« السابقةمتابعة »
But now, fircc old Envenio dy'd The chief of poets, and the pride Now, meaner bards in rain aspire To raise their voice, to tune their lyre ! Their lovely season, now, is o'er! Thy notes, Florelio, please no moit! No more Asteria's smiles are seen ! Adieu !--the sweets of Barel s-green!
Come then, resume thy chaming lyre,
And sing some patriot's worth sublime, Whilft I in fields of soft defire
Consume my fair and fruitless prime ; Whose reed alpires but to display The flame that burns me night and day. O come! the dryads of the woods
Shall daily frothe thy studious mind, The blue-ey'd nymphs of yonder foods
hall meet and court thee to be kind ; And l'ane fits listening for thy lays To swell her trump with Lucio's praise. Like me, the plover fondly tries
To lure the sporsmen from her nest, And fluttering on with anxious cries,
Too plainly shows her tortur'd breast : o let him, conscious of her care, Pity her pains, and learn to spare.
A PASTORAL OPE,
To the Right Hon. Sir Richard Lyttleton,
HY o'er the verdant banks of Ooze
Does yonder halcyon speed so fast ? 'Tis all because she would not lose
Her favourite calm that will not last. The fun with azure paints the skies,
The stream reflects each flowery spray: And frugal of her time she fies
To take her fill of love and play.
Warm in some rocky cell remain;
Would only then enhance the pain.
Deform my limpid waves to-day, For I have chose a fairer hour
o take my fill of love and play, You too, my Silvia, sure will own
Life's azure seasons (wiftiy roll:
To think of love but shocks the foul.
And thou art Damon's only theme; He'd fly as quick to Delia's arms,
As yonder halcyon Ikims the stream.
HE morn dispens'd a dubious light
A sullen mist had stol'n from sight
Or check his wandering rill.
Would oft his fate bemoan;
Nor prais'd, nor lov'd, nor known.
Soft murmuring, not a foe :
It griev'd him to forego.
And moorcocks il:un the day;
And scorn to quit their prey.
And raise the doubtful dawn;
That ever trod the lawn.
So well our minds and tempers blend; That seasons may for ever fiec,
And ne'er divide me from my friend;
When every Grace henigvarat smild, With ali a parent's breast could chuse
To bles; her lov’d, her only child: "Tis thine so richly grac'd to prove More noble cares, than cares of love. Together ve from early youth
Have grof the flowery tracks of time, Together mu'd in search of truth,
O'er learnei fage, or bard sublime ;
* The Duchess, married to Sir R. Lyttleton.
That se, on all whose motions wait
Should rove where shepherds dwell.
Will nought but vice disdain ;
Amid the desert plain.
Nor equal meed receive :
And rural hands can weave.
The prime of all the spring ;
The trivial wreaths you bring.
Athenia's placid mien ;
'Mid hazel copses green :
The glories of his line ;
As through enchantment, shine.
From Hagley's fam'd retreat ?
'fwerc.Cynthia's form compleat, So would some cuberofe delight, That struck the pilgrim's wandering fight
'Mid lonely delerts drear ;
And crowns the fragrant year.'
Her fubtie force disown,
Shall paint these forms alone.
My dazzled eyes altray ;
Its more illustrious ray ?
Vihers, hid in woodlands green,
partner of his early days,
Had stol'n through life unseen,
To smile familiar here :
From social warmth fincere.
Admir'd this rural maze:
Might pant for Pollio's praise.
Ah! never to return !
belide his urn.
With roses and with bays,
To lip. your early praise.
Hur in most wealth displays ;
The pomp of ancient days,
That thone the reeds among;
From Conway s polish'd tongue. Ev'n Pitt, whose fervent periods roll Reliftless ! through the kindling foul
Of fenates. councils, kings ! Though form'd for courts, vouchsaf d to rave Inglorious, through the shepherd's grove, And ope
his ba iful iprmgs. But what can courts discover more, Than these rude haunts hive seen before,
Each fount and inady tree? Have not thcle trees and fountains scen i he pride of courts, the winning micn.
o peerless Aylesbury ?
