Three orphan children mark their mother's moan, Hang down their heads, and answer groan for groan.
Hence, hence, ye hapless images; away
Delusive Fancy: with thy subtle heat
No more thy vain machinery display,
Now the dark grave, and now the green retreat:
Contentment's truth surpasses thy deceit.
Sister of Wisdom she: of aspect mild :
Who makes the golden mean her certain seat,
And looks on casualty as nature's child;
To heaven's behests still nobly reconcil'd.
BY SIR JAMES MARRIOT, BART.
GILDING with brighter beams the vernal skies Now hastes the car of day to rise.
Youth, and Mirth, and Beauty leads
In golden reins the sprightly steeds.
With wanton Love that rolls his sparkling eyes.
Morpheus, no more
Thy poppies, cropt on Lethe's margin, shed
Around thy languid poet's head.
Thou drowsy god,
'Tis time to break thy leaden rod,
And give thy slumbers o'er.
But come, thou woodland Nymph, along,
Mistress of the vocal song,
Fancy ever fair and free,
Whether on the mountains straying,
Or on beds of roses playing,
Daughter of sweet Liberty!
Through all the ivy-circled cave
Soft music at thy birth was heard to sound;
The Graces danc'd thy bower around,
And gently dipt thee in the silver wave;
With blossoms fair thy cradle drest,
And rock'd their smiling babe to rest.
To kiss thy lips, the bees, a murmuring throng,
With busy wings, unnumber'd flew ;
For thee, from every flower their tribute drew,
And lull'd thy slumbers with an airy song.
Come in thy heavenly woven vest,
That Iris' hand has ting'd in every dye,
With which she paints the sky,
Flowing o'er thy zoneless breast.
Me, sweet enchantress, deign to bear
O'er the seas, and through the air;
O'er the plains extended wide,
O'er misty hills, and curling clouds, we ride,
Now mounting high, now sinking low,
Through hail and rain, and vapours go,
Where is treasur'd up the snow;
Where sleeps the thunder in its cell;
Where the swift-wing'd lightnings dwell;
Or where the blust'ring storms are taught to blow.
Now tread the milky way;
Unnumber'd worlds that float in æther spy,
Among the glittering planets stray,
To the lunar orbit fly,
And mountains, shores, and se as descry.
Now catch the music of the spheres ;
Which, since the birth of time,
Have, in according chime,
And fair proportion, rolling round,
With each diviner sound,
Attentive Silence, pierc'd thy listʼning ears;
Unheard by all, but those alone
Whom to Wisdom's secret throne
The Muse, with heav'n-taught guidance, deigns to bring,
To trace the sacred paths with hallow'd feet ;
Or, Fancy, who the mystic shade,
In thy airy car, pervade,
Where Plato's raptur'd spirit holds its solemn seat.
But, Fancy, downward urge thy flight,
On some mountain's towering height,
With hoary frosts eternal crown'd,
Rapt with dusky vapours round,
Let me fix my stedfast feet.
I feel, I feel the fanning gales;
The watʼry mists beneath retreat.
The noontide ray now darts its heat,
And pours its glories o'er the vales.
Glittering to the dancing beams,
Urging their stubborn way the rocks among,
I hear, and see a thousand streams
Foam, and roar, and rush along.
But to the plains descended,
Their sudden rage is ended.
Now lost in deep recess of darksome bowers,
Again now sparkling through the meads
Vested soft with vernal flowers,
Reflecting the majestic towers,
Its peaceful flood the roving channel leads.
There the rural cots are seen,
From whose low roof the curling smoke ascends,
And dims with blueish volumes all the green.
There some forest far extends
Its groves embrown'd with lengthen'd shade
Embosom'd where some Gothic seat,
Of monarchs once retreat,
In wild magnificence array'd,
The pride of ancient times presents,
And lifts, in contrast fair display'd,
Its sun reflecting battlements.
Near, some imperial city seems to reign,
Triumphant o'er the subject land;
With domes of art Vitruvian crown'd.
See gleam her gilded spires around,
Her gates in aweful grandeur stand.
Equal to shine in peace, or war sustain,
Her mighty bulwarks threat the plain
With many a work of death, and armed mound,
Where rolls her wealthy river deep and wide,
Tall groves of crowded masts arise,
Their streamers waving to the skies.
The banks are white with swelling sails,
And distant vessels stem the tide,
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