IN IMITATION OF AN ODE IN CASIMIRE.
SOLACE of life, my sweet companion lyre!
On this fair poplar bough I'll hang thee high,
While the gay fields all soft delights inspire,
And not one cloud deforms the smiling sky.
While whispering gales, that court the leaves and flowers,
Play through thy strings, and gently make them sound,
Luxurious I'll dissolve the flowing hours
In balmy slumbers on the carpet ground.
But see what sudden gloom obscures the air!
What falling showers impetuous change the day!
Let's rise, my lyre-Ah, pleasure, false as fair!
How faithless are thy charms, how short thy stay!
SUPPLEMENT AND CONCLUSION
TO MR. MILTON'S INCOMPARABLE POEM, ENTITLED 'IL PENSEROSo,' or the PENSIVE MAN.
It seems necessary to quote the eight foregoing lines for the right understanding of it.
' AND may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit, and rightly spell
VOL. XIV.
Ff
Beneath the mass, confus'd, in heaps thy monarchs Unknown, and blended in mortality.
To death ourselves and all our works we owe.
But is there nought, O muse, can save
Our memories from darkness and the grave,
And some short after-life bestow?
"That task is mine,' the muse replies:-
And hark! she tunes the sacred lyre!
Verse is the last of human works that dies,
When virtue does the song inspire.
Then look, Eliza, happy saint, look down!
Pause from immortal joys a while
To hear, and gracious with a smile
The dedicated numbers own;
Say how in thy life's scanty space,
So short a space, so wondrous bright,
Bright as a summer's day, short as a summer's night,
Could'st thou find room for every crowded grace?
As if the thrifty soul foreknew,
Like a wise envoy, Heaven's intent,
Soon to recal whom it had sent,
And all its task resolv'd at once to do.
Or wert thou but a traveller below,
That hither didst a while repair,
Curious our customs and our laws to know?
And, sickening in our grosser air,
And tir'd of vain repeated sights,
Our foolish cares, our false delights,
Back to thy native seats would'st go ?
Oh! since to us thou wilt no more return,
Permit thy friends, the faithful few,
Who best thy numerous virtues knew,
Themselves, not thee, to mourn.
IN IMITATION OF AN ODE IN CASIMIRE.
SOLACE of life, my sweet companion lyre!
On this fair poplar bough I'll hang thee high,
While the gay fields all soft delights inspire,
And not one cloud deforms the smiling sky.
While whispering gales, that court the leaves and flowers,
Play through thy strings, and gently make them
sound,
Luxurious I'll dissolve the flowing hours
In balmy slumbers on the carpet ground.
But see what sudden gloom obscures the air!
What falling showers impetuous change the day!
Let's rise, my lyre-Ah, pleasure, false as fair!
How faithless are thy charms, how short thy stay!
SUPPLEMENT AND CONCLUSION
TO MR. MILTON'S INCOMPARABLE POEM, ENTITLED 'IL PENSEROSo,' OR THE PENSIVE MAN.
It seems necessary to quote the eight foregoing lines for the right understanding of it.
6 AND may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit, and rightly spell
VOL. XIV.
Ff
Of every star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.'
There let time's creeping winter shed
His hoary snow around my head;
And while I feel, by fast degrees,
My sluggard blood wax chill, and freeze,
Let thought unveil to my fix'd eye
The scenes of deep eternity,
Till life dissolving at the view,
I wake, and find those visions true!
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