IN yonder green wood blows the Broom; Shepherds, we'll trust our flocks to stray, Court Nature in her sweetest bloom, And steal from Care one summer-day.. From him whose gay and graceful brow And, oh! that he† whose gentle breast That he might leave his lowly shrine, "What airy sounds invite "My steps, not unreluctant, from the depth "Of SHENE's delightful groves? Reposing there * WILLIAM HAMILTON of Bangour. + THOMSON. "No more I hear the busy voice of men 66 Far-toiling o'er the globe-save to the call "Of soul-exalting poetry, the ear "Of death denies attention. Roused by her, "The genius of sepulchral silence opes "His drowsy cells, and yields us to the day. For thec, whose hand, whatever paints the spring, "Or swells on summer's breast, or loads the lap "Of autumn, gathers heedful-Thee whose rites "At nature's shrine with holy care are paid Daily and nightly, boughs of brightest green, "And every fairest rose, the god of groves, "The queen of flowers, shall sweeter save for thee. "Yet not if beauty only claim thy lay, Tunefully trifling. Fair philosophy, "And nature's love, and every moral charm With truth resistless, beaming from the source G "Of perfect light immortal-Vainly boast "That golden Broom its sunny robe of flowers: "Fair are the sunny flowers; but, fading soon "And fruitless, yield the forester's regard 66 To the well-loaded Wilding-Shepherd, there "Behold the fate of song, and lightly deem "Of all but moral beauty." "Not in vain" I hear my HAMILTON reply, (The torch of fancy in his eye) ""Tis not in vain," I hear him say, "That nature paints her works so gay; 66 For, fruitless though that fairy broom, "Yet still we love her lavish bloom. "Cheered with that bloom, yon desart wild "Its native horrors lost, and smiled. "And oft we mark her golden ray "Along the dark wood scatter day. |