Then all was joyous, all was young,
And years unheeded roll'd along!
But now the pleasing dream is o'er ;
These scenes must charm me now no more;
Lost to the field, and torn from you--
Farewell!-a long a last adieu !
Me, wrangling courts, and stubborn law,
To smoke, and crowds, and cities draw;
There selfish Faction rules the day,
And Pride and Avarice throng the way:
Diseases taint the murky air,
And midnight conflagrations glare;
Loose Revelry, and Riot bold,
In frighted streets their orgies hold ;—
Or, when in silence all is drown'd,
Fell Murder walks her lonely round ;
No room for peace, no room for you:
Adieu, celestial nymph, adieu!
Shakespear no more, thy sylvan son,
Nor all the art of Addison,
Pope's heav'n-strung lyre, nor Waller's ease, Nor Milton's mighty self must please.
Instead of these, a formal band,
In furs and coifs, around me stand;
With sounds uncouth, and accents dry,
That grate the soul of harmony,
Each pedant sage unlocks his store
Of mystic, dark, discordant lore ;
And points with tottering hand, the ways
That lead me to the thorny maze.
There, in a winding, close retreat,
Is Justice doom'd to fix her seat;
There, fenc'd by bulwarks of the law,
She keeps the wondering world in awe;
And there, from vulgar sight retir'd,
Like eastern queens, is more admir'd.
O let me pierce the secret shade,
Where dwells the venerable maid!
There humbly mark, with rev'rent awe,
The guardian of Britannia's law,
Unfold with joy her sacred page,
(The united boast of many an age,
Where mix'd, yet uniform, appears
The wisdom of a thousand years ;)
In that pure spring the bottom view,
Clear, deep, and regularly true,
And other doctrines thence imbibe,
Than lurk within the sordid scribe;
Observe how parts with parts unite,
In one harmonious rule of right;
See countless wheels distinctly tend,
By various laws, to one great end;
While mighty Alfred's piercing soul
Pervades and regulates the whole.
Then welcome business, welcome strife,
Welcome the cares, the thorns of life:
The visage wan, the purblind sight,
The toil by day, the lamp at night,
The tedious forms, the solemn prate,
The pert dispute, the dull debate,
The drowsy bench, the babbling hall,
For thee, fair Justice, welcome all!
Thus though my noon of life be past, Yet let my setting sun, at last, Find out the still, the rural cell, Where sage Retirement loves to dwell! There let me taste the home-felt bliss
Of innocence, and inward peace ;
Untainted by the guilty bribe;
Uncurs'd amid the happy tribe;
No orphan's cry to wound my ear,
My honour and my conscience clear:
Thus may I calmly meet my eud,
Copied from the Window of an obscure Lodging in
Islington *.
STRANGER, whoe'er thou art, whose restless mind
Like me within these walls is cribbed, confined,
Learn how each want that heaves our mutual sighs,
A woman's soft solicitude supplies;
From her white breast retreat all rude alarms,
Or fly the circle of her magic arms;
While souls exchanged alternate grace acquire,
And passions catch from passions mutual fire.
What though to deck this roof no arts combine
Such forms as rival every fair but mine;
No nodding plumes our humble couch above,
Proclaim each triumph of unbounded love;
No silver lamp, with sculptur'd Cupids gay,
O'er yielding beauty pours its midnight ray:
Yet Fanny's charms could Time's slow flight beguile,
Sooth every care, and make this dungeon smile;
In her, what kings, what saints have wished, is given;
Her heart is empire, and her love is heaven.
An imperfect copy of these verses was printed in the Poetical Register, Vol. II, page 401,
Now sunk in dumb despondence on the thorn,
Where nightly perched she pours her solemn lay,
Sad Philomel beholds the gradual morn,
Bright and yet brighter, kindle into day.
Sweet child of sorrow! with regret, like thine,
I too yon gold, that skirts the dapple, see;
No joy the gleams, that now more ruddy shine.
Dear as the joy that flies them, bring to me.
Yet then again, ye slumbers, o'er my eyes
Descending, soothe my troubled soul to rest;
And yet again, ye pleasing visions rise,
In all my Delia's gentler graces drest.
And tho' through every semblance ye can range,
Well might ye chuse my Delia's form to wear;
Secure, that to no lovelier ye can change,
No mien more graceful, and no face more fair.
In vain I call: obedient to my will,
No visions rise, no slumbers o'er me creep, And now in glory from yon eastern hill,
The sun ascending bids me wake to weep.
Ah! gentle sun! so will I bless thy beams,
Tho' thy return but grief returning brings-
With cautious reverence steal, where hovering dreams
O'er Delia's pillow wave their busy wings.
O! could I stand with trembling duty nigh
To guard, and guarding gaze upon the maid,
No ruder ray should there intrude, no fly
With murmuring error her repose invade.
And if, while thus I gazed, upon her cheek
One smile of haughty scorn should haply dawn;
And if one amorous sigh should haply break,
Deep from the involuntary bosom drawn:
Now, would I cry, she proudly feigns to smile
While at her feet I seem my suit to press;
Now ill concealed by many a female wile,
Her mutual love those amorous sighs confess.
And can I thus the flattering tale believe,
Which hope, too ready, whispers in my ear?
And can I thus this simple heart deceive,
That still my Delia holds my memory dear?
She now can wander in the conscious grove,
Nor think, how there I wander'd by her side;
In dreams her fancy now can freely rove,
Nor hear me talk, nor see my image glide.
Yet be she false; her falsehood shall but show,
How fixed the firm foundation of my truth,
For her alone I nurse perpetual woe;
For her, in silence drooping, waste my youth.
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