And as with patient wing she flits along,
The grateful warblers cheer her with a song ;
Till rising tuneful from the shelter'd glade,
The neighb'ring songsters join the serenade.
See where of yore the bankrupt merchant lay, To rav'ning duns and cruel men a prey; Where sunk his state, by barb'rous landlords press'd, And many a pang has agoniz'd his breast; There tow'rs again the sign with gilded post, And rich apparel lie, the wearer's boast. Full many a frolic crowns the oaken chair, And many a son of honest mirth is there.
But lo! methinks new wonders strike my eye, Where flames the white-wash'd alehouse sign on
There leans the bar-maid o'er the creaking door,
And gives a well-fill'd tankard to the poor;
While in her dimpling cheek the Graces smile,
And sweet simplicity attracts the while.
Beyond the house, a verdant arbour lies,
And spreads its flaunting flow'rs of various dyes,
There have I traced the novel's fairy dance,
Or pierc'd the murky caves of gay romance,
Meanwhile, the quaint ear'd cur, with sudden bark, The pretty trembler frighted in the dark.
Ah! vale belov'd; where sportive health advanced, And all the choir of youthful pleasures danced; While poesy led on the jocund throng,
And sooth'd their labours with her sweetest song ;
While Shannon's warbling wave return'd the strain,
And hanging mountains caught the sound again :
How oft have all thy babbling echoes rung,
With the first lays my muse enamour'd sung;
And seem'd to propagate the tuneful theme
With sounds prophetic of my future fame!
Where'er I go; ah! may thy image rest,
Within the sacred mansion of my breast:
Ah! may that breast thy dearest scenes retain,
Thou loveliest village of the loveliest plain.
Thy decent church with antique sculptures graced
Thy spire with half its mystic marks effaced,
The bowling-green with velvet herbage gay,
The mill-stream glitt'ring to the solar ray,
The well-wove how'r for whisp'ring lovers made,
The school embosom'd in the healthiest shade,
The two-arch'd bridge aslant the level road,
And slated well the parson's small abode ;
Nay, even the peasant's straw-thatch hut can charm, And numerous beauties deck th' adjacent farm, When, from the world and all its splendours free, Sweet place, I fondly ruminate on thee.
Would the rich man but thank the lab'rers toil, And cheer the brow of anguish with a smile, Inglorious sloth would shortly leave the land, And fly pernicious to some alien strand. Then would the poor man's merit full appear, And smiling Spring invest the blooming year; O'er cultur'd grounds the master walk with joy, And see mute gladness in the farmer's eye; While waving seeds of corn their lord unfold, And clothe the laughing fields with bearded gold. So should sweet Auburn more majestic rise, And glad with new delight the poet's eyes.
MY Lucy was charming and fair,
Love shot all his shafts from her eyes:
So sweet, so commanding her air,
It could soften at once and surprise.
Such pity, such tenderness, play'd,
Serene in her face and her mind!
But the vision of hope is decay'd,
Though the shadows still linger behind.
My flute was melodious and soft,
The joy of the pastoral throng;
The linnet would join from aloft,
And Lucy embolden the song:
My cheeks which pale sorrow will fade,
Were the red rose and lily combin'd.
But the vision of hope is decay'd,
Though its shadows still linger behind.
Ah, fair as the blossoms of spring,
Ah! how could that bosom be cold?
More love lay in Corydon's ring,
More wealth than in Floridel's gold.
The dotard now wooes my dear maid,
Now feels every rapture refin'd:-
Yes the vision of hope's quite decay'd,
Though the shadows still linger behind.
No more to my flocks will I sing,
No more tend the calls of the fold,
No more shall the glad valleys ring,
Since affection is barter'd for gold.
I will fly with Despair to the shade,
I will die on some rude rock reclin'd;
For the vision of hope is decay'd,
Though the shadows still linger behind.
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