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Beauties of Spring:
Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world ;
900 These are the sacred feelings of thy heart, Thy heart informed by reason's purer ray, O LYTTLETON, the friend ! thy passions thus And meditations vary, as at large, Courting the Muse, thro' Hagley Park thou strayest; 905 Thy British Tempe! There along the dale, With woods o'er-hung, and shagg’d with mossy rocks, Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall, Or gleam in lengthened vistas through the trees, You silent steal; or sit beneath the shade Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand, And pensive listen to the various voice Of rural peace : the herds, the flocks, the birds, 916 The hollow-whispering breeze, the plaint of rills, That, purling down amid the twisted roots
Beauties of Hagley Park.
Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake
925 And honest zeal, unwarped by party rage, Britannia's weal ; how from the venal gulplı To raise her virtue, and her arts revive. Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts The Muses charm : while, with sure taste refined, 930 You draw the inspiring breath of ancient song Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own. Perhaps thy loved LUCINDA shares thy walk, With soul to thine attuned. Then Nature all Wears to the lover's eye a look of love ;
985 And all the tumult of a guilty world, Tost by ungenerous passions, sinks away, The tender heart is animated peace; And, as it pours its copious treasures forth, In varied converse, softening every theme,
940 You, frequent pausing, turn, ansl from her eyes, Where meekened sense and amiable grace, And lively sweetness dwell, enraptured, drink, That nameless spirit of ethereal joy, Unutterable happiness ! which love,
945 Alone, bestows, and on a favoured few, Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow The bursting prospect spreads immense around : And snatched o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn,
Influence of Love.
And verdant field, and darkening heath between, 950
960 Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round ; Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youth ; The shining moisture swells into her eyes, In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves
965 With palpitations wild ; kind tumults seize Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love. From the keen gaze her lover turns away, Full of the dear extatic power, and sick, With sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair! 970 Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts : Dare not the infectious sigh; the pleading look, Down-cast, and low in meek submission drest, But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue, Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,
975 Gain on your purposed will. Nor in the bower Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch, While Evening draws her crimson curtains round, Trust your soft minutes with betraying Man. And let the aspiring youth beware of love,
980 Of the smooth glance beware ; for 'tis too late, When on his heart the torrent-softness pours.
Effects of Love.
Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame
990 Her syren-voice, enchanting, draws him on To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy.
Even present, in the very lap of love Inglorious laid ; while music flows around, Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours ; 995 Amid the Roses fierce Repentance rears Her snaky crest : a quick returning pang Shoots thro’ the conscious heart ; where honour still, And great design against th' oppressive load Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave.
1000 But absent, what fantastic woes, arous'd, Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed, Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life? Neglected fortune flies ; and sliding swift, Prone into ruin, fall his scorned affairs.
1005 'Tis nought but gloom around : The darkened sun Loses his light. The rosy-bosomed Spring To weeping fancy pines ; and yon bright arch, Contracted, bends into a dusky vault. All Nature fades extinct ; and she alone
1010 Heard, felt, and seen, posseses every thought, Fills every sense,
vein. Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends ; And sad amid the social band he sits,
Lonely and unattentive. From his tongue