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Come happier hours of sweet unanxious rest,

When all the struggling passions shall subside; When Peace shall clasp me to her plumy breast,

And sooth my silent minutes as they glide. But chief, thou goddess of the thoughtless eye,

Whom never cares or passions discompose, O blest Insensibility! be nigh;

(close. And with thy soothing hand my weary eyelids Then shall the cares of love and glory cease,

And all the fond anxieties of fame; Alike regardless in the arms of Peace,

If these extol, or those debase a name. In Lyttelton though all the Muses praise,

His generous praise shall then delight no more, Nor the sweet magic of his tender lays

Shall touch the bosom which it charm'd before. Nor then, thou Malice, with insidious guise

Of friendship, ope the unsuspecting breast; Nor then, though Envy broach her blackening lies,

Shall these deprive me of a moment's rest. O state to be desir'd! when hostile rage

Prevails in human more than savage haunts; When man with man eternal war will wage,

And never yield that mercy which he wants. When dark design invades the cheerful hour,

And draws the heart with social freedom warm, Its cares, its wishes, and its thoughts to pour,

Smiling insidious with the hopes of harm. Vain man, to others' failings still severe,

Yet not one foible in himself can find; Another's faults to Folly's eye are clear,

But to her own e'en Wisdom's self is blind.

o let me still, from these low follies free,

This sordid malice, and inglorious strife, Myself the subject of my censure be,

And teach my heart to comment on my life: With thee, Philosophy, still let me dwell,

My tutor'd mind from vulgar meanness save; Bring Peace, bring Quiet to my humble cell,

And bid them lay the green turf on my grave.


Bright o’er the green hills rose the morning ray,

The woodlark's song resounded on the plain; Fair Nature felt the warm embrace of day,

And smild through all her animated reign. When young Delight, of Hope and Fancy born,

His head on tufted wild thyme half-reclin'd, Caught the gay colours of the orient morn,

And thence of life this picture vain design'd: “O born to thoughts, to pleasures more sublime

Than beings of inferior nature prove ! To triumph in the golden hours of Time,

And feel the charms of Fancy and of Love ! High-favour'd man ! for him unfolding fair

In orient light this native landscape smiles ; For him sweet Hope disarms the hand of Care,

Exalts his pleasures, and his grief beguiles.
• Blows not a blossom on the breast of Spring,

Breathes not a gale along the bending mead,
Trills not a songster of the soaring wing,
But fragrance, health, and melody succeed.


O let me still with simple Nature live,

My lowly field-flowers on her altar lay, Enjoy the blessings that she meant to give,

And calnıly waste my inoffensive day!

No titled name, no envy-teasing dome,

No glittering wealth my tutor’d wishes crave; So Health and Peace be near my humble home,

A cool stream murmur, and a green tree wave. 'So may the sweet Euterpé not disdain

At Eve's chaste hour her silver lyre to bring ; The muse of pity wake her soothing strain,

And tune to sympathy the trembling string. • Thus glide the pensive moments, o'er the vale

While floating shades of dusky night descend; Not left untold the lover's tender tale,

Nor unenjoy'd the heart-enlarging friend. • To love and friendship flow the social bowl!

To attic wit and elegance of mind; To all the native beauties of the soul,

The simple charms of truth, and sense refin'd.

• Then to explore whatever ancient sage

Studious from Nature's early volume drew, To chase sweet Fiction through her golden age,

And mark how fair the sun-flower, Science,blew.

'Haply to catch some spark of eastern fire,

Hesperian fancy, or Aonian ease ; Some melting note from Sappho's tender lyre, Some strain that Love and Phæbus taught to


• When waves the grey light o'er the mountain

head, Then let me meet the morn's first beauteous ray ; Carelessly wander from my sylvan shed,

And catch the sweet breath of the rising day. * Nor seldom, loitering as I muse along,

Mark from what flower the breeze its sweetness Or listen to the labour-soothing song

[bore ; Of bees that range the thymy uplands o’er. Slow let me climb the mountain's airy brow!

The green height gain’d, in museful rapture lie; Sleep to the murmur of the woods below,

Or look on Nature with a lover's eye. • Delightful hours! O, thus for ever flow;

J.ed by fair Fancy round the varied year ; So shall my breast with native raptures glow,

Nor feel one pang from folly, pride, or fear. • Firm be my heart to Nature and to Truth,

Nor vainly wander from their dictates sage : So joy shall triumph on the brows of Youth,

So Hope shall smooth the dreary paths of age.'



ELEGY IV. 01! yet, ye dear, deluding visions, stay !

Fond hopes, of Innocence and Fancy born! For you I'll cast these waking thoughts away,

For one wild dream of life's romantic morn. Ah! no : the sunshine o'er each object spread

By flattering Hope, the flowers that blew so fair, Like the gay gardens of Armida fled,

And vanish'd from the powerful rod of Care.


So the poor pilgrim, who in rapturous thought

Plans his dear journey to Loretto's shrine, Seems on his way by guardian seraphs brought,

Sees aiding angels favour his design: Ambrosial blossoms, such of old as blew

By those fresh founts on Eden's happy plain, And Sharon's roses all his passage strew :

So Fancy dreams; but Fancy's dreams are vain! Wasted and weary on the mountain's side,

His way unknown, the hapless pilgrim lies, Or takes some ruthless robber for his guide,

And prone beneath his cruel sabre dies. Life's morning landscape gilt with orient light,

Where Hope and Joy and Fancy hold their reign ; The grove's green wave, the blue stream sparkling

bright, The blithe hours dancing round Hyperion's wain, In radiant colours Youth's free hand portrays,

Then holds the flattering tablet to his eye; Nor thinks how soon the vernal grove decays,

Nor sees the dark cloud gathering o'er the sky. Hence Fancy, conquer'd by the dart of Pain,

And wandering far from her Platonic shade,
Mourns o’er the ruins of her transient reign,

Nor unrepining sees her visions fade.
Their parent banish’d, hence her children fly,

The fairy race that fill'd her festive train ;
Joy tears his wreath, and Hope inverts her eye,

And Folly wonders that her dream was vain.

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