When, stealing from the lulling arms of sleep,
View woods, dark-cloathing the retiring vale,
And sinuous rivers, glimm'ring thro' the mist,
That o'er the dædal earth
A fleecy mantle throws.
Etherial orb! that gilds the humble thatch,
Or tree embosom❜d fane, or mountain grey,
Or in the distance dim
Gilds Ocean's heaving breast;
Beneath thy ling'ring beams I love to pause,
And mark the melting softness which pervades,
The landscape's features bland,
With many a magic tint.
But more amid some hallowed pile to sit
Where humbled grandeur prompts the feeling sigh,
And dark mysterious lore
The rapt attention holds..
Where old tradition consecrates the place
To pallid Fear, and tells of murd'rous acts,
Of spectres dimly seen,
Or Fairies' nightly haunt.
Where, rudely clust'ring on the tott'ring wall,
The ivy twinkles to thy gladd'ning rays;
And o'er the crumbling mass
The graceful ash depends.
Thy reign, chaste Moon! no sounds profane invade,
But wafting peace, the curfew's simple toll,
Or gushing rill, or note
Of Night's melodious bird.
A while thy sober disk the rolling clouds
Oerspread with transient darkness, and forbid
Thy cheering face to smile,
And bless the mournful scene.
But now, slow rising from the sombre shades,
Thy silent lustre bursts with kindled charms,
And on the joyous sight
A flood of radiance pours.
E'en so shall Virtue, when involving death
Spreads his chill gloomy terrors o'er her form,
Triumphant o'er the grave
Resume her holy sway.
Again, with purest glory crown'd, rejoice
Amid the full seraphic choir of heav'n,
And beam, like thee fair Moon,
Sweet mildness down on earth!
Plymouth, March 15, 1806.
AN ADDRESS TO THE SETTING SUN.
REFULGENT orb of day! whose eye commands
This our terrestial globe, with many a sphere
That in harmonious concert wheel their course,
Obedient to his bidding, great supreme!
Who out of chaos form'd the wond'rous whole,
Without thy central strength and genial light,
The world in endless solitude were lost,
Unhabited, and dark, and cold: by thee
Sublim'd, exults frail sublunary man,
And in thy quick'ning smile the various tribes
Of animals, and fruits, and flowers rejoice.
Progenitor of being and of bliss!
Altho' a creature thou, of all things made
Likest thy great Creator, take, O Sun,
A grateful bosom's tributary strain.
And tho' the paler moon's benignant reign
Sooths jarring thoughts, and wakes serener joy;
Thy potent fires superior homage claim,
Whose right directs her through the tract of heav'n.
Beneath thy wide dominion, mighty Sun!
From the bright portals of the golden east,
On to the many-tinted occident,
Where hoary Ocean waits thy drooping car,
What revolutions has thine eye beheld!
What strange vicissitudes! Yet still thy light
No diminution knows, no succour needs:
Bright emblem of heav'n's architect divine!
Greatest of orbs known to the ken of man,
Who, in this mundane state, with wonder views
The countless worlds that gem the vault of heav'n;
To thee the feather'd choristers attune
The warbled descant from their leafy homes,
And, with thy poet, bless thy latest ray.
Nor these alone; for nature all combines
In universal song. The lambkins bleat,
The herds innumerous low; from vale to vale Resounds the grateful hymn, and the blithe swain, From labour freed, rejoices.
The cottager obscure, who at his door,
Vine hung, and grac'd with rustic industry,
Awaits, with brow compos'd, that placid hour,
When, in the glowing west, appears sublime
The sliding beam that warns him to repose,
Snug, warm, and homely is his rural hut,
And thy slant rays, flung on his cottage casements
Seem like a blazing fire, or burnish'd gold,
That oft excites the traveller's doubtful gaze.
Steep'd in the vivid glow, stream the bright clouds,
The flow'ry lawns, the tangled forests blush,
In amber hues revolves the limpid wave,
And the rich grape a richer tint assumes,
But who of earth, with nice precision fraught,
And keen survey, enough can speak thy praise,
Can weigh the vast importance of thy pow'r,
Or trace the limits of thy mighty reign!
On yonder fir-crown'd hill, ling'ring, thou seem st
A little while to pause, and look around
On Nature's drooping family. Not a flower
But wears upon its feeble lid a tear
To weep thy setting. Discord herself is hush'd,
Their rudeness e'en the stubborn winds forget,
And, sighing, gently pant along the vale.
But thou, majestic orb! again shalt cheer
Spring's mournful children-oh! that thou couldst bring Some healing for the sorrows of mankind!
Plymouth, March 15, 1806.
On seeing some Pieces of Armour at Shaw Plage, the Seat of Sir
Joseph Andrews, Bart.
SHADES of departed worth! whose martial fire
Once fill'd these relics of the former age;
If hov'ring near, bid Britain's race aspire
To shine in radiant truth's immortal page.
Teach them 'tis far more blissful to resign,
In freedom's sacred cause, their parting breath,
Than to a foreign galling yoke incline,
And wear a chain that's painful more than death,
This precept shall brave Poland's sons inspire,
Whose warlike glories emulate the lay,
When well-taught fingers touch the flaming lyre,
And seraph zeal the burning notes convey.
Yet happier fate awaits fair Albion's land,
If bold invaders press her peaceful shore;
Her native spirit rous'd, each hireling band
Shall with full cause the rash attempt deplore.
More bright will bloom the laurels on her brow; The more oppos'd, the higher will she rise; Her foes shall see their tow'ring hopes laid low, And fall beneath the lightning of her eyes. Newbury.
Poor little flutt'ring heart! be still,
Nor think that ev'ry mortal ill,
Which doth the world with misery fill,
Attends thy lot.
O'erflowing with malignant rage
Against thy peace, if foes engage,
And fierce, unequal combat wage,
It matters not.
Perchance thou hast been basely us'd,
Betray'd, deep-wounded, and abus'd,
Who never yet a pang refus'd
For human grief.
Yet let the fools of fortune boast,
By sensual, low pursuits engrost,
A few more annual suns, at most,
Will bring relief.
Soon will thy pain'd vibrations cease,
Soon death will sign the hop'd release,
Safe passport to the realms of peace,
And endless joy.
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