Nor this pellucid rill refrain With blood, no fatal tube I bear, That breast no savage sports can share All whom the breath of life inspires Mine, gentle Naiad, be the dell Whose clear stream laves thy crystal grot: Near its green margin let me dwell, By all but one dear maid forgot, And bid a world of cares farewell. Oft let me view thy trembling tide, Hopeless of happier hours to come, With Lesbia's praise the strain shall glow; Wind, lovely brook, thy murmuring way, Still with my sorrows sympathize : If zephyr should his breath deny, REV. G. HUDDISFORD. TO THE RIVER DERWENT, WRITTEN IN A ROMANTIC VALLEY NEAR ITS SOURCE. DERWENT, what scenes thy wandering waves be hold, [stray, As bursting from thine hundred springs they And down these vales, in sounding torrents roll'd, Seek to the shining east their mazy way! Here dusky alders, leaning from the cliff, Dip their long arms and wave their branches wide; There, as the loose rocks thwart my bounding skiff, White moonbeams tremble on the foaming tide. Pass on, ye waves, where, dress'd in lavish pride, Mid roseate bowers, the gorgeous Chatsworth beams, Spreads her smooth lawns along your willowy side, And eyes her gilded turrets in your streams. Pass on, ye waves, where Nature's rudest child, Frowning incumbent o'er the darken'd floods, Rock rear'd on rock, mountain on mountain piled, Old Matlock sits and shakes his crest of woods. But when fair Derby's stately towers you view, When his bright meads your sparkling currents drink, O! should Eliza press the morning dew, And bend her graceful footsteps to your brink, Uncurl your eddies, all your gales confine, And, as your scaly nations gaze around, Bid your gay nymphs portray, with pencil fine, Her radiant form upon your silver ground. With playful malice from her kindling cheek Steal the warm blush, and tinge your passing stream; Mock the sweet transient dimples as she speaks, And as she turns her eye reflect the beam! And tell her, Derwent, as you murmur by, How in these wilds with hopeless love I burn, Teach your lone vales and echoing caves to sigh, And mix my briny sorrows with your urn. DARWIN. TO THE VENUS URANIA. To heights where Fancy ne'er aspired, VOL. III. Y Not she for whom Cythera's bowers, Still, goddess, thy permitted view The eye to judge, the heart to feel. REV. T. PERCY.. LOVE AND AGE. THE night was dark; the wind blew cold; Sat by his fire, and fed the cheerful flame : And, lo! before him Cupid stands, [his name. Casts round a friendly glance, and greets him by "What! is it thou?' the startled sire In sullen tone exclaimed, while ire With crimson flush'd his pale and wrinkled cheek: 'Wouldst thou again with amorous rage Inflame my bosom? Steeled by age, [too weak. Vain boy, to pierce my breast thine arrows are 'What seek you in this desert drear? No smiles or sports inhabit here; Ne'er did these valleys witness dalliance sweet: Eternal winter binds the plains; Age in my house despotic reigns; [heat. My garden boasts no flower, my bosom boasts no Begone, and seek the blooming bower, Where some ripe virgin courts thy power, Or bid provoking dreams flit round her bed; On Damon's amorous breast repose, Wanton on Chloe's lip of rose, Or make her blushing cheek a pillow for thy head. 'Be such thy haunts! These regions cold Avoid! Nor think, grown wise and old, This hoary head again thy yoke shall bear: Remembering that my fairest years By thee were mark'd with sighs and tears, I think thy friendship false, and shun the guileful snare. 'I have not yet forgot the pains I felt, while bound in Julia's chains : The ardent flames with which my bosom burn'd; The nights I passed deprived of rest; The jealous pangs which rack'd my breast; My disappointed hopes and passion unreturn'd. 'Then fly, and curse mine eyes no more! Fly from my peaceful cottage door! No day, no hour, no moment shalt thou stay. I know thy falsehood, scorn thy arts, Distrust thy smiles, and fear thy darts: Traitor, begone, and seek some other to betray!' |