« 上一頁繼續 »
When Wit thus spake her sister train:
Faith, friends, our errand is but vain Quick let us measure back the sky, These nymphs alone may well supply Wit, Innocence, and Harmony."
AN INVITATION TO
THE FEATHERED RACE.
BY THE REV. MR. GRAVES.
AGAIN the balmy Zephyr blows,
Fresh verdure decks the grove; Each bird with vernal rapture glows,
And tunes his notes to love.
Ye gentle warblers ! hither fly,
And shun the noon-tide heat ; My shrubs a cooling shade supply,
My groves a safe retreat.
Hețe freely hop from spray to spray,
Or weave the mossy nest;
At night here sweetly rest.
Amidst this cool translucent rill,
That trickles down the glade, Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,
And revel in the shade.
No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,
E'er shows his ruddy face,
In this sequester'd place.
Hither the vocal Thrush repairs,
Secure the Linnet sings,
To clog her painted wings.
Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt
Yon distant woods among,
Thy sweetly-plaintive song.
Let not the harmless Redbreast fear,
Domestic bird, to come And seek a sure asylum here,
With one that loves his home.
My trees for you, ye artless tribe,
Shall store of fruit preserve;
Come, feed without reserve.
For you these cherries I protect,
To you these plums belong :
But sweeter far your song.
Let then this league betwixt us made
Our mutual interest guard :
Your songs be my reward.
ODE TO TRUTH.
SAY, will no-white-robed son of light,
Swift darting from his heavenly height, Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;
Here wave his amberlocks ; unfold
His pinions clothed with downy gold; Here smiling stretch his tutelary wand?
And you, ye hosts of saints ! for ye have known Each dreary path in Life's perplexing maze,
Though now ye circle yon eternal throne With harpings high of inexpressive praise ; Will not your train descend in radiant state, To break with mercy's beam this gathering cloud of fate?
'Tis silence all. No son of light
No train of radiant saints descend.
Or saint to hear, or angel to defend.”
Burst from the centre of her burning throne,
Attend, ye sons of men! attend, and say, Does not enough of my refulgent ray Break thro the veil of your mortality? Say, does not reason in this form descry Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass The angel's floating pomp, the seraph’s glowing grace?
Shall then your earth-born daughters vie
With me! Shall she, whose brightest eye But emulates the diamond's blaze,
Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume,
Shall she be deem'd my rival? Shall a form
Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day
Shall pass, and she is gone: while I appear
Know, mortals! know, ere first ye sprung,
Ere first these orbs in ether hung, I shone amid the heavenly throng:
These eyes beheld creation's day,
This voice began the choral lay,
Pleased I survey'd bright Nature's gradual birth,
Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flowering earth,
And, as he rose, the high behest was given,
" That I, alone, of all the host of heaven, Should reign protectress of the godlike youth.” Thus the Almighty spake: he spake, and call'd me Truth.