« AnteriorContinuar »
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps;
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode;
And see the rivers how they run,
When will the landscape tire the view!
The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r,
See on the mountain's southern side, Where the prospect open's wide, Where the evening gilds the tide! How close and small the hedges lie! What streaks of meadow cross the eye! A step methinks may pass the stream So little distant dangers seem; So we mistake the future's face Ev'd thro' Hope's deluding glass; A's yon summits soft and fair, Clad in colours of the air, Which to those who journey near Barren, brown, and rough appear; Still we tread the same coarse way, The present's still a cloudy day. O may I with myself agree, And never covet what I see! Content me with an humble shade My passions' tam'd, my wishes laid; For while our wishes wildly roll, We banish quiet from the soul: 'Tis thus the busy beat the air! And misers gather wealth and care. Now, ev'n now, my joys run high, As on the mountain-turf I lie; While the wanton Zephyr sings, And in the vale perfumes his wings; While the waters murmur deep i While the shepherd charms his sheep; While the birds unbounded fly, And with music fill the sky, Now, ev'n now, my joys run high.
Be full, ye courts, be great who will, Search for peace with all your skill; Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor;:
In vain you search, she is not there ;;
Ever by each other's side:
Hymn to Adversity.
DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
When first thy sire to send on earth
What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know,
And from her own she learn'd to melt at other's woe.
Scar'd at thy frown terrific, Dy
Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,
And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperse, and with them go
The summer friend, the flatt'ring foe;
By vain prosperity receiv'd,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.
Wisdom in sable garb array'd,
Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,
And Melancholy silent maid,
With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
Still on thy solemn steps attend
Warm Charity the general friend,
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear.
Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head,
With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,
Thy form benign, oh, Goddess! wear,
Thy philosophic train be there
To soften, not to wound my heart.
The gen'rous spark, extinct, revive,
Exact my own defects to scan,
What others are to feel, and know myself a man.
Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College.
Yz distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the wat'ry glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead, survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way.
Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade,
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
I feel the gales that from ye blow
As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
Say, Father Thames (for thou hast seen
Disporting on thy margent green,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
To chase the rolling circle's speed,
While some, on earnest business bent, Their murm'ring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
Gay hope is their's by fancy fed,