The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the shady bow'r;
The town and village, dome and farm:
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.
See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the ev'ning gilds the tide,
How close and small the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step, methinks, may pass
the stream,
So little distant dangers seem:
So we mistake the future's face,
Eyed through Hope's deluding glass,
As yon summits, soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which, to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear:
Still we tread the same coarse way;
The present's still a cloudy day.
0 may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see!
Content with me an humble shade,
My passions tam'd; my wishes laid,
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul:
"Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.
Now, e'en now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky,
Now, e'en now, my joys run high.
Be full, ye courts! be great who will; Search for Peace with all your skill; Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor:
In vain ye search, she is not there;
In vain ye search the domes of Care!
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure close allied,
Ever by each other's side;
And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush while all is still,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.
CLIII. EDWARD LOVIBOND, 1700—1783.
VERSES WRITTEN AT BRIGHTON.
Here Charles lay shelter'd, from this desert shore
He launched the bark, and braved the tempest's roar;
He trusted here the faith of simple swains,
And ocean friendlier than Worcester's plains,
No beauteous forms, as now, adorned it then,
The downs were pathless, without haunt of men.
One shepherd wandered on the lowly hill,
One village maid explored the distant rill.
But mark the glittering scenes succeeding these;
See peopled all the shores and healing seas;
Yet, friend to Britain, flows alike the wave
With India's treasures and defrauds the grave.
Had fate now placed him on this fairy land;
The thoughtless Charles had lingered on the strand,
Nor danger chilled, nor high ambition fired
That wanton bosom, by the loves inspired:
His languid sails the monarch here had furled,
Had gained a N- -m's smile and lost the world.
CLIV. DR. DODDRIDGE, 1702—1751.
"Live whilst you live," the epicure would say,
"And taste the pleasures of the passing day."
"Live whilst you live," the sacred preacher cries
"And give to God each moment as it flies,"
Lord! in my life let both united be;
I live to pleasure if I live to Thee.
CLV. DR B. STILLINGFLEET, 1702-1771.
The rays of wit gild wheresoe'er they strike,
But are not therefore fit for all alike;
They charm the lively, but the grave offend,
And raise a foe as often as a friend:
Like the resistless beams of blazing light,
That cheer the strong and pain the weakly sight.
If a bright fancy therefore be your share,
Let judgment watch it with a guardian's care;
"Tis like a torrent apt to overflow,
Unless by constant government kept low;
And ne'er inefficacious passes by,
But overturns or gladdens all that's nigh.
Or else, like trees when suffered wild to shoot,
That put forth much but all unripen'd fruit,
It turns to affectation and grimace,
As like to wit, as dulness is to grace.
2. FORBEARANCE.
Would you be well received where'er you go,
Remember each man vanquished is a foe,
Resist not, therefore, with your utmost might,
But let the weakest think he's sometimes right;
He for each triumph you shall thus decline,
Shall give ten opportunities to shine:
He sees, since once you owned him to excel,
That 'tis his interest you should reason well.
CLVI. ROBERT DODSLEY, 1703–1764.
1. THE MURDERED CHILD.
O fearful silence! Not a sound returns,
Save the wild echoes of my own sad cries,
To my affrighted ear! My child, my child!
Where art thou wandered-where, beyond the reach
Of thy poor mother's voice? Yet, while above
The God of Justice dwells, I will not deem
The bloody vision true. Heaven hath not left me—
There truth is known, well known-and see my love!
See where upon the bank its wearied limbs
Lie stretched in sleep. In sleep!-O agony!
Blast not my senses with a sight like this!
'Tis blood! 'tis death! my child, my child is murdered!
2. THE PARTING KISS: A SONG.
One kind wish before we part,
Drop a tear, and bid adieu :
Though we sever, my fond heart,
Till we meet, shall pant for you.
Yet, yet weep not so, my love,
Let me kiss that falling tear;
Though my body must remove,
All my
soul will still be here.
All my soul, and all my heart,
And every wish shall pant for you;
One kind kiss, then, ere we part,
Drop a tear, and bid adieu.
CLVIII. MOSES BROWN, 1703-1787.
A cloudy paleness dims the skies,
And floating mists from steaming rivers rise:
See! the blue fogs bespread the fenny ground,
And fill the chilly air with damps unsound;
A sultry noon the danky vapour shews
And evening plenteous of refreshing dews.
No seasons please when griefs the mind o'erpower Griefs gloom alike the morn and midnight hour. Damp fall the piercing mists, a chilling air! 'Till cheer'd by milder skies, thy sports forbear, 'Till from the banks recedes the unhealthy dew; At eve, more blithe, our pastimes we'll renew.
CLIX. WILLIAM HAMILTON, 1704-1754
THE TOMB OF LOVE.
See a tomb, its gates displayed,
Expands an everlasting shade.
O ye inhabitants, that dwell
Each forgotten in your cell,
0 say, for whom of human race
Has fate decreed this hiding-place ľ
And hark! methinks a spirit calls,
Low winds the whisper round the walls,
A voice the sluggish air that breaks,
Solemn amid the silence speaks.
"Mistaken man, thou seek'st to know,
What known will but afflict with woe:
There thy Monimia shall abide,
With the pale bridegroom rest a bride,
The wan assistants there shall lay
In weeds of death her beateous clay."
O words of woe, what do I hear?
What sounds invade a lover's ear?
Must then thy charms, my anxious care,
The fate of vulgar beauty share?
Good heaven, retard (for thine the power)
The wheels of time that roll the hour.
Yet ah! why swells my breast with fears ?
Why start the interdicted tears ?
Love, dost thou tempt again? depart,
Thou devil, cast out from my heart.
Sad I forsook the feast, the ball,
The sunny bower and lofty hall,
And sought the dungeon of despair:
Yet thou overtakest me there.
CLX. SIR GILBERT ELLIOTT, 17**—1777.
My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook,
And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook ;
No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove;
For ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love.
Oh, what had my youth with ambition to do?
Why left I Amynta ? why broke I my vow?
Oh, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore,
And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more.
Through regions remote in vain do I rove,
And bid the wide ocean secure me from love!
Oh fool! to imagine that aught could subdue
A love so well-founded, a passion so true!
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