The princely piles of Stow;
Through self-worn mazes ilow.
Say Dartmouth, who your banks admir'd, And see, the swallows new disown
The roofs they lov'd before;
Each, like his tuneful genius, flown With all the bloom, with all the truth,
To glad some hapzier fore, With all the sprightliness of youth,
The wood-nymhp eyes, with pale affright, By cool reflection (way'd ?
The sportsman's.frantic deed ; Brave, yet humane, shall Smith appear,
While hounds and horns and yells unite
To drown the Musc's reed.
Ye fiélds with blighted herbage brown,
Ye skies no longer blue ! And ours are all his own.
Too much we feel from fortune's frown,
To bear these frowns from you.
Where is the mead's unsullied green?
The zephyr's balmy gale? How public love adorns thy name,
And where sweet friendship’s cordial mien, How fortune too conspires with fame;
That brightend every vale? The song should please mankind.
What though the vine disclose her dyes,
And boast her purple store;
Can foothe our forrows more.
He! he is gone, whose moral strain
Could wit and mirth refine; Written towards the close of the year | He! he is gone, whose social vein 1748, to William Lyttleton, Esq. Surpass’d the
of wine. row blithely pass'd the summer's day!
Fait by the streams he deign'd to praisc,
In yon fequefter'd grove,
To him a votive urn I raise; To visit Damon's bower!
To him, and friendly love. But now, with silent step, I range
Yes, there, my friend! forlorn and fad, Along some lonely fhore;
I grave your Thomson's name; And Damon's bower, alas the change!
And there, his lyre; which fate forbad Is gay with friends no more.
To found your growing fame. Away to crowds and cities borne
There shall my plaintive song recount In quet of joy they steer ;
Dark themes of hopeless woe? Whilft i, alas! am left forlorn,
And faster than the drooping fount,
I'll teach mine eyes to flow.
There leaves, in spite of Autumn green,
Shall shade the hallow'd ground; Of every drooping tree.
And Spring will there again be seen,
To call forth flowers around.
But now kind suns will bid me share,
Once more, his social hour ; Complete my bower's decay.
Ah Spring ! thou never canst repair
This loss, to Damon's bower.
And bode approaching pain.
LOVE AND MUSIC,
Written at Oxford, when young.
HALL Love alone for ever claim Yet how hould we the months regard,
An universal right to fame, That stopp'd his flowing tongue ?
An undisputed sway? Ah luckless months, of all the reft,
Or has not music equal charms To whose hard fhare it fell !
To fill the breast with strange alarms, For sure he was the gentleft brcalt
And makc the world obey? That ever song so well.
The Thracian Bard, as Poets tell,
Evn Pluto's nicer ear :
Drew brutes in crouds to hear.
O'er ali chat rang'd the plain :
Whene'er he chang'd the strain.
And echoing charmi'd the place :
Assume a gentler grace.
And told her beauties o'er :
It shew'd but equal power.
Perceive the varied strains ;
And Philomel complains.
And chase his barking foe.
Provok'd th' cnamour'd beau.
By pleasing tumults tost !
In sweet confusion loft.
Our spirits sink away.
Thy unrelifted sway.
Fly, daring mortal, fly !
I burn, I faini, I die!
Did each alike perfection bear,
Could admiration raise ?
Adorns the diftant skies :
Or Silvia's brighter eyes.
And prai'e the tuneful bird :
Should Silvia's voice be heard..
The fragrant pillow charms :
And take me to'her arms.
When Silvia is not feen :
Compar'd with Silvia's mien ! The rose, that'o'er the Cyprian plains, With flowers enamel'd, blooming reigas,
With undisputed power, Plac'd near her cheeks celestial red, (les purple lost, its lustre fled,)
Delights the sense no more.
ODE TO CYNTHIA.
On the approach of SPRING.
O.W in the cowlip's dewy cell
The fairies make their bed,
The turf in circles tread.
