« 上一頁繼續 »
Less is the ardour cold narration gives
Than when the war in glowing colours lives,
And less energic holy prelates call
To penitence than Raphael's pictur'd Paul.
To make her charms still more inflame,
Albion, thus thy gifts possessing,
Shall abound in every blessing;
Greater shall her monarchs be,
Nobler her nobility;
To patriots shall her peasants turn,
And with the love of freedom burn. The power descends! from his auspicious nod The temple lives, and shews the present God.
Behold! the arts around us bloom,
And this muse-devoted dome
Rivals the works of Athens and of Rome.
A Clergyman who was not one of the " righteous overmuch," and translated some of the minor Greek Poets respectably.
An Autumnal Ode.
Y Et once more, glorious god of day,
Ere yet the russet foliage fall,
How mix'd the many checker'd shades between
How splendid all the sky! how still!
How mild the dying gale!
How soft the whispers of the rill,
That wind along the dale!
So tranquil Nature's works appear,
It seems the sabbath of the year;
As if, the summer's labour past, she chose
This season's sober calm for blandishing repose.
Such is a well spent life, the time
When busy days are past,
Man verging gradual from his prime,
Meets sacred peace at last:
His flowery spring of pleasures o'er,
And Summer's full blown pride no more,
VOL. III. I
He gains pacific A.utumn, meek and bland,
For yet a while, a little while,
A Vernal Ode. Sent to his Grace the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, March 12, 1754.
Bright God of day, whose genial power
Revives the buried seed, .
That spreads with foliage every bower,
With verdure every mead,
Bid all thy vernal breezes fly,
Diffusing mildness thro' the sky;
Give the soft Season to our drooping plaim,
Sprinkjed with rosy dews, and salutary rains.