Lo! on yon long-refounding fhore,
Caft o'er yon trackless waste thy wand'ring eye :
Where the rock totters o'er the headlong deep, Yon hill, whofe gold illumin'd brow,
What phantoms, bath'd in infant gore, Stand mutt'ring on the dizzy fteep! Their murmur fhakes the zephyr's wing! The ftorm obeys their pow'rful spell! See! from his gloomy cell
Fierce Winter starts his fcowling eye Blots the fair mantle of the breathing Spring, And lowrs along the ruffled fky
To the deep vault the yellow harpies run *; Its yawning mouth receives th'infernal crew. Dim thro' the black gloom winks the glimm'ring fun, [blue! And the pale furnace gleams with brimstone Hell howls and fiends that join the dire acclaim Dance on the bubbling tide, and point the livid flame!
III. 3. But ah! on Sorrow's cyprefs bough Can Beauty breathe her genial bloom? On Death's cold check will Paffion glow? Or Mufic warble from the tomb ? There fleeps the bard, whose tuneful tongue Pour'd the full stream of mazy fong! Young Spring, with lip of ruby, here Showers from her lap the blushing Year; While, along the turf reclin'd, The loofe wind fwimming on the wind, The Loves, with forward gefture bold, Sprinkled the fod with fpangling gold; And oft the blue-ey'd Graces trim Dance lightly round on downy limb; Oft too, when Eve demure and still Chequers the green dale's purling rill, Sweet Fancy pours the plaintive ftrain, Or, wrapt in foothing dream, By Avon's ruffled stream,
[the plain. Hears the low murmuring gale that dies along
Just trembling thro' the bending sky, O'erlooks the boundlefs wild below, Once bore the branching wood That o'er yon murm'ring flood Hung, wildly waving to the ruftling gale ; The naked heath with mofs o'ergrown, That hears the lone owl's nightly moan, Once bloom'd with fummer's copious ftore, Once rais'd the lawn-befpangling flow'r; Or heard fome lover's plaintive lay, When by pale Cynthia's filver ray, All wild he wander'd o'er the lonely dale, [tales And taught the lift'ning moon the melancholy 1. 3.
Ye wilds, where heav'n-rapt Fancy roves, Ye fky-crown'd hills and folemn groves! Ye low-brow'd vaults, ye gloomy cells! Ye caves, where night-bed Silence dwells Ghosts that in yon lonely hall Lightly glance along the wall, Or, beneath yon ivy'd tow'r, At the filent midnight hour, Stand, array'd in fpotlefs white, And ftain the dufky robe of Night! Or, with flow folemn paufes, roam O'er the long-founding hollow dome! Say, 'mid yon defart folitary round, When darkness wraps the boundless fpheres, Does ne'er fome difmal dying found On Night's dull ferious ear rebound, That mourns the ceafelefs lapfe of life-confum ing years?
O call th'infpiring glorious hour to view, When Caledonia's martial train From yon fteep rock's high-arching brow Pour'd on the heart-ftruck flying Dane ! When War's blood-tinctur'd spear
$131. Ode to Time. Occafioned by feeing the Hung o'er the trembling rear;
I. t. THOU! who, 'mid the world-involving Sitt'ft on yon folitary fpire! [gloon,
Or flowly fhak'it the founding dome, Or hear'it the wildly-warbling lyre; Say when thy mufing foul
Bids diftant times unroll,
And marks the flight of each revolving year, Of years whofe flow confuming pow'r Has clad with mofs yon leaning tow'r, That faw the race of Glory run, That mark'd Ambition's fetting fun, That fhook old Empire's tow'ring pride, That fwept them down the floating tide; Say, when thefe long-unfolding fcenes appear, Streams down thy hoary cheek the pity-darting
[long flight: When light-heel'd Terror wing'd their head Yon tow'rs then rung with wild alarms ! Yon defart gleam'd with fhining arms! While on the bleak hill's bright'ning fpire Bold Vict'ry flam'd with eyes of fire, Her limbs celeftial robes infold,
Her wings were ting'd with spangling gold, She fpoke her words infus'd refiftless might, And warm'd the bounding heart, and rous'd the foul of fight.
But ah! what hand the fmiling profpe brings! What voice recals th'expiring day! See, darting fwift on eagle-wings, The glancing inoment bursts away! So, from fome mountain's head, In mantling gold array'd,
While bright-ey'd Fancy ftands in fweet furprize :
The vale where mufing Quiet treads, The flow'r-clad lawns and bloomy meads, Or ftreams, where Zephyr loves to stray, Beneath the pale eve's twinkling ray; Or waving woods detain the fight- When, from the gloomy cave of night, Some cloud fweeps thadowy o'er the dusky skies, And wraps the flying fcene that fades, and fwims, and dies.
