HAST thou forgot that balmy summer noon,
That glow'd so fair, and fled, alas! so soon,
My chosen friend! in whose fond smile I see
A spirit noble, and a nature free,
When Blenheim woo'd us to her proud domain,
Where Hist❜ry smiles, and Marlb'rough lives again!
And on the way how sweet retirement threw
A shade of promise o'er life's distant view :
How wildly beautiful the bending sky,
Like heav'n reveal'd, burst radiant on the eye!
A spirit, bosom'd in the winds, appear'd
To chant noon-hymns, where'er a sound career'd,
While ev'ry leaf a living gladness wore,
And, bird-like, flutter'd as the breeze pass'd o'er;
The lark made music in the golden air,
The green earth, yellow'd by a sunny glare,
In twinkling dyes beheld her flow'ry race
Dance to the wind and sparkle o'er her face;
Faint, sweet, and far, we heard the sheep-bell sound,
And insect happiness prevail around.—
The green monotony of hill and glade,
Where viewless streams, by virtue oft betray'd,—
(Like Charity, who walks the world unseen,
Yet leaves a light where'er her hand hath been,)
By bank and mead roll'd windingly away,
'Twas ours to witness in superb array.
Noon glided on, till day's declining glow
Beheld us sweeping o'er the verdant flow
Of meadowy vales, to where the village hill
In garden bloom we welcom'd, bright and still.
That sunny eve in smiling converse fled
Around a banquet generously spread,
Beneath a roof where elegance combined
The pure in taste with fancy the refined,—
The church antique, whose ivied turret won
The dying changes of departing sun,
And gleam'd upon us at our parting hour,
I still remember in its beauteous pow'r.
Then home we sped beside romantic trees
Whose leaf-pomp glitter'd to the starting breeze,
And fondly view'd in symmetry of shade
The mimic branches on the meadows laid.
In wave-like glory burn'd the sunset sky!
Where rosy billows seemed to swell and lie,
Superbly vast;-as if that haughty day,
Ere yet th' horizon saw him sink away,
His clouds and colours vassal-like would see
Once more awake, and own their Deity!
ROAD-SIDE SCENES.
BUT from the road unnumber'd scenes transfuse,
O'er a quick mind reflection's moral hues ;
Each, as it passes, claims a sigh, or tear,
For Want, and Woe, and all their offspring here.
There the blind beggar, led by faithful Tray,
Bare-headed, moans along his mournful way;
There a lean pedlar winds his wintry track,
With wallet strapp'd upon his weary back,
And far withdrawn on yonder coppice green,
Like wood-born regents of the lonely scene,
The sun-brown gipsies o'er their caldron gaze,
And watch the faggots crackle as they blaze;
But lo! a livelier scene,-beside, the wheel
While urchins whirling round from head to heel;
Around, and round, and still around they turn,
Till lip and eye with bright suffusion burn,
Then mildly beg, with upward-looking face,
Some poor reward to crown their wheel-side race.
On her seven-hill'd throne
Behold her seated, by worn Tiber's banks!
Colossal ruin, like a noble mind,
In desolation, thou art glorious still!
Though Time hath conquer'd, can he equal thee?
Thy temples tow'ring to the blue-domed sky,
The trophied porches, vasty theatres
That heard the beating of ten thousand hearts;
And fane sublime, on that Tarpeian rock,
Where vengeance was eternity!-when Rome
Could trample kingdoms, and o'erawe the world,
What grandeur rivall'd these?-their very shades
Are solemn but around them, when the rush
Of life was heard; when chariots, bright as those
That wheel the morning sun, victorious came,
Amid the tramp of war-steeds, and the shout
Of millions, swelling with their country's fame,
Thy glory was a terror, and thine arm
Omnipotence! through the wide universe
The throbbing of thy faintest passion thrill'd,
And when thou frown'dst, what nation dared be free?
REFLECTIONS ON A LIFE OF MERITORIOUS
EXERTION.
OH! for a nobler and a deeper sense
Of all that forms our true preeminence;
For high-born energies of heav'nly sway,
And flow'rs of charity to strew the way,—
That Sin no longer may the world defile,
And Nature glory in a good man's smile,
As on we hasten to that dreamless shore
Where Passion sleeps, and Prejudice is o'er!
The days of fever and the nights of fire,
Felt in the blood till health and hope expire;
The ghastly slumber, and the spectral tomb
For ever yawning in the spirit's gloom ;
And that most agonizing waste of soul
Where all the billows of excitement roll,
Morn, noon, and night, in one eternal play,—
Are thine, ambition!-till thou wear'st away.
And, mix'd with agonies of outward state,
That inward torment, which thy dreams create
By thirst within for some perfection made
By thought alone, or never yet display'd
Like the pure model which the mind surveys-
'Tis thine to suffer through uncounted days!
Yet, welcome all!-If ever thought of mine
Hath woo'd a spirit into calm divine,
Expanded feelings, purified their flow,
Or shed a sunbeam o'er an hour of woe,-
My soul shall triumph o'er exhaustless pain,
And proudly think it has not lived in vain!
A VALE of beauty!-lo! the morn,
In clouds of crimson radiance born,
Hath risen from the couch of night,
And fills the air with fresh delight;
While hues, like harmonies that range
The world of sound with heavenly change,—
In varied lustre o'er the sky
Awaken, mingle, melt, and die ;
Till full-orb'd on his flaming throne
The Sun-king is beheld alone!
And, blue as Baltic waves asleep,
Before him lies a dazzling sweep
Of azure, in its deep excess
Of morn-created loveliness!
How exquisite this breathing hour!-
As though awhile some choral bower,
Where cherubim partake repose
Its crystal gates did half unclose,
Till fragments of delicious sound
Came wafted on the winds around,
And bloom and balm to nature giv'n
Made earth a momentary heaven!
Hark! to the choir of yonder wood,
Where life exults in solitude:
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