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While the Flatt'rer on his wing
Woo'd and whisper'd thee to rise.
Gaily from thy mother stalk
Wert thou danc'd and wafted high ;
Soon on this unshelter'd walk
Flung to fade, to rot, and die!
LINES. ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY,
1796. WRITTEN NEAR SHEFFIELD.
Sweet Flower! that peeping from thy russet stem,
Unfoldest timidly (for in strange sort
This dark, freeze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering Month
Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gaz'd upon thee
With blue voluptuous eye) alas poor Flower !
These are but flatteries of the faithless Year.
Perchance escap'd its unknown polar cave
Ev'n now the keen North-East is on its way.
Flower, that must perish! shall I liken thee
To some sweet Girl of too, too rapid growth
Nipp'd by Consumption mid untimely charms ?
Or to Bristowa's *Bard, the wond'rous boy!
And Amaranth, which Earth scarce seem'd to own,
Blooming 'mid poverty's drear wintry waste,
Till Disappointment came and pelting Wrong
Beat it to earth! Or with indignant grief
compare thee to poor Polana's hope, Bright flower of hope kill'd in the opening bud ?
Farewell, sweet Blossom! better fate be thine
And mock my boding ! dim similitudes
Weaving in moral strains, l've stol’n one hour
From black anxiety that gnaws my heart
For her who droops far off on a sick bed:
And the warm wooings of this sunny day
Tremble along my frame, and harmonize
Th' attemper'd brain, that ev’n the saddest thoughts
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes
Play'd deftly on a soft-ton'd instrument.
THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET AGAIN.
COMPOSED DURING ILLNESS, AND IN ABSENCE.
Dim Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar,
O rise and yoke the Turtles to thy car!
Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering Dove,
And give me to the bosom of my Love!
My gentle Love, caressing and caress'd,
With heaving heart shall cradle me to rest ;
Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes,
Lull with fond woe, and med'cine me with sighs.
While finely-flushing float her kisses meek,
Like melted rubies o'er my pallid cheek.
Chilld by the night, the drooping Rose of May
Mourns the long absence of the lovely Day;
Young Day returning at her promis'd hour
Weeps o'er the sorrows of her fav'rite Flower;
Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she sighs,
And darts a trembling lustre from her eyes.
New life and joy th’expanding flowret feels :
His pitying Mistress mourns, and mourning heals !
ON HIS PROPOSING TO DOMESTICATE WITH THE AUTHOR.
A Mount, not wearisome and bare and steep,
But a green Mountain variously up-pil'd,
Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep
Or colour'd lichens with slow oozing weep;
Where cypress and the darker yew start wild ; :
And mid the sumer torrent's gentle dash
Dance brighten’d the red clusters of the ash;
Beneath whose boughs, by stilly sounds beguild,
Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep:
Till haply startled by some fleecy dam,
That rustling on the bushy cliff above
With melancholy bleat of anxious love
Made meek inquiry for her wand'ring lamb:
Such a green Mountain 'twere most sweet, to climb
E'en while the bosom ach'd with loneliness-
How heavenly sweet, if some dear Friend should bless
Th’advent'rous toil, and up the path sublime
Now lead, now follow; the glad landscape round,
Wide and more wide, increasing without bound !
O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark
The berries of the half up-rooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash-
Beneath the cypress or the yew more dark,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock ;
In social silence now, and now t’unlock
The treasur'd heart; arm link'd in friendly arm,
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm
Mutt'ring brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;
Till high o'er head his beck’ning Friend appears,
And from the forehead of the topmost crag
Shouts eagerly: for haply there uprears
That shadowing Pine its old romantic limbs,
Which latest shall detain th' enamour'd sight
Seen from below, when Eve the valley dims,
Ting'd yellow with the rich departing light;
And haply, basin'd in some unsunn'd cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears,
Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale!
Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine,
And bending o'er the clear delicious fount,
Ah dearest Lloyd ! it were a lot divine
To cheat our noons in moralizing mood,
While west-winds fann'd our temples toil-bedew'd .
Then downwards slope, oft-pausing, from the mount,
To some low mansion in some woody dale,
Where smiling with blue eye Domestic Bliss
Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss !
Thus rudely vers’d in allegoric lore,
The hill of knowledge I essay'd to trace;
That verd'rous hill with many a resting place,
And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour
To glad, and fertilize the subject plains ;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod,
And many a fancy-bless'd and holy sod,
Where inspiration, his diviner strains
Low-murm’ring, lay; and startling from the rocks
Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks
Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age,
And mad oppression's thunder-clasping rage !
O meek retiring Spirit! we will climb,
Cheering and cheer'd, this lovely hill sublime;
And from the stirring world uplifted high
(Whose noises faintly wafted on the wind
To quiet musings shall attune the mind,
And oft the melancholy theme supply)
There while the prospect thro' the gazing eye
Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul,
We'll laugh at wealth, and learn to laugh at fame,
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same,
As neighb'ring fountains image, each the whole:
Then when the mind has drunk its fill of truth,
We'll discipline the heart to pure delight,
Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame.
She, whom I love, shall love thee. Honour'd youth,
Now may Heaven realize this vision bright!
A DESULTORY POEM, WRITTEN ON THE CHRISTMAS EVE OF
What tho' first,
In years unseason'd, I attun'd the Lay
To idle Passion and unreal Woe?
Yet serious Truth her empire o'er my song
Hath now asserted: Falshood's evil brood,
Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once
Excluded, and my Fancy's careless toil
Drew to the better cause !
Introduction. Person of Christ. His Prayer on the Cross. The process of his Doctrines on the mind of the Individual. Character of the elect. Superstition. Digression to the present War. Origin and Uses of Government and Property. The present state of Society. French Revolution. Millennium. Universal Redemption. Conclusion. This is the time, when, most divine to hear, The voice of Adoration rouses me,