Lo! rifing from yon dreary tomb, What fpectres ftalk across the gloom! With haggard eyes and vifage pale, And voice that moans with feeble wail! O'er yon long-refounding plain Slowly moves the folemn train, Wailing wild with fhrieks of woe O'er the bones that reft below! While the dull Night's ftartled ear Shrinks, aghaft with thrilling fear! Or ftand, with thin robes waiting foon, And eyes that blaft the fick'ning moon! Yet thefe, ere Time had roll'd their years away, Ere Death's fell arm had mark'd its aim, Rul'd yon proud tow'rs with ample sway, Beheld the trembling fwains obey,
And wrought the glorious decd that fwell'd the trump of Fame.
But why o'er thefe indulge the bursting figh? Feels not each fhrub the tempeft's pow'r? Rocks not the dome when whirlwinds fly? Nor fhakes the hill when thunders roar? Lo mould'ring, wild, unknown, What fanes, what tow'rs o'erthrown,
Slow Patience fits with eye depreft, And Courage beats his fobbing breast; Ev'n War's red check the gushing streams o'er [Woc.
And Fancy's lift'ning ear attends the plaint of III. 3.
Lo! on yon pyramid fublime, Whence lies Old Egypt's defart clime, Bleak, naked, wild! where ruin lowrs,
'Mid fanes, and wrecks, and tumbling tow'rs ! On the fteep height, waste and bare, Stands the Pow'r with hoary hair! O'er his feythe he bends; his hand Slowly fhakes the flowing fand, While the Hours, an airy ring, Lightly flit with downy wing,
And fap the works of man; and fhade With filver locks his furrow'd head: Thence rolls the mighty Pow'r his broad survey, And feals the nations awful doom: He fees proud Grandeur's meteor ray; He yields to joy the feftive day;- Then tweeps the length'ning fhade, and marks
$132. Ode to Evening. OGILVIE. MEEK Pow'r whofe balmy-pinion'd gale Steals o'er the flow'r-enamell'd dale; Whofe voice, in gentle whifpers near, Oft fighs to Quiet's lift'ning ear, As on her downy couch at reft, By Thought's infpiring vifions bleft, She fits, with white-rob'd Silence nigh, And, mufing, heaves her ferious eye, To mark the flow fun's glimm'ring ray, To catch the laft pale gleam of day;
What tumbling chaos marks the waite of Time! Or, funk in fweet repofe, unknown,
I fee Palmyra's temples fall!
Old Ruin shakes the hanging wall! Yon wafte, where roaming lions howl, Yon aifle, where moans the grey-cy'd owl, Shows the proud Perfian's great abode * ! Where, fcepter'd once, an earthly god! His pow'r-clad arm controul'd each happier clime, [foars fublime. Where 1ports the warbling Mufc, and Fancy
Hark! what dire found rolls murm'ring
Ah! what foul-thrilling scene appears! I fee the column'd arches fail!
Lies on the wild hill's van alone, And fees thy gradual pencil flow Along the heav'n-illumin'd bow.
Come, Nymph demure, with mantle blue, Thy treffes bath'd in balmy dew, The Graces breathing in thy mien, With step fmooth-fliding o'er the green, Girt with a zone of circling gold, And thy vetture's gather'd fold,
And bring the harp, whofe folemn ftring Dies to the wild wind's murin'ring wing, And the Nymph, whofe eye ferene Marks the calin-breathing woodland scene, Thought, mountain fage! who loves to climb, And haunts the dark rock's fuminit din: Let Fancy, falcon-wing'd, be near; And, thro' the cloud-envelop'd fphere, Where, mufing, roams Retirement hoar, Lull'd by the torrent's diftant roar, O bid, with trembling light, to glow The raven plume that crowns his brow. Lo, where thy meek-ey'd train attend! Queen of the folemn thought, defcend ! * Perlipolis.
