To tell thy tender tale;
The lowliest children of the ground, Moss-rose and violet blossom round, And lily of the vale.
O say, what soft propitious hour 1 best may choose to hail thy pow'r, And court thy gentle sway?
When Autumn, friendly to the Muse, Shall thy own modest tints diffuse, And shed thy milder day?
When Eve, her dewy star beneath, Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe, And every storm is laid?
If such an hour was e'er thy choice, Oft let me hear thy soothing voice
Low whisp'ring thro' the shade.
Lovely, lasting peace of mind!
Sweet delight of human kind!
Heavenly born, and bred on high
To crown the favorites of the sky
With more of happiness below,
Than victors in a triumph know!
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek contented head;
What happy region dost thou please
To make the seat of calms and ease!
Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state, to meet thee there.
Encreasing avarice would find
Thy presence in its gold inshrin'd.
The bold adventurer ploughs his way,
Through rocks amidst the foaming sea,
To gain thy love; and then perceives:
Thou wert-not in the rocks and waves.
The silent heart which grief assails,
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales,
Sees daisies open, rivers run,
And seeks, (as I have vainly done)
Amusing thought; but learns to know
That Solitude's the nurse of woe.
No real happiness is found
In trailing purple o'er the ground:
Or in a soul exalted high,
To range the circuit of the sky,
Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below;
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies,
And doubts at last for knowledge rise.
Lovely, lasting peace, appear!
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast.
'Twas thus, as under shade I stood, I sung my wishes to the wood,
And, lost in thought, no more perceiv'd
The branches whisper as they way'd:
It seem'd as all the quiet place
Confess'd the presence of the grace;
When thus she spoke-Go rule thy will,
Bid thy wild passions all be still;
Know God-and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow :
Then every grace shall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest.
Oh! by yonder mossy seat,
In my hours of sweet retreat;
Might I thus my soul employ,
With sense of gratitude and joy:
Rais'd, as ancient prophets were,
In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer;
Pleasing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone:
Then while the gardens take my sight,
With all the colours of delight;
While silver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my song:
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,
And thee, great source of nature! sing.
The sun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day;
The moon that shines with borrow'd light;
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The seas that roll unnumber'd waves;
The wood that spreads its shady leaves;
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain ;—
All of these, and all I see,
Shoud be sung, and sung by me:
They speak their maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of man.
Go, search among your idle dreams,
Your busy or your vain extremes:
And find a life of equal bliss,
Or own the next begun in this.
THE PLEASURES OF RETIREMENT.
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound ; Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire ;
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
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