Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see "If, compass'd round with arms thou canst attend To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend. Long due, and late, I left the English shore; But make me welcome for that cause the more! Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer, The slow epistle came, tho' late, sincere. But wherefore this? why palliate I the deed, For which the culprit's self could hardly plead? Self charg'd, and self-condemn'd, his proper part He feels neglected, with an aching heart; But thou forgive-delinquents, who confess, And pray forgiveness, merit anger less; From timid foes the lion turns away, Nor yawns upon, or rends a crouching prey, Even pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare, Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer; And heav'n's dread thunderbolt arrested stands And saturates with blood the tainted ground; "Thus horror girds thee round. Meantime alone Thou dwell'st, and helpless in a soil unknown; Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand The aid denied thee in thy native land. Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore! Leav'st thou to foreign care the worthies, given By Providence, to guide thy steps to heav'n? His ministers, commission'd to proclaim "But thou take courage! strive against despair! Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care! Grim war indeed on ev'ry side appears, And thou art menac'd by thousand spears; Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend Ev'n the defenceless bosom of my friend. For thee the Ægis of thy God shall hide, Jehovah's self shall combat on thy side. The same, who vanquish'd under Sion's tow'rs At silent midnight, all Assyria's pow'rs, The same, who overthrew in ages past, Damascus' sons that laid Samaria waste! Their king he fill'd and them with fatal fears Thou, therefore, (as the most afflicted may) Still hope, and triumph, o'er thy evil day! Look forth, expecting happier times to come, And to enjoy, once more thy native home!" ELEGY V. Written in the Author's 20th year. ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. TIME, never wand'ring from his annual round, And earth assumes her transient youth again. Increase of genius, and new pow'rs of song? Castalia's fountain, and the forked hill I mount, and, undepress'd by cumbrous clay, The shrines all open to my dauntless eye, My spirit searches all the realms of light, Spring claims the verse, that with his influence glows, Thou, veil'd with op'ning foliage, lead'st the throng Of feather'd minstrels, Philomel! in song: Let us, in concert, to the season sing, Civic, and sylvan heralds of the spring! With notes triumphant Spring's approach declare! The sun now northward turns his golden reins; 1 |