Yet then shall calm reflection bless the night, When liberal pity dignify'd delight; When Pleasure fir'd her torch at Virtue's flame, And Mirth was Bounty with an humbler name. SPRING. AN ODE. STERN Winter now, by Spring repress'd, Nor from thy pleasing groves depart, The author being ill of the gout. Here let me through the vales pursue Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd; When best enjoy'd-when most improv'd. Teach me, thou venerable bower, Cool meditation's quiet seat, The silent grandeur of retreat. Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, MIDSUMMER, AN ODE. O PHOEBUS! down the western sky, Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care, And cheer me with a lambent light. Thy voice perpetual love inspires. Whilst all my wish and thine complete, By turns we languish and we burn, Let sighing gales our sighs repeat, 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. AUTUM N, AN ODE. ALAS! with swift and silent pace, Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe. 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay, Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away, And Summer-fruits desert the bough. The verdant leaves that play'd on high, And wanton'd on the western breeze, Now trod in dust neglected lie, As Boreas strips the bending trees. The fields that wav'd with golden grain, As russet heaths, are wild and bare ; Not moist with dew, but drench'd with rain, Nor health, nor pleasure, wanders there. No more while through the midnight shade, Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade, As Progne pours the melting lay. From this capricious clime she soars, Oh! would some god but wings supply! To 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; This god of health, and verse, and day. WINTER. AN ODE. No more the morn, with tepid rays, With sighs we view the hoary hill, No vivid colours paint the plain; No more with devious steps I rove Through verdant paths now sought in vain. Aloud the driving tempest roars, Congeal'd, impetuous showers descend; Haste, close the window, bar the doors, Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend. |