O CHEARFULNESS! celestial Queen,
Of sparkling eye, and easy mien ;
Whether in bow'r or hall,
Where coyly-wanton Beauty wounds,
Where music breathes impassion'd sounds,
Thou smil'st, to thee I call.
Tho' Love my cup of pleasure sours,
And stops the too-too lagging hours;
If thou, heart-easing fair,
Once deign to grace my lonely roof,
Pale fac'd Dejection keeps aloof,
And Sorrow melts to air.
In vain the Bacchanalian crew
Thee mild with wine and roses woo,
To grace their orgies wild;
Where laughs Debauch, where Riot sings,
Thou fly'st the rout on equal wings,
Thou Health and Virtue's child.
* Author of the "SUGAR CANE," &c. &c.
Let shy Suspicion seek the glade,
Of social intercourse afraid,
Inwrapp'd in double gloom;
See Cacodæmons rule the skies,
At every step see terrors rise,
And yell his dismal doom.
Tho' sunny Afric own'd my sway,
And in my stores Potosi lay,
Each craving wish supply'd;
Unless thou com'st, Euphrosyne,
And bring'st thy nurse, Content, with thee, 'Twere irksome all beside.
In vain I importune the Nine
Around my brows their wreaths to twine,
To strike the Tean lyre;
My blood without thee anxious flows,
Nor fit nor just my judgment knows,
My fancy feels no fire.
Regret and mopish bodings fly,
Enliv'ning Queen, when thou art by,
Chagrin nor dares to stay;
Rash Suicide lets fall the bowl,
Fond Expectation warms the soul,
And whispers," Be thou gay."
In vain foul Vice assumes thy mien,
Alone fair Virtue smiles serene,
Serene, tho' Kings disgrace;
The thorns that goad the villain's breast, The secret dread that breaks his rest, Bely the vizor'd face.
Let dire eccentric comets glare,
Let fire-ey'd plague infect the air,
Let earthquakes rock the ground;
No sunk despondency repines,
No cavil taxes God's designs,
Where thou, Divine, art found,
Blithe Hope, in amice green array'd,
And meek-ey'd Peace that wooes the glade,
Thy genuine offspring are;
Thou paint'st with purpler streaks the dawn,
Thou tint'st with brighter bredes the lawn,
And fairer mak'st the fair:
For, if not fabulous my lore,
Thou art the magic zone she wore,
She, Queen of wreathed smiles!
By thee she fix'd in ev'ry heart
The pleasurably-painful dart,
From thee she stole her wiles.
If, with thy sweetly-winning ray,
Thou gild'st the close of life's decay,
Old age has pow'r to charm;
Without thee, Goddess debonnaire !
Not youth, not breathing youth is fair,
No gazer's breast can warm.
Wherever, Queen, thou deign'st to go,
Fruits hang, flow'rs bud, clear streamlets flow,
The echoing banks between;
Mild vernal airs around thee throng,
And all is sun, and all is song,
And all fair fresh'ning green.
Staid pleasures in thy presence wait,
Superior thou to frowns of fate,
To fretful Hymen's chains;
Thou art Religion's genuine look,
Thou art Philosophy's rebuke,
That wins while it restrains.
O Chearfulness! thy steady beam
By far outshines Mirth's transient gleam;
Mirth, Mourning's firm ally!
Rash apish Folly is his guide,
Wisdom is ever at thy side,
And chaste Hilarity.
Alas! I court thy smiles in vain,
Love throbs with keener, fonder pain,
While Mem'ry paints the past;
Yet, Chearfulness, I'd not forego
This pleasing anxious sense of woe,
For all the joys thou hast.
HERE rots the son of meanness and of pride,
Who liv'd unlov'd, and unlamented died.
As love-sick Damon lay along
Beneath a melancholy shade,
Sooth'd by the nightly warbler's song,
Thus the unhappy shepherd said:
Sweet Philomel! who haunt'st the grove
Where I lament my wretched fate,
Our joint complaint, alas! is love,
The difference of our fortune great.
Relief to me no seasons bring,
For ever doom'd to sigh in vain ; But you, sweet Bird! who mourn in spring, In summer's pleasure lose your pain.
Already from yon blooming spray,
Your willing mate your plaint returns ; Already seems to chide your stay, And with an equal ardour burns.
Go, Philomel, accomplish all
The joy that happy love bestows;
Obey the tender warbler's call,
And leave poor Damon to his woes.
Father to R. West, the friend of Gray,
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