Tunes sweetest in the wood;
The azure liquid flond.
la fragrance to the sense;
And the takes no offence.
That ever fill'd the wood;
The azure liquid tiood
Or morning's sweeteit breath,
A remedy for death.
' "Is by comparison we know
On every object to bestow Its proper fare of praise :
For death-what do I say? Yes, death
But curse on party's hateful strife, Must surely end my days,
That led the favour'd youth astray; lf cruel Cynthia flights my faith,
The day the rebel clans appear'd, And will not hear muy lays.
O had he never seen that day! No more with festive garlands bound,
Their colours and their fashi he wore, I at the wake shall be;
And in the fatal dress was found; No more my feet fall press the ground
And now he must that death endure, In dance with wonted glee;
vi hich gives the brave the keeneit wound. No more my little flock I'll keep,
How pale was then his true-love's cheek, To fome dark cave l’ll fly;
When Jimmy's sentence reachid her ear! I've nothing now to do but weep,
For never yet did Alpine (nows To mourn my fate, and figh.
do pale, or yet so chill appear. Ah! Cynthia, thy Damon's cries
With faultering voice, she weeping said, Are heard at dead of night;
Oh Diwson, monarch of my heart; But they, alas! are doom'd to rise
Think not thy death shall end our loves, Like smoak upon the fight.
For thou and I will never part. They rise in vain, ah me! in vain
Yet might sweet mercy find a place, Are scatter'd in the wind;
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes ; Cynthia does not know the pain.
O George, without a prayer for thee, That rankles in my mind.
My orizons fhould never close. If fleep perhaps my eye-lids close,
The gracious prince that gave him lise, 'Tis but to dream of you;
Would crown a never-dying flame ; A while I cease to feel my woes,
And every tender babe I bore Nay; think I'm happy too.
Should learn to lisp the giver's name. I think I press with kisses pure,
But though he should be dragg'd in scorn Your lovely rosy lips ,
To yonder ignominious tree; And you're my bride. I think I'm sure,
He shall not want one constant friend Till gold the mountain tips.
To share the cruel lates' decree. When wak'd, aghast I look around,
O then her mourning coach was callid, And find my, charmer fown;
The fledge mov'd slowly on before, Then bleeds afreth my galling wound,
Though borne in a triumphal car, While I am leit alone.
She had not lov'u her favourite more. Take pity then, O gentlest maid!
She follow'd him, prepard to view On thy poor Damon's heart::
The terrible behelts of law; Remember what I've often said,
And the lait scene of Jemmy's woes, 'Tis you can cure my snart.
With calm and ttedfait eye she saw.
Which she had fondly lov’d so long;
Which in her praise had sweetly sung.
And sever'd was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arnis had fondly closd; A Ballad, written about the time of his And mangled was that beauteous breast, Execution, in the year 1745.
On which her love-lick head repos'd :
And ravish'd was that constant heart, NOME listen to my mournful cale,
She did to every heart prefer ;
For though it could its King forget, Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
'I'was true and loyal still to her. Nor nece you bluíh to shed a tear.
Amid these unrelenting flames, And thou, dear K tty, peerless maid,
She bore this constant heart to see; Do thou a pensive ear incline;
But when 'twas moulder'd into dust, For thou canst weep at every woe;
Tet, yet, fhe cryd, I follow thee, And pity every plaintbut mine.
My death, lay death alone can fhew Young Dawson was a gallant boy,
The pure, the lasting love I bore ; A brighter never trou the plain ;
Accepi, o heaven! of woes like ours, And well he lov'd one charmiig maid,
And let us, let us weep no more, Ard dearly was he lov'd again.
The dismal scene was o'er and past, Ove tender maid, the lov'd him dear
The lover's mournsal hea, se recir'd; Of gentle blood the dimsel came;
The maid drew back her languid head, And faultless was her beauteous form,
And, lighing forth his name, expir'd.
Thougi And Ipotless was her virgin fanie,