If want of skill or want of care appear, Forbear to hiss.....the poet cannot hear. By all like him must praise and blame be found, Yet then shall calm reflection bless the night, When Pleasure fir'd her torch at Virtue's flame, SPRING, AN ODE. STERN Winter now, by Spring repress'd, Forbears the long continued strife; The author being ill of the gout. Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight, Nor from the pleasing groves depart, Where first great nature charm'd my sight, Where wisdom first inform'd my heart. Here let me through the vales pursue A guide.....a father.....and a friend, Once more great Nature's works renew, Once more on Wisdom's voice attend. From false caresses, causeless strife, Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd; Here let me learn the use of life, When best enjoy'd.....when most improv❜d. Teach me, thou venerable bower, Cool meditation's quiet seat, The gen'rous scorn of venal power, The silent grandeur of retreat. When pride by guilt to greatness climbs, Or raging factions rush to war, Here let me learn to shun the crimes I can't prevent, and will not share. But lest I fall by subtler foes, Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, The swelling passions to compose, And quell the rebels of the heart. MIDSUMMER, AN ODE. O PHOEBUS! down the western sky, -Thy light to distant worlds supply, And wake them to the cares of day. Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care, Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! Refresh me with a cooling air, And cheer me with a lambent light. Where the green bower, with roses crown'd, Thy looks perpetual joys impart, Our murmurs.....murmuring brooks return. Let me when nature calls to rest, And blushing skies the morn foretel, Sink on the down of Stella's breast, And bid the waking world farewell. 23 AUTUMN, AN ODE. ALAS! with swift and silent pace, Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe: As Boreas strips the bending trees. Soft pleasing woes my heart invade, Oh! would some god but wings supply! Fo where each morn the Spring restores, Companion of her flight I'd fly. Vain wish! me fate compels to bear The downward season's iron reign, Compels to breathe polluted air, And shiver on a blasted plain. What bliss to life can Autumn yield, If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail, And Ceres flies the naked field, And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? Oh! what remains, what lingers yet, To cheer me in the darkening hour! The grape remains! the friend of wit, In love, and mirth, of mighty power. Haste..... ..press the clusters, fill the bowl; Apollo! shoot thy parting ray; This gives the sunshine of the soul, This god of health, and verse, and day. Still.....still the jocund strain shall flow, The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; My Stella with new charms shall glow, And ev'ry bliss in wine shall meet. WINTER, AN ODE. No more the morn, with tepid rays, And Phoebus holds a doubtful sway. |