DIE, blooming Flowers! as if ye ne'er had been;
Die, and relinquish this empurpled scene:
Die, and in due succession, in your stead,
Others shall bloom, and equal fragrance shed:
Like you, bereav'd of every living grace,
Like you, in every clime, the human race
Shall perish in succession." No!" I hear
Reason announce, in accent soft and clear,
Tun'd to the warbling of those heav'nly strings
With whose sweet strain the sapphire region rings
When holy Faith, in pity to mankind,
Reveals the triumphs of th' immortal mind;
I hear, with mingled music from on high,
Reason announce, "Altho' they seem to die,
"Not like the blossoms of the woody glade,
"Shall the bright Flowers of Human-nature fade:
"Adorn'd with mercy, piety, and truth,
"They still shall flourish in immortal youth."-
Ye Flowers of Human-nature! at the time
We grieve for your decay, in orient prime,
Beneath the brilliancy of heavenly skies,
Ye bloom; while here ye seem to fade, ye rise
Gay in th' embellishment of recent hues;
Gales of more exquisite perfume diffuse,
Than ye could breathe amid the mists below;
And gilt with beams of conscious splendor glow.
WHEN Ceres with a liberal hand,
Her bounty deals around,
And rural Labour's joyful band
Behold their wishes crown'd;
When Flora's gaudier beauties fade
That bore the bell in Spring,
And Silence holds the sylvan glade
Where Music wont to sing;
What time September's chastened beam
To rural walks invites,
Down the green margin of the stream
Or up the breezy heights;.
When Swallows on the house-top meet
In council to prepare
For warmer climes, the voyage fleet
Through distant fields of air;
Meek Flowret then, we greet thy birth,
In yonder sheltered bed,
Where smiling on the lap of earth
Thou lift'st thy purple head.
Poor Orphan! no parental leaves
Protect thy infant bloom,
Thee Fortune of that boon bereaves;
They met an early doom!
Thy nakedness with pitying eye
The gentle Cowslip sees,
And spreads her verdant mantle nigh
To screen thee from the breeze.
Whilst Robin still at Evening's hour
(As if respect to pay)
Perches beside thee in the bower,
And chaunts his dulcet lay.
Thy vernal sister sprang to light
The lengthening day to cheer,
But thou remain'st to charm our sight
When Winter's gloom draws near.
O! could the Muse thy date prolong
Beyond a Flowret's doom,
Then should'st thou flourish in my song
Perennially in bloom.
DROMORE, SEPT. 1805.
OLD George has a habit, from which he won't swerve, Of telling strange tales, when a school-boy at Oldham; But I wish that this habit would now-and-then serve To make him remember how oft he has told 'em.
THE light breeze steals the vesper-dew
From golden clouds that burn on high,
Which fling o'er Heaven's transparent blue
The changing colours of the sky;
While o'er the distant waters pale
That glimmer on the aching sight,
They tinge the white unfurling sail,
With rosy wreaths of western light.
And as the Sca's cold bosom glows,
Yon isle in doubtful distance seen,
The waving shade of twilight throws
O'er the proud billow's pallid green.
And deep in Ocean's sparry caves,
The sea-shells to the Zephyr ring,
That fluttering o'er the silver waves,
Pours the first music of the spring.
Amid the waters mournful roar,
They soothe the Wanderer of the deeps, Who turns to view the parting shore,
And o'er the well-known landscape weeps!
EDINBURGH, JUNE 12, 1805.
On the Death of a favourite Horse, 12th April, 1800, who expired while under Exercise of a cruel Servant.
Poor, once-lov'd animal! Thou art at peace;
Thy labours all are o'er; thy race is run!
The lingering pains of wasting sickness cease;
And the last irksome task of life is done!
Yet scarcely can I check the starting tear,
That, stretch'd at length in clay-cold death's embrace, My old companion lies, who many a year
Scarce rivall'd shone in field, or course, or chace!
Can I forget, when on the dusty plain
Thou bor'st me foremost mid th' applauding shout, When c'en as the last point we seem'd to gain, One faithful spring reliev'd the loitering doubt?
Can I forget, how oft with footstep strong
For thy pleas'd Master thou hast won thy way, When hill and vale, the flat, the woods among, The echoing hounds pursu'd the fleeting prey?
|