As Nature fondly view'd with conscious pride
This airy brow, with waving forests crown'd,
Th' expanse of varied green, and hills, that bound
The rich domain, "Mine be the praise," she cried.
"Not thine alone, my sister," Art replied:
"I cloath'd in livelier green the various ground; "And here with circling woods this brow embrown'd, "There spotted with thin shade yon mountain's side.” "Yes;" Nature said; "with thee that praise I share; "View then this beauty where alone I reign; "Where Art has added, and can add no grace.”
Her haughty rival with the insulting air
Of mockery turn'd; but, when upon the plain
She saw Selina, blushing, veil'd her face.
Wife of the gentleman, whose seat is the subject of the Sonnet,
WRITTEN AT THE SAME PLACE ON THE BIRTH OF TWINS.
O SPRUNG of virtuous, and of gentle race!
Sweet buds of infancy, whose secret roots,
Together spread their intermingled shoots,
Though now ye branch dissever'd from th' embrace,
As now the bloom unfolding on the face
With fond presage my friendly muse salutes,
So may your minds too blossom; may the fruits
Of wise and good your riper season grace!
Obrothers, whom, as yet unborn ye lay,
Nature united! may no treacherous wiles
Of foes divide you, no domestic strife;
Strife only which shall best with love repay
Her love, who fondly gazing on your smiles,
Forgets in joy the pangs that gave you life,
TO THE B. FAMILY OF BRISTOL.
PEACE to this roof! nor can the wish be vain,
Where choice approves, whom Nature bade be dear;
Where filial duty builds on love her fear,
And power paternal on the will his reign,
Peace to the bosoms of this virgin train!
When love from Mary's lute laments, no tear
Tell ever that ye know those pangs severe;
No sigh breathe discord on your mingled strain.
Live happy you. I (such the imperious law
Of strong necessity) for that repose,
Which here my prayers divide, in vain must pine;
For in the unsocial cloyster doom'd to draw,
My lingering days, while yet this bosom glows
With youthful ardour, how can peace be mine?
JUST guardian of man's social bliss! for thee
The paths of danger gladly would I tread;
For thee, contented join the glorious dead
Who nobly scorn'd a life that was not free.
But, worse than death, it pains my soul to see
The Lord of ruin, by wild Uproar led,
Hell's first-born, Anarchy, exalt his head,
And seize thy throne, and bid us bow the knee,
What though his iron sceptre, blood-embrued,
Crush half the nations with resistless might;
Never shall this firm spirit be subdued:
In chains, in exile, still the chanted rite,
O Liberty! shall flow to thee renew'd;
O still be sea-girt Albion thy delight!
TO THE RIVER EMONT, CUMBERLAND.
SWEET simple stream, the shallow waves that glide,
In peaceful murmurs, o'er thy stony bed-
Sweet simple stream, the gleams of eventide,
That on thy banks their mellowing colours shed,
Befit the temper of my restless mind!
For while I hear thy waves, and see the gleam
Of latest eve, afar from human kind,
To linger here, unknown, I fondly dream
I snatch my flute, and breathe a soften'd lay;
Then, melting, view it as an only friend!
And oft I wonder much, that while so gay,
And all unthinking, others onward bend,
I here should sadly linger, and rejoice
To hear a lone stream, or the flute's soft voice.
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