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Slow sinks the glimmering beam from western sky,
The woods and hills, obscur'd by Evening grey,
Vanish from mortal sight, and fade away.
Now with the flocks and yearlings let me hie
To farm, or cottage lone, where, perch'd hard by
On mossy pale, the red-breast tunes his lay,
Soft twittering, and bids farewell to day:
Then, whilst the watch-dog barks, and ploughmen lie
Lull’d by the rocking winds, let me unfold
Whate'er in rhapsody, or strain most holy,
The hoary minstrel sang in times of old;
For, well I ween, from them the Nine inspire
Wisdom shall flow, and Virtue's sacred fire,
And Peace, and Love, and heavenly Melancholy.
ON A STORMY SEA-PROSPECT.
How fearful 'tis to walk the sounding shore,
When lowers the sky, and winds are piping loud!
And round the beach the tearful maidens crowd,
Scar'd at the swelling surge and thunder's roar. Ole
High o'er the cliffs the screaming sea-mews soar, tento
Lost is th' adventurous bark in stormy cloud,
The shrill blast whistles through the fluttering shroud;
And, lo, the gallant crew, that erst before a
Secure rode tilting o’er the placid wave, c
Scarce know to stem the black and boisterous main, a
And view with eyes aghast their watery grave.
So fares it with the breast of him, the Swain, ali
Who quits Content for mad Ambition's lore;
Short are his days, and distant far the shore.
How pleasant 'tis to walk the silent shore,
When scarce the humming tide can reach mine ear!
Of scatter'd mist the sun dispels the rear,
And birds of calm the distant wave explore ;
And safe in craggy bay the bark doth moor,
Whose streamers proud and slacken'd sails appear
Deep in the glassy pool reflected clear:
And, lo, the crew, all blithe, to part no more
From happy native fields, in artless rounds
Provoke the lively dance! the smiling main
With shouts and mirth and merriment resounds :
So fares it with the breast of him, the Swain,
Who quits Ambition for Contentment's lore ;
For joyful are his days, and near the shore.
AROUND my porch and lowly casement spread,
The myrtle never-sere, and gadding vine,
With fragrant sweet-briar love to intertwine ;
And in my garden's box-encircled bed
The pansy pied, and musk-rose white and red,
The pink and tulip, and honied woodbine,
Fling odours round; the flaunting eglantine
Decks my trim fence, 'neath which, by silence led,
The wren hath wisely plac'd her mossy cell;
And, far from noise, in courtly land so rife,
Nestles her young to rest, and warbles well.
Here in this safe retreat and peaceful glen
I pass my sober moments, far from men ;
Nor wishing death too soon, nor asking life.
This morn ere yet had rung the matin peal,
The cursed Merlin, with his potent spell,
Aggriev'd me sore, and from his wizard cell
(First fixing on mine eyes a magic seal)
Millions of ghosts and shadowy shapes let steal ;
Who, swarming round my couch, with horrid yell,
Chatter'd and moe’d, as though from deepest hell
They had escap'd. I oft, with fervent zeal,
Essay'd, and prayer, to mar th' enchanter's power.
In vain; for thicker still the crew came on,
And now had weigh'd me down, but that the day
Appear'd, and Pbæbus, from his eastern tower,
With new-trick'd beam, like Truth immortal, shone,
And chas'd the visionary forms away.