There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,
Would fhrink to hear th' obftreperous trump of Fame
Supremely bleft, if to their portion fall
Health, competence and peace.-

DR. BEATTIE,

WHEN in the crimfson cloud of even

The lingering light decays,

And Hefper on the front of heaven

His glittering gem difplays;

Deep in the filent vale, unfeen,

Befide a lulling ftream,

A pensive youth of placid mien,
Indulg'd this tender theme:

II.

Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled
High o'er the glimmering dale;

Ye woods, along whofe windings wild
Murmurs the folemn gale;

Where Melancholy ftrays forlorn,

And Woe retires to weep,

What time the wan moon's yellow horn
Gleams on the western deep:

Το

III.

you, ye wastes, whose artless charms Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,

'Scaped

'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms,
Το your retreats I fly.

Deep in your most fequefter'd' bower
Let me at last recline,

Where Solitude, mild, modeft power,
Leans on her ivy'd shrine.

IV.

How shall I woo thee, matchless fair!

Thy heavenly fmile how win?

Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care,
And ftills the ftorm within.

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove

Thine ardent votary bring,

And blefs his hours, and bid them move
Serene, on filent wing!

V.

Oft let remembrance footh his mind

With dreams of former days,

When in the lap of Peace reclin'd
He framed his infant lays;
When Fancy rov'd at large, nor Care
Nor cold Diftruft alarm'd,

Nor Envy with malignant glare

His fimple youth had harm'd.

VI.

'Twas then, O Solitude! to thee

His early vows were paid,

From heart fincere, and warm, and free,

Devoted to the shade.

Ah why did Fate his steps decoy

In ftormy paths to roam,

K 5

Remote

Remote from all congenial joy?—

.O take the wanderer home.

VII.

Thy fhades, thy filence, now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme;

My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy ftream,

Whence the scar'd owl on pinions grey
Breaks from the rustling boughs,
And down the lone vale fails away
To more profound repofe.

VIII.

pours

O while to thee the woodland

Its wildly warbling fong,

And balmy from the bank of flowers

The zephyr breathes along;

Let no rude found invade from far,
No vagrant foot be nigh,

No ray from grandeur's gilded car

Flash on the startled eye!

No more I climb those toilfome heights
By guileful Hope misled;

Leaps my

fond fluttering heart no more

To Mirth's enlivening ftrain;

For present pleasure foon is o'er,

And all the past is vain.

SECT. CXI.

DR. BEATTIE.

AN ELEGY.

TILL shall unthinking man substantial deem

STILL

The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream;

Till at fome ftroke of Fate the vision flies,

And fad realities in profpect rife;

And, from Elyfian flumbers rudely torn,

The startled foul awakes, to think and mourn?
O ye, whofe hours in jocund train advance,
Whofe fpirits to the fong of gladness dance;
Who flowery plains in endless pomp furvey,
Glittering in beams of vifionary day;
O, yet while Fate delays th' impending woe,
Be rous'd to thought, anticipate the blow;
Left, like the lightning's glance, the fudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;
Left, thus encompafs'd with funereal golom,
Like me, ye bend o'er fome untimely tomb,
Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
And half pronounce Heaven's facred doom fevere.

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Wife,

Wife, Beauteous, Good! O every grace combin'd,
That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
Fresh, as the flow'ret opening on the morn,
Whofe leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!
Sweet, as the downy-pinioned gale, that roves
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!
Mild, as the melodies at close of day,

That, heard remote, along the vale decay!
Yet, why with these compar'd? What tints fo fine,
What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine?
Why roam abroad, fince recollection true
Reftores the lovely form to Fancy's view?

Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces fmile;
That foul-expreffing eye, benignly bright,
Where Meeknefs beams ineffable delight;

That brow, where Wisdom fits enthron'd ferene,
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien:
Still let me liften, while her words impart
The fweet effufions of the blameless heart,
Till all my foul, each tumult charm'd away,
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.

By thee infpir'd, O Virtue, age is young,
And mufic warbles from the faultering tongue:
Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow,
And decks the faded cheek with rofy glow;
Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies
Pure heavenly luftre to the languid eyes:
But when youth's living bloom reflects the beams,
Refiftlefs on the view the glory ftreams,
Love, Wonder, Joy, alternately alarm,
And Beauty dazzles with angelic charm.

Ah,