My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.
HAIL! ye drear shadows, willing I approach
Once more to join you, from my humble couch;
Welcome, ye friendly shades, ye kindred glooms!
More do I love you than the wealthy's rooms-
The dark, damp walls-the roof scarce cover'd o'er,
The wind wild whistling through the cold barn-door.
Those, like myself, are hung in ragged state,
And this seems shrilly to deplore my fate.
Far from a home, Fate has my lot design'd,
A lot inglorious, and a lot unkind;
No friend at hand to bless my listening ear,
No kind companion to dispel my care,
No coin to revel round the flowing bowl,
And in dark shades to wrap the weltering soul:
If that is bliss, 'twas what I never miss'd,
And were it all, I'd rather be unbless'd.
But, come! thou cheerer of my frowning hours, Native of heaven, adorn'd with blooming flowers; Thou, who oft deigns the shepherd's breast to warm, As on the steep he feeds his fleecy swarm; Sublimes his soul, through Nature vast to soar, Her works to view, to wonder and adore.
Though Fortune frown, and writhing Envy hiss,
Be thou, oh Poetry! my pride, my bliss;
My source of health-Misfortune's adverse spear,
My joy hereafter, and my pleasure here.
While yet sad Night sits empress of the sky,
And o'er the world dark shades confusedly lie,
Forth let me stray along the dew-wet plains,
While all air echoes with the lark's loud strains.
With lonely step I'll seek the gloomy shade
Of yon wide oak, half bending o'er the glade;
Here let me rest, unseen by human eye,
And sing the beauties of the dawning sky.
How still is all around! far on yon height
The new-waked hind has struck a glimmering light;
Hush'd is the breeze, while high the clouds among
The early lark pours out her thrilling song,
Springs from the grassy lea or rustling corn,
Towers thro' dull night and wakes the coming morn.
And see! sweet Morning comes, far in the east,
Pale lustre shedding o'er the mountain's breast;
Slow is her progress, unobserved her pace,
She comes increasing, and she comes with grace;
The dewy landscape opens on the eye,
Far to the west the gloomy vapours fly;
Instant awake! the feather'd tribes arise,
Sport through the grove or warble in the skies,
Blithe and exulting with refreshen❜d glee,
From every bush and every dropping tree.
In sullen silence to her ancient home,
Where close shut up she doses all day long,
The hermit owl slow takes her gloomy way,
And frets and grudges at th' approach of day.
The bat, the busiest of the midnight train
That wing the air or sulky tread the plain,
Sees Morning open on each field and bower,
And ends her mazes in yon ruin'd tower.
Now is the time, while joy and song prevail,
To spurn dull sleep and brush the flowery dale;
To climb the height of some hill's airy brow,
Where woods shoot branching from the cliffs below;
Where some clear brcok winds in the vale profound,
And rich the landscape spreads immense around;
While under-foot gay crimson'd daisies peep,
And shepherds' clubs hang nodding o'er the steep;
There, on the downy turf, at ease reclined,
Invite the Muse to aid your teeming mind,
Then shall grim Care, with all his furies fly,
As sulky Night speeds from the dawning sky,
And your calm breast enjoy a rapt'ring glow,
Which wealth or indolence can ne'er bestow.
Let boisterous drunkards at th' approach of day,
In staggering herds forth from the tavern stray,
Stand belching oaths and nauseous streams of wine,
Less men resembling, than the grovelling swine.
The cit, with pride and sordid meanness bred,
His be the privilege to snore in bed,
No knowledge gaining from the changing skies,
But just his bed-time and his time to rise.
Mine be the bliss to hail the purpling dawn,
To mark the dew-drops glittering o'er the lawn:
Thrice happy period, when amid the throng
Of warbling birds, I join the grateful song;
Or wandering thoughtful near the bubbling stream,
Or wrapt in fancy by the early beam;
Each gives a joy, an inward reigning bliss,
Pen can't describe, nor labouring tongue express.
O thou dread Power! thou Architect divine!
Who bids these seasons roll-those myriads shine;
Whose smile decks Nature in her loveliest robe,
Whose frown shakes terror o'er th' astonish'd globe;
To thee I kneel; still deign to be a friend,
Accept my praise, and pardon where I've sinn'd;
Inspire my thoughts, make them unsullied flow,
To see thy goodness in thy works below;
That whether Morning gilds the sky serene,
Or golden Day beams o'er the blooming plain,
Or dewy Evening cheers, while Philo. sings,
Or ancient Night out-spreads her raven wings;
Whether soft breezes curl along the flood,
Or maddening tempests bend the roaring wood,
Rejoiced, adoring, I may view the change,
And while on Fancy's airy plumes I range,
Collect calm Reason, awe-struck eye their ways,
And join the chorus, since they sound thy praise.
Alexis' Complaint.
Of joys departed, never to return,
How painful the remembrance!
"TWAS where smooth Cartha a rolls in winding pride,
Where willows fringe young Damon's garden side,
And o'er the rocks the boiling current roars,
Murm'ring to leave these peaceful, flowery shores;
There, sad and pensive, near an aged thorn,
Sat lone Alexis, friendless and forlorn.
Pale was his visage, lost to joy his ear,
Involved in grief, he shed the ceaseless tear:
Poor hapless swain, alas! he mourn'd alone,
His dearest friend, his kind companion gone.
Each listening bush forgot in air to play;
Round gazed the flock, mute hung the peopled spray;
Sad Silence reign'd, while thus the youth distrest,
Pour'd forth the sorrows of his burden'd breast:
a The river which passes through Paisley.
|