I marked thy embryo tuneful flame, “With future hope, I oft would gaze, Fired at the simple, artless lays "I saw thee seek the sounding shore, Drove through the sky, I saw grim Nature's visage hoar Struck thy young eye. "Or when the deep green-mantled earth Warm cherished every floweret's birth, And joy and music pouring forth In every grove, I saw thee eye the general mirth With boundless love. "When ripened fields, and azure skies, Called forth the reaper's rustling noise, I saw thee leave their evening joys, And lonely stalk, To vent thy bosom's swelling rise "When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, Keen shivering shot thy nerves along, Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, I taught thee how to pour in song, "I saw thy pulse's maddening play, Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, By passion driven; But yet the light that led astray "I taught thy manners painting strains, And some, the pride of Coila's plains, "Thou canst not learn, nor can I shew, To paint with Thomson's landscape glow; Or wake the bosom-melting throe, With Shenstone's art; Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow "Yet, all beneath the unrivalled rose, Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows Adown the glade. "Then never murmur nor repine; Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, "To give my counsels all in one — Thy tuneful flame still careful fan; Preserve the dignity of man, With soul erect; And trust, the universal plan Will all protect. "And wear thou this," she solemn said, And, like a passing thought, she fled A WINTER NIGHT. "Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, WE HEN biting Boreas, fell and doure, Sharp shivers through the leafless bower; When Phoebus gies a short-lived glower Far south the lift, Dim-darkening through the flaky shower, Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, Or, through the mining outlet bocked, Listening the doors and winnocks rattle, And through the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle, Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing,. What comes o' thee? Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering wing, Even you, on murdering errands toiled, Sore on you beats. Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign, Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, When on my ear this plaintive strain 66 Slow, solemn, stole : — Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust! Than heaven-illumined man on brother man bestows! "See stern Oppression's iron grip, Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 'Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, Wo, Want, and Murder o'er a land! E'en in the peaceful rural vale, Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, How pampered Luxury, Flattery by her side, The parasite empoisoning her ear, With all the servile wretches in the rear, Whose toil upholds the glittering show, Some coarser substance, unrefined, Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus vile below. "Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, With lordly Honour's lofty brow, The powers you proudly own? |