Page images
PDF
EPUB

By love's refpectful modefty, he deem'd
The theft profane, if aught profane to love
Can e'er be deem'd; and, struggling, from the shade
With headlong hurry fled: but first these lines,
Trac'd by his ready pencil, on the bank

With trembling hand he threw: "Bathe on, my fair,
"Yet unbeheld, fave by the facred eye
"Of faithful love: I go to guard thy haunt,
"To keep from thy recefs each vagrant foot,
"And each licentious eye." With wild furprize,
As if to marble ftruck, devoid of sense,
A ftupid moment motionless fhe flood:

So ftands the ftatue that enchants the world,
So bending, tries to vie the matchless boast,
The mingled beauties of exulting Greece.
Recov'ring, fwift she flew to find those robes
Which blifsful Eden knew not; and, array'd
In careless hafte, th' alarming paper fnatch'd.
But when her DAMON's well-known hand fhe faw,
Her terrors vanish'd, and a fofter train

Of mix'd emotions, hard to be defcrib'd,
Her fudden bofom feiz'd: fhame void of guilt,
The charming blush of innocence, efteem
And admiration of her lover's flame,
By modefty exaited: ev'n a fenfe
Of felf-approving beauty ftole across
Her bufy thought. At length a tender calm,
Hufh'd by degrees the tumult of her foul;
And on the spreading beach, that o'er the ftreain
Incumbent hung, fhe with the sylvan pen
Of rural lovers this confeffion carv'd,

Which foon her DAMON kifs'd with weeping joy:
Dear youth! fole judge of what thefe verfes mean,
By fortune too much favour'd, but by love,
Alas! not favour'd lefs, be ftill as now

Difcreet: the time may come you need not fly.'

*The Venus of Medicis.

THE FOLLY OF RICHES.

IFRICHES could prolong our flay,
To court them I'd begin;

That when grim MINOS came my way,
I'd bid him call again.

But fince I find it all in vain,
And death pays no respect,
No longer fhall they give me pain,
But treat them with neglect.

For foon or late the lot must come,
To pay the debt we owe,
And lay us in the filent tomb,

Whether we're rich or no.

Then give me, gods, but health and friends,
And I'll no longer grieve;

But laugh at care, which life attends,
And WEALTH to others leave.

The gen'rous glafs I'll freely quaff,

And fill it o'er and o'er,

'Till DEATH fhall ftop the jocund laugh, By knocking at my door.

SUICIDE.

TO be, or not to be? that is the queftion ;-
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to fuffer
The flings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by oppofing, end them?-To die;-to fleep;→
No more; and, by a fleep, to fay, we end
The heart-ach, and the thousand natural shocks,
That flesh is heir to ;-'tis a confummation
Devoutly to be wifh'd. To die ;-to fleep ;-
To fleep! perchance to dream! ay, there's the rub;

For in that fleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have fhuffled off this mortal coil,
Muft give us paufe ;-there's the respect
That makes calamity of fo long life.

For who would bear the whips and fcorns of time,
Th' oppreffor's wrong, the proud-man's contumely,
The pangs of defpis'd love, the law's delay,
The infolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himfelf might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To groan and fweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of fomething after death,-
That undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns-puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear thofe ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus confcience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of refolution

Is fickly'd o'er with the pale caft of thought;
And enterprizes of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lofe the name of action.-

THE HERMIT.

AT the clofe of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the fweets of forgetfulness prove; When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's fong in the

grove

:

'Twas then, by the cave of the mountain reclin'd, A HERMIT his nightly complaint thus began Tho' mournful his numbers, his foul was refign'd; He thought as a fage, tho' he felt as a man. "Ah! why thus abandon'd to darkness and woe, Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy fad ftrain? "For fpring fhall return and a lover beftow,

[ocr errors]

"And thy bofom no trace of misfortune retain.

"Yet if pity inspire thee, O cease not thy lay! "Mourn, fweeteft companion; man calls thee

66

"to mourn :

"O foothe him, whofe pleasures,like thine, pass away! Full quickly they pass-but they never return! "Now gliding remote on the verge of the fky,

"The moon, half extinct, a dim crefcent difplays; "But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high

"She fhone, and the planets were loft in her blaze. "Roll on then, fair orb, and with gladnefs pursue "The path that conducts thee to splendour again: "But man's faded glory no change shall renew; "Ah, fool! to exult in a glory fo vain.

"'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: "I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; "For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, "Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring "with dew.

"Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

"Kind nature the embrio-bloffom fhall fave: "But when fhall fpring vifit the mould'ring urn? "Owhen fhall it dawn on the night of the grave?"

THE SHEEP AND THE BRAMBLE-BUSH. THICK-twifted brake, in the time of a ftorm, Seem'd kindly to cover a fheep:

A

So fnug, for awhile, he lay fhelter'd and warm,
It quietly footh'd him afleep.

The clouds are now scatter'd-thewinds are at peace;
The sheep to his pafture's inclin'd:

But ah! the fell thicket lays hold of his fleece,
His coat is left forfeit behind.

My friend, who the thicket of law never try'd,
Confider before you get in;

Though judgment and fentence are país'd on your fide,

By Jove you'll be fleec'd to the skin.

THE VILLAGE ALE-HOUSE.

NEAR yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the fign-poft caught the paffing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts infpir'd,

Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retir'd;
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound;
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly ftoops to trace

The parlour fplendours of that feftive place;
The white-wash'd wall, the nicely fanded floor;
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door;
The cheft, contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a cheft of draw'rs by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and ufe;
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goofe;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With afpen boughs, and flow'rs, and fennel gay;
While broken tea-cups, wifely kept for show,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, gliften'd in a row.
Vain tranfitory fplendour! could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring manfion from its fall!
Obfcure it finks, nor fhall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;
Thither no more the peafant fhall repair,
To fweet obl'vion of his daily care;

No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the wood-man's ballad shall prevail,
No more the smith his dufky brow fhall clear;
Relax his pond'rous ftrength, and lean to hear;
The hoft himself no longer fhall be found
Careful to fee the mantling blifs go round;
Nor the coy maid, half-willing to be preft,
Shall kifs the cup to pass it to the reft.

« PreviousContinue »