And ftructures hoar, the boaft of years! What mould'ring piles decay'd Gleam thro' the moon-ftreak'd fhade, Where Rome's proud genius rear'd her awful Sad monument!-Ambition near Rolls on the duft and pours a tear, Pale Honour drops the flutt'ring plume, And Conqueft weeps o'er Cæfar's tomb;
O hide me in romantic bow'rs! Or lead my step to ruin'd tow'rs! Where, gleaming thro' the chinky door, The pale ray gilds the moulder'd floor: While, beneath the hallow'd pile, Deep in the defart-fhrieking aifle, 'Rapt Contemplation ftalks along, And hears the flow clock's pealing tongue! Or, 'mid the dun difcolour'd gloom, Sits on fome hero's peaceful tomb, Throws Life's gay glitt'ring robe afide, And tramples on the neck of Pride.
Oft, shelter'd by the rambling sprays, Lead o'er the foreft's winding maze, Where, thro' the mantling boughs, afar Glimmers the filver-ftreaming star, And, fhow'r'd from ev'ry ruftling blade, The loofe light floats along the shade: So, hov'ring o'er the human fcene, Gay Pleafure fports with brow ferene; By Fancy beam'd, the glancing ray Shoots, Autters, gleams, and fleets away; Unfettl'd, dubious, restlefs, blind, Floats all the bufy buffling mind; While Mem'ry's unftain'd leaves retain No trace from all th'ideal train.
But see, the landskip, op'ning fair, Invites to breathe the purer air! O when the cowflip-fcented gale Shakes the light dew-drop o'er the dale, When, on her amber-dropping bed, Loofe Eafe reclines her downy head, How bleft! by fairy-haunted stream To melt in wild ecstatic dream, Die to the pictur'd with, or hear (Breath'd foft in Fancy's trembling ear) Such lays, by angel-harps refin'd, As half unchain the flutt'ring mind, When on life's edge it eyes the shore, And all its pinions stretch to foar.
Lo, where the fun's broad orb, withdrawn, Skirts with pale gold the dufky lawn, While, led by ev'ry gentler pow'r, Steals the flow, folemn, mufing hour. Now, from the green hill's purple brow, Let me mark the fcene below, Where, feebly glancing thro' the gloom, Yon myrtle fhades the filent tomb: Not far, beneath the ev'ning beam, The dark lake rolls his azure stream, Whose breast the fwan's white plumes divide, Slow-failing o'er the floating tide.
Groves, meads, and fpires, and forests bare, Shoot glimm'ring thro' the mifty air, Dim as the vifion-pictur'd bow'r That gilds the faint's expiring hour, When, rapt to ecitafy, his eye Looks thro' the blue ethereal sky:- All heav'n unfolding to his fight! Gay forms that fwim in floods of light! The fun-pav'd floor, the balmy clime, The ruby-beaming dome fublime, The tow'rs in glitt'ring pomp difplay'd,- The bright fcene hovers o'er his bed.
He ftarts-but from his eager gaze Black clouds obfcure the lets'ning rays; On mem'ry still the fcene is wrought, And lives in Fancy's featur'd thought.
On the airy mount reclin'd, What wishes foothe the mufing mind! How foft the velvet lap of Spring! How fweet the Zephyr's violet wing! Goddess of the plaintive song, That leads the melting heart along, O bid thy voice of genial pow'r Reach Contemplation's lonely bow'r, And call the fage with tranced fight To climb the mountain's fteepy height,- To wing the kindling wifh, or fpread O'er Thought's pale cheek enliv'ning red; Come, hoary Pow'r, with ferious eye, Whofe thought explores yon diftant sky; Now, when the bufy world is ftill, Nor paflion tempts the wav'ring will, When fweeter hopes each pow'r controul, And Quiet whifpers to the foul, Now fweep from life th'illufive train That dance in Folly's dizzy brain; Be Reason's simple draught pourtray'd, Where blends alternate light and fhade; Bid dimpled Mirth, with thought bely'd, Sport on the bubble's glitt'ring fide; Bid Hope pursue the distant boon, And Frenzy watch the fading moon; Paint Superftition's starting eye, And Wit that leers with gefture fly; Let Cenfure whet her venom'd dart, And green-ey'd Envy gnaw the heart; Let Pleasure lie, on flow'rs reclin'd, While Anguish aims her fhaft behind.
Hail, Sire fublime! whofe hollow'd cave Howls to the hoarfe deep's dafhing wave, Thee Solitude to Phoebus bore, Far on the lone deferted shore, Where Orellano's rufhing tide Roars on the rock's projected fide: Hence, bursting o'er thy ripen'd mind, Beams all the father's thought refin'd: Hence, oft in filent vales, unfeen, Thy footsteps print the fairy green; Or thy foul melts to strains of woe, That from the willow's quiv'ring bough Sweet warbling breathe;-the zephyrs round O'er Dee's finooth current waft the found, When soft, on bending ofiers laid, The broad fun trembling thro' the bed, All wild thy heav'n-rapt Fancy ftrays, Led thro' the foul-diffolving maze, Till Slumber, downy pinion'd, near Plants her ftrong fetlocks on thy ear, The foul, unfetter'd ourfts away, And basks, enlarg'd, in beamy day.
