Curb'd beneath his harsh controul You the gentler sons of Joy Let the Patriot die to raise The ever verdant bay may bloom! Let Ambition's sons alone Bow around the tottering throne, And moth-like die amidst a blaze, Before delicious Beauty's throne. Lo! Theora treads the green, All breathing grace and harmony she moves In graceful ringlets floats her golden hair. Expression's liquid lightnings fly, Fair as the Lily when at dawning day Tinged with the morning's bright and purple ray. Yonder scented groves among She will listen to your song, In yonder bower where roses bloom And sip the soul-enlivening wine, There the lyre with melting lay Such the blessings I bestow, Haste my Sons these blessings know! His bloom but for a changeful hour! The rosy cheek is turn'd to clay, No living joys, no transports burn No Laurels crown the fleshless brows, They fade together with the Rose. D. 1796. To INDOLENCE. I do not woo thy presence, INDOLENCE ! Goddess, I would not rank A votary in thy train. I will not ask to wear thy fett'ring flowers, O thou on whose cold lips Faint plays the heartless smile! Pale, sickly as the unkindly shaded fruit, Thy languid cheek displays No sunny hues of health; There is no radiance in thy listless eye, No active joy that fires It's sudden glance with life. I do not wish upon thy downy couch, To doze away the hours, Dead to all noble purposes of man, To live, unworthy life. But to thy sister LEISURE I would pour The supplicating prayer, And woo her aid benign: Nymph, on whose sunny cheek the hue of health Blooms like the ruddy fruit Matur'd by Southern rays; Whose eye beam sparkles to the speaking heart, Like the reflected noon Quick glancing on the waves. Her would I pray that not for ever thus The ungentle voice of toil Might claim my daily task. |