Works

I.

Thrice happy he, whose life restores
The pleasures pure of early times;
That ne'er, with anxious heart, explores
The rugged heights Ambition climbs;
Exempt from all the din, the toil, the care,...

BARINE, to thy always broken vows
Were slightest punishment ordain'd;
Hadst thou less charming been
By one grey hair upon thy polish'd brows;
If but a single tooth were stain'd,
A nail discolour'd seen,...

Boy, not in these Autumnal bowers
Shalt thou the Persian Vest dispose,
Of artful fold, and rich brocade;
Nor tie in gaudy knots the sprays and flowers.
Ah! search not where the latest rose...

LEUCONOE, cease presumptuous to inquire
Of grave Diviner, if successive years
Onward shall roll, ere yet the funeral pyre,
For thee and me, the hand of Friendship rears!...

O, Lydia! I conjure thee tell
Why, with persisting zeal, thou dost employ
The strongest power of amorous spell
On Sybaris, belov'd too well,
Wounding his fame amid voluptuous joy?
...

'T was night - the moon, upon her sapphire throne,
High o'er the waning stars serenely shone,
When thou, false Nymph, determin'd to prophane
Them, and each Power that rules the earth, and main,...

My Phidyle, retir'd in shady wild,
If thou thy virgin hands shalt suppliant raise,
If primal fruits are on thy altars pil'd,
And incense pure thy duteous care conveys,...

Sweet Phyllis, leave thy quiet home,
For lo! the ides of April come!
Then hasten to my bower;
A cask of rich Albanian wine,
In nine years mellowness, is mine,
To glad the festal hour.
...

OCTOBER 1796.


Conscious the mortal stamp is on thy breast,
O, ERSKINE! still an equal mind maintain,
That wild Ambition ne'er may goad thy rest,
Nor Fortune's smile awake thy triumph vain,
...

The snows dissolve, the rains no more pollute,
Green are the sloping fields, and uplands wide,
And green the trees luxuriant tresses shoot,
And, in their daisied banks, the shrinking rivers glide.
...

FROM THE ITALIAN OF FILACAJA.


Here, from laborious Art, proud TOWNS, ye rose!
Here, in an instant, sunk! - nor ought remains
Of all ye were! - on the wide, lonely plains...

In this chill morning of a wintry Spring
I look into the gloom'd and rainy vale;
The sullen clouds, the stormy winds assail,
Lour on the fields, and with impetuous wing...

Ceas'd is the rain; but heavy drops yet fall
From the drench'd roof; - yet murmurs the sunk wind
Round the dim hills; can yet a passage find
Whistling thro' yon cleft rock, and ruin'd wall....

Do I not tell thee surly Winter's flown,
That the brook's verge is green; - and bid thee hear,
In yon irriguous vale, the Blackbird clear,
At measur'd intervals, with mellow tone,...

When mourn the dark Winds o'er the lonely plain,
And from pale noon sinks, ere the fifth cold hour,
The transient light, Imagination's power,
With Knowledge, and with Science in her train,...