To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind: The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind. But me thy gentle hand will lead At morning through the accustomed mead; And when the gust of Autumn crowds, And breaks the busy moonlight clouds, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune, Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon. The feeling heart, the searching soul, To thee I dedicate the whole ! The greatness of some future race, The present works of present man— A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile, Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile! TO A YOUNG FRIEND, ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE AUTHOR. COMPOSED IN 1796. A MOUNT, not wearisome and bare and steep, But a green mountain variously up-piled, Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep, Or coloured lichens with slow oosing weep; Where cypress and the darker yew start wild; And 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash Dance brightened the red clusters of the ash; Beneath whose boughs, by those still sounds beguiled, Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep; Made meek enquiry for her wandering lamb : The adventurous toil, and up the path sublime Now lead, now follow: the glad landscape round, Wide and more wide, increasing without bound! O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark The berries of the half-uprooted ash Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash,— Tinged yellow with the rich departing light; And haply, basoned in some unsunned cleft, A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears, Sleeps sheltered there, scarce wrinkled by the gale! Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left, Stretched on the crag, and shadowed by the pine, And bending o'er the clear delicious fount, Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine To cheat our noons in moralizing mood, While west-winds fanned our temples toil-bedewed: Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the mount, To some lone mansion, in some woody dale, Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss! Thus rudely versed in allegoric lore, The Hill of Knowledge I essayed to trace ; That verdurous hill with many a resting-place, And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour To glad and fertilize the subject plains; That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod, And many a fancy-blest and holy sod Where Inspiration, his diviner strains Low murmuring, lay; and starting from the rocks. O meek retiring spirit! we will climb, There, while the prospect through the gazing eye Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul, We'll smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame, Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same, As neighbouring fountains image, each the whole : Then when the mind hath drunk its fill of truth We'll discipline the heart to pure delight, Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame. They whom I love shall love thee, honoured youth! Now may Heaven realize this vision bright! LINES TO W. L. WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC. WHILE my young cheek retains its healthful hues, To fix the last glance of my closing eye, [guide, Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died! ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG MAN OF FORTUNE WHO ABANDONED HIMSELF TO AN INDOLENT AND CAUSELESS MELANCHOLY. HENCE that fantastic wantonness of woe, |