilt the poorer lot partakes 'Twas thus St. Robert, in his lonely wood, Of Biseay's mountains, or Batavia's lakes. Forsook each social duty—o be good.
Yet took once more on Nature's various plan! Thus Hebbes on one dei é system fix'd his eyes, Behold, and love her noblest creature man! And prov'd his nature wr itched--to be wise. She, never partial, on each various zone, Each zealot thus, elate with ghostly pride, Bestow'd some portion to the rest unknown, Adores his God, and hates the world beside. By mutual interest meaning thence to bind Though form'd with powers to grasp this va- h one vast chain the commerce of mankind. rious ball,
Behold, ye vain disturbers of an hour ! Gods! to what meammess may the spirit fall ! Ye dupes of faction! and ye roots of power! Powers that should spread in reason's orient ray, Poor rioters on life's contracted stage ! How are they darken'd, and debarr'd the day! Behold, and lose your littleness of rage !
When late, where Tajo rolls his ancient tide, 'Throw envy, folly, prejudice behind ! Refleeting elear the inountain's purple side, And yield to Truth the empire of the mind. Thy genius,Craafurd, Britain's legions led,
Immortal Truth! O from thy radiant shrine And fear's chill cloud forsook each brightning Where light created first essay'd to shine ; hoad,
Where clustering stars eternal beams display, By nature brave, and generous as thou art, And gems ethereal drink the golden day; Say did not human follies vex thy heart? To chase this moral, clear this sensual night, Glow'd not thy breast indignant, when you saw @shed one ray of thy celestial light ! The dome of murder consecrate by law? Teach us, while wandering thro' this vale below Where hends, commission'd with the legal rod, We know but little, that we little know. In pure devotion, burn the works of God. One beam to mole-ey'd Prejudice convey,
O change me, powers of Nature, if ye can, Let Pride perceive one mortifying ray. Transform me, make me any thing but man. Thy glass to fools, to infidels apply, Yet why? This heart all human kind forgives, And all the dimness of the mental eye. While Gillman loves me, and while Crabfurd Plac'd on this shore of Time's far-stretching lives.
bourn, Is Nature, all benevolent, to blame
With leave to look at Nature and return; That half her offspring are their mother's shame? | While wave on wave impels the human tide, Did she ordain o'er this fair scene of things And ages sink, forgotten as they glide; The cruelty of priests, or pride of kings? Can life's short duties better be discharg'd, Tho'worlds lie murder'd for their wealth or fame, Than when we leave it with a mind enlarg'd ? Is Nature all benevolent to blame?
Judg'd not the old philosopher aright, O that the world were emptied of its slaves! When thus he preach'd, his pupils in his sigbt? That all the fools were gone, and all the knaves! " It matters not, my friends, how low or high Then might we, Craufurd, with delight embrace, Your little Walk of transient life may lie. In boundless love, the rest of human race. Soon will the reign of hope and fear be o'er, But let not knaves misanthropy create,
And warring passions militate no more. Nor feed the gall of universal hate.
And trust me, he who, having once survey'd Wherever Genius, Truth, and Virtue dwell, The good and fair which Nature's wisdom made, Polish'd in courts, or simple in a cell,
The soonest to his former state retires, All views of country, sects, and creeds apart, And feels the peace of satisfied desires, These, these I love, and hold them to my heart. (Let others deem more wisely if they can),
Vain of our beauteous isle, and justly vain, I look on him to be the happiest man." For Freedom here, and Health, and Plenty reiga, So thought the sacred sage, in whom I trust, We different lots contemptuously compare, Because I feel his sentiments are just. And boast, like children, of a fav'rite's share. 'Twas not in Justrums of long counted years
Yet though each vale a deeper verdare yields That swell'd th'alternate reign of hopes and fears; Than Amo's banks, or Andalusia's fields, Not in the splendid scenes of pain and strife, Though many a tree-crown'd mountain teems That Wisdom plac'd the dignity of life:
To study Nature was the task design'd, Though flocks innumerous whiten every shore, And learn from her th' enlargement of the mind. Why should we, thus with Nature's wealth elate, Learn from her works whatever Truth admires, Behold her different families with hate?
And sleep in death with satisfied desires. Look on her works
on erery page you'll And Inscrib'd the doctrine of the social mind,