Pour to you the liquid measures; Soft as when your downy wings Fan the strings, Murmuring sweetly pensive pleasures. Ah! no such reward ye seek; Blushing if it meet my gazes, O'er that bosom's living snow Little you regard my praises. Yet, if to my sober ear Sound your voices sadly sighing, To your airy woe replying; Mindful now, in amorous play Boldly gay As around her charms ye hover, Oh! in whisper'd sighs reveal What I feel, What to you alone discover. F. LAURENCE. ODE. O WAVING woods! O hills! O springs, and warbling rills! O far spread wilds, and sun-excluding bowers! Where, stung with anguish deep, I wander'd oft to weep, And waste unseen the slowly lapsing hours! Once more from cities proud, Tired of their moiling crowd, Soon shall I come my former paths to tread; But not, as erst, shall I Amid your beauties sigh, To all but pain and hopeless sorrow dead. Fair to my gladden'd eyes Will every object rise, As through your well known haunts I rove along; For I shall not deplore, Nor teach your echoes more Of fruitless love the melancholy song. Sad were indeed those days When, flying man's rude gaze, A host of woes my sicken'd soul alarm'd; Then nor the woodland strains Nor verdure-vested plains 1 Nor gales odorous nor bright landscapes charm'd. Then, misery's chosen child, I sought your loneliest wild, Where stole the brook, scarce heard its murmurs And, stretch'd on dewy earth, I cursed my hour of birth, And pour'd to winds my unavailing plaint. Sad were those days indeed! But soon my pastoral reed, [faint; To songs of joy awaked, ye glad shall hear: For now the clouds are pass'd That long my life o'ercast; The forms are fled of anguish and of fear. Yes, here your gloomy reign Ends, O long-cherish'd train Of moody thoughts and soul-depressing cares; For me Ianthe wreaths A myrtle crown, and breathes [prayers. Soft rapturous sighs, fond vows, and tenderest She, she, divinest maid, Blooms, in such charms array'd As opening roses on their sunny beds! Her accents might beguile Despair; her look, her smile On all around delicious influence sheds. But not her smiles alone, Her voice of melting tone, Nor bloom, nor grace my willing heart control; For in her form enshrined Resides the radiant mind That crowns, illumes, and animates the whole. By her beloved, new born Am I to bliss; the morn More sweet appears, more blue the' expanse above; More mild the passing gale, More verdant seems the vale, And all is gladness, harmony, and love. Now, to my unfilm'd sight, O sun! thy golden light, From which I wont disgusted to retire, Once more I feel is dear, Once more my breast can cheer, And ardent hopes and thoughts sublime inspire. 1 : Dian, more fair meseems Thou art than when thy beams Saw me retreat in solitude to pine; And ye, aye burning stars, That guide your emerald cars Mid boundless space, with nobler lustre shine. Now, joyous as I rove, Each cool and whispering grove, Not less to bliss than to 'pale passion' dear, Shall bid its feather'd throng Awake a sprightlier song, And pour delight upon my tranced ear. Nor thou, my lyre, that oft, In numbers sweetly soft, Hast plain'd the story of thy master's woes, With ecstasy, shalt lie Unstrung, and sunk in indolent repose. Now, from thy vocal wires, And rosy-pinion'd pleasure hovers round, My rapid hand shall call, But bid thy boldest harmonies resound. Yes, glowing be the song! Such raptures well belong To him who sings the bless'd Ianthe's praise : And lo! more mildly bright Than Hesper's beamy light She comes, the queen, the glory of my lays. She comes! ye zephyrs bland, Your purple plumes expand; Ye blooming flowers, your balmy breath diffuse; Ye birds, with warbled air, Salute the peerless fair, Sacred to love, to beauty, and the muse. R. A. DAVENPORT. TO SLEΕΡ. THOUGH oft in hours of grief and pain, But fly to Lesbia's couch, and there R. A. DAVENPORT. |