When by a murm'ring rill reclin'd Sat wrapt in thought a wand'ring fwain; Calm peace compos'd his mufing mind; And thus he rais'd the flowing strain : Hail Innocence! celeftial maid! What joys thy blushing charms reveal! Sweet, as the arbour's cooling fhade, • And milder than the vernal gale.
On Thee attends a radiant choir,
Soft-fmiling Peace, and downy Reft; With Love, that prompts the warbling lyre, And Hope, that foothes the throbbing breaft, O Sent from Heav'n to haunt the grove, Where fquinting Envy ne'er can come ! Nor pines the cheek with luckless Love, Nor Anguish chills the living bloom. • But spotless Beauty, rob'd in white, Sits on yon mofs-grown hill reclin’d; Serene as heav'n's unfully'd light, And pure as Delia's gentle mind. Grant, Heav'nly Pow'r thy peaceful fway May fill my ruder thoughts controul; Thy hand to point my dubious way, Thy voice to focthe the melting foul!.
§ 134. A Defcription of a Parish Poor-Houfe. CRABEE. THE HEIRS is yon houfe that holds the parish poor, Whole walls of mud fcarce bear the broken door;
There, where the putrid vapours flagging play, And the dull wheel humns doleful thro' the day; There children dwell who know no parents care, Parents, who know no childrens love, dwell there; Heart-broken matrons on their joylef's bed, Fortaken wives, and mothers never wed; Dejected widows with unheeded tears, And crippled age with more than childhood-fears! The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest they! The moping idiot, and the madman gay.
Here too the fick their final doom receive, Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve; Where the loud groans from fome fad chamber flow,
Mixt with the clamours of the crowd below; Here forrowing, they each kindred forrow fcan, And the cold charities of man to man. Whofe laws indeed for ruin'd age provide, And strong compulfion plucks the fcrap from pride;
But still that scrap is bought with many a figh, And pride embitters what it can't deny.
Say ye, oppreft by fome fantaffic woes, Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose; Who prefs the downy couch, while flaves advance With timid eye, to read the diftant glance; Who with fad prayers the weary doctor teaze To name the nameless ever-new disease; Who with mock-patience dire complaints endure, Which real pain, and that alone can cure; How would ye bear in real pain to lie, Defpis'd, neglected, left alone to die? How would ye bear to draw your latest breath, Where all that's wretched paves theway for death?
Such is that room which one rude beam divides, And naked rafters form the floping fides; Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are feen, And lath and mud is all that lie between; [way Save one dull pane, that, coarfely patch'd, gives To the rude tempeft, yet excludes the day: Here, on a matted flock, with duft o'erspread, The drooping wretch reclines his languid head ; For him no hand the cordial cup applies, Nor wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes; No friends with foft difcourfe his pain beguile, Nor promile hope till fickness wears a fmile.
$135. Defcription of a Country Apothecary. CRABBE.
foon a loud and hasty summons calls, Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the Anon a figure enters, quaintly neat, [walls: All pride and bus'nefs, bustle and conceit; With looks unalter'd by thefe fcenes of woe, With speed that, entering, fpeaks his hafte to go; He bids the gazing throng around him fly, And carries fate and phyfic in his eye; A potent quack, long vers'd in human ills, Who first infults the victim whom he kills; Whofe murd'rous hand a drowfy bench protect, And whose most tender mercy is neglect.
Paid by the parish for attendance here, He wears contempt upon his fapient fneer! In hafte he fecks the bed where mifery lies, Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes; And, fome habitual queries hurried o'er, Without reply, he rushes on the door; His drooping patient, long inur'd to pain, And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain; He ccates now the feeble help to crave Of man, and mutely haftens to the grave.
Ah! no, a fhepherd of a different stock, And far unlike him, feeds this little flock; A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's tafk As much as God or man can fairly afk; The reft he gives to loves and labours light, To fields the morning, and to feafts the night; None better skill'd the noify pack to guide, To urge their chace, to cheer them or to chide; Sure in his fhot, his game he feldom mist, And feldom fail'd to win his game at whift; Then, while fuch honors bloom around his head, Shall he fit fadly by the fick man's bed, To raife the hope he feels not, or with zeal To combat fears that ev'n the pious feel?
