Since sweet Amanda proved unkind,
And left him full of black1 despair.
His looks that were as fresh as morn
Can now no longer smiles impart;
His pensive soul, on sadness borne,
Is rack'd and torn by Cupid's dart.
Turn, fair Amanda! cheer your swain,
Unshroud him from his veil of woe;
Range every charm to ease the pain
That in his tortured breast doth grow.
ON THE COLD MONTH OF APRIL, 1771.2
Oh! who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus!
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast;
Or wallow naked in December's snow,
By bare remembrance of the summer's heat.
POETS in vain have hail'd the op'ning spring,
In tender accents woo'd the blooming maid;
In vain have taught the April birds to wing
Their flight through fields in verdant hue array'd.
The Muse, in every season taught to sing,
Amidst the desert snows, by fancy's powers,
Can elevated soar on placid wing
To fields where spring its kindest influence showers.
2 The original title was " April 1771, as it was, not as it was wont to be." 3 Richard II. Act I. Sc. 3.
April, once famous for the zephyr mild,
For sweets that early in the garden glow,
Say, how converted! to this cheerless wild,
Rushing with torrents of dissolving snow.
Nursed by the moisture of a gentle shower,
Thy foliage oft hath sounded to the breeze;
Oft did thy choristers melodious pour
Their melting numbers through the shady trees.
Fair have I seen thy morn in smiles array'd,
With crimson blush bepaint the eastern sky;
But now the dawn creeps mournful o'er the glade,
Shrouded in colours of a sable dye. [+]
So have I seen the fair with sprightly1 eye,
And visage cheerful as the laughing morn,
Alternate changing, for the heaving sigh,
Or frowning aspect of contemptuous scorn.
Life, what art thou? a variegated scene
Of mingled light and shade, of joy and woe;
A sea where calms and storms promiscuous reign,
A stream where sweet and bitter jointly flow. [+]
Mute are the plains, the shepherds pipe no more,
The reed's forsaken, and the tender flock,
While echo, list'ning to the tempest's roar,
In silence wanders o'er the beetling rock.
†The Stanzas marked thus [+] appear in the celebrated 'Minstrel' of R. A. Smith. Vol. II. p. 33. They are given to the Air "Lass what art thou." Stanza 7th precedes the 5th.
Winter, too potent for the solar ray,
Bestrides the blast; ascends his icy throne, And views Britannia, subject to his sway, Floating emergent on the frigid zone.
Thou savage tyrant of the fretful sky;
Wilt thou for ever in our zenith reign?
To Greenland's seas, congeal'd in chilness fly,
Where howling monsters tread the bleak domain.
Relent, O Boreas! leave thy frozen cell,
Resign to spring her portion of the year;
Let west winds temp'rate wave the flowing gale,
And hills, and vales, and woods a vernal1 aspect wear.
Non mira, sed vera, canam.
Ar that sweet period of revolving time,
When Phoebus lingers not in Thetis' lap,
When twinkling stars their feeble influence shed,
And scarcely glimmer through th' ethereal vault,
Till Sol again his near approach proclaims,
With ray purpureal, and the blushing form
Of fair Aurora, goddess of the dawn,
Leading the winged coursers to the pole
Of Phoebus' car.-"Twas in that season fair,
When jocund summer did the meads array
In Flora's ripening bloom-that we prepar'd
To break the bond of business, and to roam
Far from Edina's jarring noise a while.
Fair smiled the wakening morn on our design,
And we with joy elate our march began
For Leith's fair port, where oft Edina's sons
The week conclude, and in carousal quaff
Port, punch, rum, brandy, and Geneva strong,
Liquors too nervous for our feeble purse.
With all convenient speed we there arrived:
Nor had we time to touch at house or hall,
Till from the boat a hollow thundering voice
Bellowed vociferous, and our ears assailed
With "Ho! Kinghorn, oho! come straight aboard."
We fail'd not to obey the stern command,
Utter'd with voice as dreadful as the roar
Of Polyphemus, 'midst rebounding rocks,
When overcome by sage Ulysses' wiles.
"Hoist up the sails," the angry skipper cries,
While fore and aft the busy sailors run,
And loose th' entangled cordage. O'er the deep
Zephyrus blows, and hugs our lofty sails,
Which, in obedience to the powerful breeze,
Swell o'er the foaming main, and kiss the wave.
Now o'er the convex surface of the flood
Precipitate we fly—our foaming prow
Divides the saline stream-on either side
Ridges of yesty surge dilate apace;
But from the poop the waters gently flow,
And undulation for the time decays,
In eddies smoothly floating o'er the main.
Here let the muse in doleful numbers sing
The woful fate of those whose cruel stars
Have doom'd them subject to the languid powers
Of watery sickness. Though with stomach full
Of juicy beef, of mutton in its prime,
Or all the dainties luxury can boast,
They brave the elements,-yet the rocking bark,
Truly regardless of their precious food,
Converts their visage to the ghastly pale,
And makes the sea partaker of the sweets
On which they sumptuous fared. And this the cause
Why those of Scotia's sons whose wealthy store
Hath bless'd them with a splendid coach and six
Rather incline to linger on the way,
And cross the river Forth by Stirling-bridge,
Than be subjected to the ocean's swell,
To dangerous ferries, and to sickness dire.
And now at equal distance shows the land:
Gladly the tars the joyful task pursue
Of gathering in the freight. Debates arise
From counterfeited halfpence. In the hold
The seamen scrutinize, and eager peep
Through every corner where their watchful eye
Suspects a lurking-place, or dark retreat,
To hide the timid corpse of some poor soul,
Whose scanty purse can scarce one groat afford.
At length we cheerful land on Fifan shore,
Where sickness vanishes, and all the ills
Attendant on the passage of Kinghorn.
Our pallid cheeks resume their rosy hue,
And empty stomachs keenly crave supply.
With eager step we reach'd the friendly inn,
Nor did we think of beating our retreat
Till every gnawing appetite was quell'd.
Eastward along the Fifan coast we stray;
And here th' unwearied eye may fondly gaze
O'er all the tufted groves and pointed spires
With which the pleasant banks of Forth are crown'd.
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