FOUR ELEGIES; DESCRIPTIVE AND MORAL. SCOTT. ELEGY I. WRITTEN AT THE APPROACH OF SPRING. STERN Winter hence with all his train removes ; Yet lovelier scenes shall crown th' advancing year, O fancy, paint not coming days too fair! Oft for the prospects sprightly MAY should yield, But should kind spring her wonted bounty show'r I shun the scenes where madd'ning passion raves, The grassy lane, the wood-surrounded field, gay, The clay-built cot, to me more pleasure yield Than all the pomp imperial domes display: And yet ev❜n here, amid these secret shades, And death's dread dart is ever in my sight. While genial suns to genial show'rs succeed, (The air all mildness, and the earth all bloom) While herds and flocks range sportive o'er the mead, Crop the sweet herb, and snuff the rich perfume; O why alone to hapless man deny'd To taste the bliss inferior beings boast? O why this fate, that fear and pain divide His few short hours on earth's delightful coast? Ah cease-no more of Providence complain! "Tis sense of guilt that wakes the mind to woe, Gives force to fear, adds energy to pain, And palls each joy by Heav'n indulg❜d below: Why else the smiling infant-train so blest, Ere dear-bought knowledge ends the peace within, Or wild desire inflames the youthful breast, Or ill propension ripens into sin? As to the bleating tenants of the field, As to the sportive warblers on the trees, To them their joys sincere the seasons yield, And all their days and all their prospects please; Such joys were mine when from the peopled streets, Where on THAMESIS' banks I liv'd immur'd, The new-blown fields that breath'd a thousand sweets, TO SURRY'S wood-crown'd hills my steps allur'd. O happy hours, beyond recov'ry fled! What share I now, "that can your loss repay," While o'er my mind these glooms of thought are spread, And veil the light of life's meridian ray? Is there no pow'r this darkness to remove? Where fear, and pain, and death, shall be no more? Yes, those there are who know a SAVIOUR's love And in the varied scenes that round them shine, (The fair, the rich, the awful, and the grand). Admire th' amazing workmanship divine. Blows not a flow'ret in th' enamel'd vale, But claims their wonder and excites their praise. For them ev'n vernal nature looks more gay, To them more sweet the sweetest breath of morn. They feel the bliss that hope and faith supply; They pass serene th' appointed hours that bring The day that wafts them to the realms on high, The day that centers in eternal Spring. ELEGY II. WRITTEN IN THE HOT SUMMER, 1757. THREE hours from noon the passing shadow shows, Now still and vacant is the dusty street, Lost is the lively aspect of the ground, Save what yon stream's unfailing stores supply. Where are the flow'rs that made the garden gay? |