« VorigeDoorgaan »
The pleasant seat, and ruin d tow'r,
The naked rock, the shady bow'r ;
The town and village, done and farm,
Each gives each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Æthiop's arm.
See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the ev'ning gilds the tide,
How close and small the hedges lie !
What streaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step methinks may pass the stream ;
So little distant dangers seem;
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd through hope's deluding glass ;
As 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, iny wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul;
'Tis thus the busy beat the air ;
And nisers 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 ;
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 ye search, she is not there ;
In vain ye search the domes of care!
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain heads,
Along with Pleasure, close allied,
Ever by each other's side :
And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is still,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.
Daughter of Jove, relentless pow'r,
Thou tamer of the humau breast,
Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the best !
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vaiuly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
When first thy sire to send on earth
Virtue, his darling child, designd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bade thee form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year
she hore : What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know: And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' wo
Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly 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 sumuner 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 gen'ral friend,
With Justice, to herself severe,
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear,
O, gently on thy suppliant's head,
Dread Goddess lay thy chastning hand !
Not in thy Gorgon terrours clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art seen)
With thund'ring voice, and threat’ning mien,
With screaming Horrour's funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.
Thy form benign, O Goddess ! wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philosophic train be there,
To soften, not to wound my heart.
The gen’rous spark extinct revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive,
Exact my own defects to scan,
What others are, to feel, and know myself a man.
ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF EATON COLLEGE
Y e distant spires, ye antique tow'rs,
That crown the wat'ry glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that froin the stately brow
of Windsor's heights th' expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose túrf, whose sliade, whose flow'rs among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver winding way.
Ah, happy bills ! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields belov'd in vain ! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to sooth, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Say, Father Thames (for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race, Disporting on thy margent green, The paths of pleasure trace), Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm thy glassy wave? The captive linnet which enthral ? What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball?
While some, on earnest business bent,
Their murm'ring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.
Gay hope is theirs by Fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possess’d;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast;
Theirs buxom Health of rosy hue,
Wild Wit, Invention ever new,
And lively Cheer, of Vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas ! regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, No care beyond to day: Yet see how all around them wait The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train ! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murd'rous band! Ah, tell them, they are men !
These shall the fury passions tear, The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that skulks behind : Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gpaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim visag'd comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And keen Remorse with blood defild, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest wo. Lo, in the vale of
beneath A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That ev'ry lab'ring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage : Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul-with icy hand, And slow consuming Age.