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STANZAS, WRITTEN ON LEAVING A SCENE IN

BAVARIA.

БҮ THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ AUTHOR OF THE
PLEASURES OF HOPE.

DIEU, the woods and water's fide,
Imperial Danube's rich domain:
Adieu the grotto wild and wide,
The rocks abrupt and graffy plain!
For pallid Autumn once again

Hath chill'd the breath of ev'ry gale,
And fwell'd each torrent of the hill":
Her clouds collect, her fhadows fail,
And watry winds that fweep the vale
Grow loud, and louder fill.
But not the ftorm, dethroning faft
Yon monarch oak of maffy pile,
Nor river roaring to the blaft
Around its dark and defert ifle,
Nor curfew tolling to beguile
The cloud-born thunder paffing by,
Can found in difcord to my foul:
Roll on, ye mighty waters, roll-
And rage, thou darken'd sky!

Thy bloffom, though no longer bright,
Thy wither'd woods no longer green;
Yet, Éldun fhore, with dark delight
I vifit thy unlovely fcene;

For many a fun-fet hour ferene
My steps have trod thy mellow dew,
When his green light the flire-fly gave,
When Cynthia from the diftant wave

Her twilight anchor drew;

*During thunder-ftorms in the Catholic countries of Germany ftrikes the imagination, in addition to the fublime horror of the fcenery, to hear the pealing of bells from the adjacent monafteries, which are founded as a religious ceremony to deprecate the effects of lightning.

And,

And plough'd, as with a fwelling fail,
The billowy clouds and fta: ry (ea :
Then, while thy hermit nightingale
Sung on her fragrant apple-tree,
Romantic, folitary, free,

The vifitant of Eldun's fhore

On such a moon-bright mountain stray'd,
As echo'd to the mufic made

By druid harps of yore!

Around thy favage hills of oak,
Around thy waters bright and blue,
No hunter's horn the filence broke-
No dying fhriek thine echo knew :
But fafe, fweet Eldun woods, to you
The wounded wild deer ever ran,

Whofe myrtle bound their graffy cave,
Whofe very rocks a shelter gave
From blood-purfuing man!

Oh, heart effufions, that arose

By nightly wand'rings nourish'd here,
To him that flies from nany woes
E'en homeless deferts can be dear!
The laft, the folitary cheer

Of them that own no earthly home,
Say, is it not, ye banish'd race,
In fuch a lov'd and lonely place
Companionless to roam?

Yes, I have lov'd thy wild abode,

(Unknown, unplough'd, untrodden shore!) Where fearce the woodman finds a road,

And scarce the fisher plies an oar !

For man's neglect I love thee more; That art nor avarice intrude,

To tame thy torrent's thunder shock,
Or prune thy vintage of the rock
Magnificently rude!

Unheeded tpreads thy bloffom'd bud
Its milky bofom to the bee,
Unheeded falls along the flood
Thy defolate and aged tree!
P 5

Forfaken

Forfaken fcene, how like to thee
The fate of unbefriended Worth!-
Like thine her fruit dishonour'd falls,
Like thee, in folitude fhe calls
A thousand treasures forth!

Oh, filent spirit of the place,
If, ling'ring with the ruin'd year,
Thy hoary form and awful face
I yet might watch and worship here;
Thy ftorm were mufic to mine ear,
Thy wildest walk a shelter giv'n,
Sublimer thoughts on earth to find,
And fhare, with no unhallow'd mind,
The majefty of Heav'n!

What, though the bosom friends of Fate,
Profperity's unwearied brood,
Thy confolations cannot rate-
Óh, felf-dependant Solitude!

Yet, with a fpirit unfubdued,
Though darken'd by the clouds of care,
To worship thy congenial gloom,
Like pilgrim to the Prophet's tomb,
Misfortune fhall repair!

On her the world hath never fmil'd,
Or look'd but with accufing eye:
All-filent goddess of the wild,

To thee that misanthrope shall fly.
I hear her deep foliloquy,

And mark her proud but ravag'd form,
As ftern fhe wraps her mantle round,
And bids, on Winter's bleakeft ground,
Defiance to the ftorm!

Peace to her banish'd heart at last

In thy dominions fall defcend,
And, ftrong as beechwood in the blast,
Her fpirit fhall refufe to bend;
But, bearing life without a friend,
The world and filfehood left behind,
Thy votary fhall bear elate

In triumph o'er afflicting Fate
Her dark infpired mind!

But

But doft thou, Folly, mock the mufe

A wand'rer's mountain-walk to fing, Who fhuns a warring world, nor wooes The vulture cover of its wing?

Then fly, thou tow'ring, fhiv'ring thing, Back to the foft'ring world beguil'd, To wafte in felf-confuming ftrife The loveless brotherhood of life, Reviling and revil'd!

Away, thou lover of the race,

That hither chas'd yon weeping deer :-
If Nature's all-majestic face

More pitiless than man's appear;
Or, if the wild winds feem more drear
Than man's cold charities below,

Then fearch, around his peopled plains,
Where'er the focial favage reigns,
Exuberance of woe!

His arts and honours wilt thou feek,
Embofs'd on Grandeur's giant walls?
Or hear his moral thunders speak

Where fenates light their airy halls?
Where man his brother man enthrals,
Or fend his whirlwind-warrants forth;
To roufe the flumb'ring fiends of war,
To dye the blood-warm waves afar,
And defolate the earth!

From clime to clime purfue the scene,
And mark, on all thy fpacious way,
Where'er the tyrant man hath been,
That Peace, the cherub, cannot stay:
In wilds and woodlands, far away,
She builds her folitary bower-

Where none but anchorets have trod,
Or friendless men, to worship God,,

Have wander'd for an hour..

In fuch a far forfaken vale.

(And fuch, fweet Eldun vale, is thine) Afflicted Nature fhall inhale

Heav'n-borrow'd joys and thoughts divine--

No longer wish-no more repine
For man's regret, or woman's fcorn-
Then wed thee to an exil'd lot,

For, if the world hath lov'd thee not,
Its abfence may be borne.

A

ALFRED.

EY G. DYER.

H, why fhould Song, enchanting Song,
Her vot'ries lead through Error's maze?
Why Flatt'ry, pois'ning future days,

Give Pride thofe laurels that to Truth belong?
Avaunt, thou bard of ancient time!
I hate the base, infidious lyre,
That bids the dazzled crowds retire,
While tyrants fit as gods fublime!
I hail the man of gen'rous frame,
Who teems with love of human kind,
Who leaves the vulgar great behind,
And fcorns the fplendid treach'ries of a name!
Heroes have bafk'd, a ferpent brood,
Hatch'd by Ambition's baneful ray :
Conqu'rors, high mail'd in war array,
Have reel'd mere demons, drunk with blood!
Where Difcord hurls her torch on high,
Recount the warrior Romans dead,
The blood of gen'rous Britons fhed,
O'er vaffal fons hear humbled Gallia figh!
How streams the Rhine with German gore!
Go, Cæfar, mount the victor's car;
And, Rome, amid the spoils of war,
Your conqu'ror and the world's adore!
Ah, vain the pomp, th' imperial fway!
When Juftice takes her watchful ftand,
Actions the weighs with patient hand—
Nor will fhe rafhly throw her palins away ;
She fpurns the mad heroic race,

And

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