Purfe-proud, elbowing Infolence,
Bloated empiric, puff'd Pretence,
Noise that through a trumpet speaks,
Laughter in loud peals that breaks,
Intrusion with a fopling's face,
(Ignorant of time and place)
Sparks of fire Diffention blowing,
Ductile, court-bred Flattery, bowing,
Reftraint's ftiff neck, Grimace's leer,
Squint-ey'd Cenfure's artful fneer,
Ambition's bufkins steep'd in blood,
Fly thy prefence, Solitude.
Sage Reflection bent with years,
Conscious Virtue void of fears,
Muffled Silence, wood-nymph fhy,
Meditation's piercing eye,
Halcyon Peace on mofs reclin'd,
Retrospect that scans the mind,
Rapt earth-gazing Refvery,
Blushing artless Modesty,
Health that fnuffs the morning air,
Full-ey'd Truth with bosom bare,
Infpiration, Nature's child,
Seek the folitary wild.
You with the tragic Muse' retir'd
The wife Euripides infpir'd,
You taught the fadly-pleasing air
That Athens fav'd from ruins bare.
You gave the Cean's tears to flow,
And unlock'd the springs of woe;
You penn'd what exil'd Nafo thought,
And pour'd the melancholy note.
With Petrarch o'er Valcluse you stray'd,
When Death snatch'd his 'long-lov'd maid;
You taught the rocks her lofs to mourn,
You ftrew'd with flowers her virgin urn.
And late in Hagley you were seen,
With blood-fhed eyes, and fombre mien,
Hymen his yellow vestment tore,
And Dirge a wreath of cypress wore.
But chief your own the folemn lay
That wept Narciffa young and gay,
In the island Salamis.
8 See Plutarch in the life of Lyfander.
Laura, twenty years, and ten after her death.
Monody on the death of Mrs. Lyttelton.
Darkness clap'd her fable wing,
While you touch'd the mournful string,
Anguish left the pathless wild,
Grim-fac'd Melancholy fmil'd,
Drowfy Midnight ceas'd to yawn,
The starry host put back the dawn,
Afide their harps ev'n Seraphs flung
To hear thy sweet Complaint, O Young.
When all Nature's hush'd afleep,
Nor Love nor Guilt their vigils keep,
Soft you leave your cavern'd den,
And wander o'er the works of men.'
But when Phosphor brings the dawn,
By her dappled courfers drawn,
Again you to the wild retreat
And the early huntsman meet,
Where as you perfive pace along,
You catch the distant fhepherd's fong,
Or brush from herbs the pearly dew,
Or the rifing primrose view.
Devotion lends her heav'n-plum'd wings,
You mount, and Nature with you fings.
But when mid-day fervors glow,
To upland airy shades you go,
Where never funburnt woodman came,
Nor sportsman chas'd the timid game;
And there beneath an oak reclin'd,
With drowsy waterfalls behind,
'Till the tuneful bird of night
From the neighb'ring poplar's height,
Wake you with her folemn ftrain,
And teach pleas'd Echo to complain.
With you roses brighter bloom,
Sweeter every fweet perfume,
Purer every fountain flows,
Stronger every wilding grows.
Let those toil for gold who please,
Or for fame renounce their ease.
What is fame? an empty bubble,
Gold? a tranfient, fhining trouble.
Let them for their country bleed,
What was Sidney's, Raleigh's meed?
Man's not worth a moment's pain,
Bafe, ungrateful, fickle, vain.
Then let me, fequefter'd fair,
To your Sibyl grot repair,
On yon hanging cliff it stands
Scoop'd by Nature's falvage hands,
Bofom'd in the gloomy shade
Of cypress not with age decay'd.
Where the owl still-hooting fits,
Where the bat inceffant flits,
There in loftier ftrains I'll fing
Whence the changing seasons spring,
Tell how ftorms deform the skies,
Whence the waves fubfide and rise,
Trace the comet's blazing tail,
Weigh the planets in a scale;
Bend, great God, before thy shrine,
The bournless macrocofm's thine.
Save me! what's yon shrouded shade,
That wanders in the dark-brown glade ? It beckons me!-vain fears adieu,
Mysterious ghost, I follow you,
|