§ 137. The Reafon for defcribing the Vices of the Village. CRABBE.
YET why, you ask, these humble crimes relate, Why make the poor as guilty as the great? -To fhew the great, thofe mightier fons of Pride, How near in vice the lowest are ally'd; Such are their natures, and their paffions fuch, But these disguise too little, thofe too much : So fhall the man of power and pleasure fee In his own flave as vile a wretch as he; In his luxuriant lord the fervant find His own low pleasures and degenerate mind: And each in all the kindred vices trace Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring race; Who, a fhort time in varied fortune past, Die, and are equal in the duft at last.— And you, ye poor, who still lament your fate, Forbear to envy thofe you reckon great; And know, amid thofe bleffings they poffefs, They are, like you, the victims of diftrefs; While Sloth with many a pang torments her flave, Fear waits on guilt, and Danger shakes the brave.
$138. Apology for Vagrants. ANON. FOR him who, loft to ev'ry hope of life,
Has long with fortune held unequal ftrife, Known to no human love, no human care, The friendless, homeless object of defpair; For the poor vagrant, feel, while he complains,
Nor from fad freedom fend to fadder chains. Alike, if folly or misfortune brought Thofe laft of woes his evil days have wrought; Believe with focial mercy, and with me, Folly's misfortune in the firft degree.
Perhaps on fome inhofpitable thore The houfelefs wretch a widow'd parent bore; Who then, no more by golden profpects led, Of the poor Indian begg'd a leafy bed. Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, Perhaps that parent mourn'd her soldier flain; Bent o'er her babe, her eye diffolv'd in dew, The big drops mingling with the milk he diew, Gave the fad prefage of his future years, The child of mifery, baptiz'd in tears !
Where once in life's gay fpring I lov'd to roam, Invites thy willing fteps, accept, dear youth, This parting ftrain; accept the fervent prayer Of him, who loves thee with a paffion pure As ever friendship dropp'd in human heart, The prayer, That he who guides the hand of youth Thro' all the puzzled and perplexed round Of life's meandring path, upon thy head May fhower down every blefling, every joy, [give! Which health, which virtue, and which fame can Yet think not I will deign to flatter thee: Shall he, the guardian of my faith and truth, The guide, the pilot of thy tender years, Teach thy young heart to feel a fpurious glow At undeferved praife? Perifh the flave Whofe venal breath in youth's unpractis'd car Pours poifon'd flattery, and corrupts the foul With vain conceit; whofe bafe ungenerous art
Fawns on the vice which fome with honeft hand Have torn for ever from the bleeding breast.
Say, gentle youth, remember'ft thou the day When o'er thy tender fhoulders first I hung The golden lyre, and taught thy trembling hand To touch th'accordant ftrings? From that bleft I've feen thee panting up the hill of fame; [hour Thy little heart beat high with honeft praife, Thy cheek was flush'd, and oft thy sparkling eye Shot flames of young ambition. Never quench That generous ardour in thy virtuous breast. Sweet is the concord of harmonious founds, When the foft lute or pealing organ ftrikes The well-attemper'd ear; fweet is the breath Of honeft love, when nymph and gentle fwain Waft fighs alternate to each other's heart; But nor the concord of harmonious founds, The well-attemper'd car; nor the fweet breath When the foft lute or pealing organ strikes Of honeft love, when nymph and gentle fwain Waft fighs alternate to each other's heart, So charm with ravishment the raptur'd sense, As does the voice of well-deferv'd report Strike with fweet melody the confcious foul.
On every object thro' the giddy world Which fashion to the dazzled eye prefents, Fresh is the glofs of newnefs; look, deas, youth, Oh look, but not admire : O let not thefe Rafe from thy noble heart the fair records Which youth and education planted there : Let not affection's full impetuous tide, Which riots in thy generous breast, be check'd By felfifh cares; nor let the idle jeers Of laughing fools make thee forget thyself. When didft thou hear a tender tale of woe, And feel thy heart at reft? Have I not feen In thy fwoln eye the tear of fympathy. The milk of human kindnefs? When didft thou, With envy rankling, hear a rival prais'd? When didft thou flight the wretched? When The modeft humble fuit of poverty? [defpife Thefe virtues ftill be thine; nor ever learn To look with cold eye on the charities Of brother, or of parents; think on thofe [path Whofe anxious care thro' childhood's flippery Suftain'd thy feeble fteps; whofe every with Is wafted fill to thee: remember thofe, Even in thy heart while memory holds her feat: Hh3
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