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Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps ;
So both a safety from the wind
One mutual dependence find.
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode ;
'Tis now the apartment of the toad;.
And there the fox securely feeds;
And there the poisonous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds ;
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls..
Yet time as seen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state ;
But transient is the smile of fate!
A little rule, a little sway,
A sun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave..
And see the rivers how they run Thro' woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swift and sometimes slow, Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep, Like human life to endless sleep! Thus is nature's vesture wrought, To instruct our wand'ring thought; Thus she dresses
gay, To disperse our cares away.
Ever charming, ever new, When will the landscape tire the views The fountain's fall, the river's. flow, The woody vallies, warm and low; The windy summit, wild and high, Roughly rushing on the sky! The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r, The naked rock, the shady bow'r:
Thus winged larks forsake their native nest,
The merry minstrels of the morn:
New to heav'n they mount away,
And meet again no more.
All things decay ;-the forest like the leaf;
Great kingdoms fall; the peopled globe,
Planet-struck, shall pass away;
Heavens with their hosts expire;
But hope's fair visions, and the beams of joy,
Shall cheer my bosom : I will sing
Nature's beauty, Nature's birth,
And heroes, on the lyre.
Ye Naiads! blue-eyed sisters in the wood!
Who by old oak, or storied stream,
Nightly tread your mystic maze,
And charm'd the wandering moon,
Beheld thy poet's eye; inspire my dreams
With visions, like the landscapes fair
Of heaven's bliss, to dying saints
By guardian angels drawn. Fount of the forest! in thy poet's lays Thy waves shall flow : this wreath of flow'rs, Gather'd by Anna's hand,
I ask to bind my brow.
GREEN-ROB'D goddess ! fair and young,
From Venus and Apollo sprung;-
Blue-ey'd, lily-bosom'd fair!
With smiling lips and flowing hair;-
Come with all thy festive hours,
Drest in coronets of flow'rs,
Such as thy own April flings
From his dew-impearled wings;
Violets, cowslips, and the rose,
That yellow in the meadow grows;
Snow-drops pure, and lilies pale,
That love to linger in the vale ;-
Come, and from those swimming eyes,
Where cupids lurk, and rapture lies,
Scatter glories o'er the earth,
awake to birth
Ev'ry loit'ring flower that dwells:
its icy cells.
Hither turn thy buskin'd feet,
Haste, thy Zephyrus to meet,
And with him delighted rove,
Thro' ev'ry wood, and ev'ry grove;
Bidding ev'ry bird awake
That drooping sits in dell or brake.
Spring! for thee, with looks elate,
The youths implore, the maidens wait;
And ev'ry plant, and ev'ry tree
Sighs, and buds, and droops for thee..
See! the lilac longs to pour
O'er verdant earth, her purple show'er;
And, waving o'er the field, behold
The soft liburnum's splendid gold
Swells in vain, and longs to cast
Her blossoms on the sounding blast ;-
While now the almond, blushing deep,
'Wakens from her careless sleep,
And glowiny, kindling, waits alone
Thy presence to proclaim thee known,
Oh! hither haste! for oft I sigh
For April's earth, and April's sky;
I pant to mark thy varied day,
To bless thy smiles, to hail thy sway :
To wander with thee thro' thv bow'rs,
Enjoy thy sun, and feel thy showers.
SLOW rolls the tide advancing on the shore,
The gliding barque expands its swelling sail ; ; Soft sounds the gentle dashing of the var
That aids the impulse of the dying gales. Behind yon western hill the sun retires,
Half veil'd in mists the glories of his head, While scatter'd clouds reflect his parting fires,
And tint the azure flood with streaks of red. What varied glows the eye delighted views
Mellow'd and blended by autunnal skies! Each melting into each, the vivid hues
Like regulated passions harmonize. Happy the man whom smiles may still surround,
Who gaily can th' approach of age perceive; Whose latest hours with cheerfulness are crowa’dge
Serene and bright as this autumnal eve.
ON Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love;
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod th' Arcadian plain.
Pure stream, in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave:
No torrents stain thy limpid source:
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread;
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy chrystal dood;
The springing trout in speckled pride;
The salmon, monarch of the tide;
The ruthless pike, intent on war;
The silver eel, and mottled par.
Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,
And edges flower'd with eglantine.
Still on thy banks so gaily green,
May num'rous herds and flocks be seen,
And lasses chaunting o'er the pail,
And shepherds piping in the dale,
And ancient Faith, that knows no guile,
And Industry embrown'd with toil,
And hearts resolv'd, and hands prepar'd,
The blessing they enjoy to guard,