Calm, and intrepid, in the very throat
Of fulphurous war, on Tenier's dreadful field. Nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow: For, powerful as thy fword, from thy rich tongue, Perfuafion flows, and wins the high debate; While mix'd in thee combine the charm of youth, The force of manhood, and the depth of age. Thee, FORBES, too, whom every worth attends, As truth fincere, as weeping friendship kind, Thee, truly generous, and in filence great, Thy country feels thro' her reviving arts, Plann'd by thy wisdom, by thy foul inform'd; And feldom has she known a friend like thee. But fee the fading many-colour'd woods, Shade deepening over fhade, the country round Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk, and dun, Of every hue, from wan declining green To footy dark. These now the lonesome Muse, Low-whispering, lead into their leaf-ftrown walks, And give the feafon in its latest view.
Meantime, light-shadowing all, a sober calm Fleeces unbounded ether: whose leaft wave Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn The gentle current: while illumin'd wide,
The dewy-fkirted clouds imbibe the fun, And thro' their lucid veil his foftened force Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time, For those whom wifdom and whom Nature charm, To fteal themselves from the degenerate crowd, And foar above this little fcene of things; To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet; To footh the throbbing paffions into peace; And woo lone Quiet in her filent walks. Thus folitary, and in penfive guise,
Oft let me wander o'er the ruffet mead,
And thro' the faddened grove, where scarce is heard One dying ftrain to cheer the woodman's toil. Haply fome widowed fongfter pours his plaint, Far, in faint warblings, thro' the tawny copfe. While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks, And each wild throat, whofe artless strains fo late Swell'd all the music of the swarming fhades, Robb'd of their tuneful fouls, now shivering fit On the dead tree, a dull defpondent flock; With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, And nought fave chattering discord in their note. O let not, aim'd from fome inhuman eye, The gun the mufic of the coming year
Destroy; and harmless, unfufpecting harm, Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey, In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground! The pale defcending year, yet pleasing still, A gentler mood infpires; for now the leaf Inceffant ruftles from the mournful grove; Oft ftartling such as, ftudious, walk below, And flowly circles thro' the waving air. But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs Sob, o'er the fky the leafy deluge streams; Till chok'd, and matted with the dreary shower, The forest-walks, at every rifing gale,
Roll wide the wither'd wafte, and whistle bleak. Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields; And, fhrunk into their beds, the flowery race. Their funny robes refign. Even what remain'd Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree; And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around The defolated profpect thrills the foul.
He comes! he comes! in every breeze the POWER Of PHILOSOPHIC MELANCHOLY Comes! His near approach the fudden-starting tear, The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air, The foftened feature, and the beating heart, Pierc'd deep with many a virtuous pang, declare.
O'er all the foul his facred influence breathes! Inflames imagination; thro' the breast Infuses every tenderness; and far
Beyond dim earth exalts the fwelling thought. Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, fuch As never mingled with the vulgar dream, Crowd faft into the Mind's creative eye. As faft the correspondent paffions rife, As varied, and as high: Devotion rais'd To rapture, and divine astonishment; The love of Nature unconfin'd, and, chief, Of human race; the large ambitious wish, To make them bleft; the figh for suffering worth Loft in obfcurity; the noble fcorn
Of tyrant-pride; the fearless great refolve; The wonder which the dying patriot draws, Infpiring glory thro' remoteft time;
Th' awakened throb for virtue, and for fame : The fympathies of love, and friendship dear; With all the focial Offspring of the heart.
Oh bear me then to vast embowering fhades, To twilight groves, and visionary vales; To weeping grottoes, and prophetic glooms; Where angel forms athwart the folemn dusk, Tremendous sweep, or feem to fweep along;
And voices more than human, thro' the void Deep-founding, feize th' enthusiastic ear!
Or is this gloom too much? Then lead, ye powers, That o'er the garden and the rural feat
Prefide, which fhining thro' the cheerful land In countless numbers bleft BRITANNIA fees; O lead me to the wide-extended walks, The fair majeftic paradife of STOWE !* Not Perfian Cyrus on Ionia's shore
E'er faw fuch filvan scenes; fuch various art By genius fir'd, fuch ardent genius tam'd By cool judicious art; that, in the ftrife, All-beauteous Nature fears to be outdone. And there, O PITT, thy country's early boast, There let me fit beneath the sheltered flopes, Or in that Temple + where, in future times, Thou well fhalt merit a distinguish'd name; And, with thy converfe bleft, catch the laft fmiles Of Autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods. While there with thee th' inchanted round I walk, The regulated wild, gay Fancy then
Will tread in thought the groves of Attic Land;
*The feat of the Lord Viscount Cobham.
†The Temple of Virtue in Stow-Gardens.
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