« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »
One glimpse can sooth the troubled breast,
The heaving sigh restrain;
Can make the bed of sickness please,
And stop the sense of pain.
Its power can charm the savage heart,
The tyrant's pity move:
To smiles convert the wildest rage,
And melt the soul to love.
When Sweetness beams upon the throne,
In majesty benign,
The awful splendors of a crown
With milder lustre shine.
In scenes of poverty and woe,
Where melancholy dwells,
The influence of this living ray
The dreary gloom dispels.
Thus, when the blooming spring returns
To cheer the mournful plains,
Through earth and air with genial warmth,
Ethereal mildness reigns.
Beneath its bright, auspicious beams
No boisterous passions rise; Moroseness quits the peaceful scene, And baleful discord flies.
A thousand nameless beauties spring,
A thousand virtues glow;
A smiling train of joys appear,
And endless blessings flow.
Unbounded Charity displays
Her sympathizing charms;
And Friendship's pure seraphic flame
The generous bosom warms.
Almighty Love exerts his power,
And spreads with secret art
A soft sensation through the frame,
A transport through the heart.
Nor shall the storms of age, which cloud
Each gleam of sensual joy,
And blast the gaudy flow'ret's pride,
These blest effects destroy.
When that fair form shall sink in years,
And all those graces fly;
The beauty of thy heavenly mind
Shall length of days defy.
FROM THOMSON'S SEASONS.
HAPPY they! the happiest of their kind!
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws,
Unnatural oft and foreign to the mind,
That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
Attuning all their passions into love;
Where Friendship full exerts her softest power,
Perfect esteem, enliven'd by desire
Ineffable, and sympathy of soul;
Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, With boundless confidence: for nought but love Can answer love, and render bliss secure.
What is the world to them,
Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all!
Who in each other clasp, whatever fair
High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish:
Something than beauty dearer, should they look
Or on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face;
Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love,
The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven?
Meantime a smiling offspring rises round,
And mingles both their graces. By degrees
The human blossom blows; and every day,
Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm,
The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom.
Then infant reason grows apace, and calls
For the kind hand of an assiduous care.
Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot,
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Oh speak the joy! ye whom the sudden tear
Surprises often, while you look around,
And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss,
All-various nature pressing on the heart:
An elegant sufficiency, content,
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
Ease and alternate labour, useful life,
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven.
These are the matchless joys of virtuous love;
And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus,
As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll,
Still find them happy, and consenting Spring
Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads:
'Till evening comes at last, serene and mild,
When, after the long vernal day of life,
Enamour'd more, as more remembrance swells
With many a proof of recollected love,
Together down they sink in social sleep;
Together freed, their gentle spirits fly
To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign.
To the Memory of an unfortunate Lady.
HAT beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis she! But why that bleeding bosom gor'd?
Why dimly gleams the visionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it in Heaven a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender or too firm a heart,
To act a lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
Why bade ye else, ye pow'rs! her soul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low desire?
Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods: