HAIL, mildly-pleasing Solitude,
Companion of the wise and good;
But, from whose holy, piercing eye,
The herds of fools and villains fly.
Oh! how I love with thee to walk,
And listen to thy whisper'd talk,
Which innocence and truth imparts,
And melts the most obdurate hearts.
A thousand shapes you wear with ease,
And still in every shape you please.
Now wrapp'd in some mysterious dream,
A lone philosopher you seem;
Now quick from hill to vale you fly,
And now you sweep the vaulted sky;
A shepherd next, you haunt the plain,
And warble forth your oaten strain.
A lover now, with all the grace
Of that sweet passion in your
Then, calm'd to friendship, you assume
The gentle-looking Hertford's bloom,
As, with her Musidora, she
(Her Musidora fond of thee) Amid the long-withdrawing vale, Awakes the rivall'd nightingale.
Thine is the balmy breath of morn, Just as the dew-bent rose is born; And while meridian fervours beat, Thine is the woodland dumb retreat;
But chief, when evening scenes decay,
And the faint landscape swims away,
Thine is the doubtful soft decline,
And that best hour of musing thine.
Descending angels bless thy train,
The virtues of the sage, and swain ;
Plain Innocence in white array'd,
Before thee lifts her fearless head;
Religion's beams around thee shine,
And cheer thy glooms with light divine:
About thee sports sweet Liberty;
And rapt Urania sings to thee.
Oh, let me pierce thy secret cell!
And in thy deep recesses dwell;
Perhaps from Norwood's oak-clad hill,
When Meditation has her fill,
I just may cast my careless eyes
Where London's spiry turrets rise,
Think of its crimes, its cares, its pain,
Then shield me in the woods again.
THE wanton's charms, however bright,
Are like the false illusive light,
Whose flattering unauspicious blaze
To precipices oft betrays:
But that sweet ray your beauties dart,
Which clears the mind, and cleans the heart,
Is like the sacred queen of night,
Who pours a lovely gentle light
Wide o'er the dark, by wanderers bless'd,
Conducting them to peace and rest.
A vicious love depraves the mind,
'Tis anguish, guilt, and folly join'd;
But Seraphina's eyes dispense
A mild and gracious influence;
Such as in visions angels shed
Around the heaven-illumined head.
To love thee, Seraphina, sure
Is to be tender, happy, pure;
'Tis from low passions to escape,
And woo bright Virtue's fairest shape;
'Tis ecstasy with wisdom join'd;
And Heaven infused into the mind.
AH, urged too late! from Beauty's bondage free,
Why did I trust my liberty with thee?—
And thou, why didst thou, with inhuman art,
If not resolved to take, seduce my heart?
Yes, yes, you said, for lovers' eyes speak true;
You must have seen how fast my passion grew:
And, when your glances chanced on me to shine,
How my fond soul ecstatic sprung to thine!
But mark me, fair one-what I now declare
Thy deep attention claims and serious care:
It is no common passion fires my
I must be wretched, or I must be bless'd!
My woes all other remedy deny;
Or, pitying, give me hope, or bid me die!
WITH A COPY OF THE SEASONS.'
ACCEPT, loved nymph, this tribute due
To tender friendship, love, and you :
But with it take what breathed the whole,
O! take to thine the poet's soul.
If Fancy here her power displays,
And if a heart exalts these lays-
You fairest in that fancy shine,
And all that heart is fondly thine.
TELL me, thou soul of her I love,
Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled;
To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?
Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam,
And sometimes share thy lover's woe;
Where, void of thee, his cheerless home
Can now, alas! no comfort know?
Oh! if thou hoverest round my walk, While, under every well-known tree, I to thy fancied shadow talk,
every tear is full of thee;
Should then the weary eye of grief,
Beside some sympathetic stream,
In slumber find a short relief,
Oh, visit thou my soothing dream!
Come, gentle god of soft desire,
Come and possess my happy breast,
Not fury-like in flames and fire,
Or frantic Folly's wildness dress'd;
But come in Friendship's angel guise ;
Yet dearer thou than Friendship art,
More tender spirit in thy eyes,
More sweet emotions at the heart.
O, come with goodness in thy train,
With peace and pleasure void of storm,
And wouldst thou me for ever gain,
Put on Amanda's winning form.
ONE day the god of fond desire,
On mischief bent, to Damon said,
Why not disclose your tender fire,
Not own it to the lovely maid?'
The shepherd mark'd his treacherous art,
And, softly sighing, thus replied:
"Tis true, you have subdued my heart,
But shall not triumph o'er my pride.
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