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O wilt thou to thy favourite grove
Thine ardent votary bring,

And bless his hours, and bid them move
Serene, on silent wing?

Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind With dreams of former days,

When in the lap of Peace reclined
He framed his infant lays;

When Fancy roved at large, nor Care
Nor cold Distrust alarm'd,

Nor Envy with malignant glare
His simple youth had harm'd.

''Twas then, O Solitude! to thee

His early vows were paid,

From heart sincere, and warm, and free,
Devoted to the shade.

Ah why did Fate his steps decoy
In stormy paths to roam,

Remote from all congenial joy!-
O take the wanderer home.

'Thy shades, thy silence now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme;

My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy stream.

Whence the scared owl on pinions gray

Breaks from the rustling boughs,
And down the lone vale sails away
To more profound repose.

'O, while to thee the woodland pours
Its wildly warbling song,

And balmy from the bank of flowers

The Zephyr breathes along;

Let no rude sound invade from far,

No vagrant foot be nigh,

No ray from Grandeur's gilded car
Flash on the startled eye.

But if some pilgrim through the glade
Thy hallow'd bowers explore,
O guard from harm his hoary head,
And listen to his lore;

For he of joys divine shall tell,
That wean from earthly woe,

And triumph o'er the mighty spell
That chains his heart below.

'For me, no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread;

No more I climb those toilsome heights,
By guileful Hope misled;

Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
To Mirth's enlivening strain;

For present pleasure soon is o'er,
And all the past is vain.'

ELEGY,

Written in the Year 1758.

STILL shall unthinking man substantial deem
The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream
Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies,
And sad realities in prospect rise;

And, from elysian slumbers rudely torn,
The startled soul awakes, to think and mourn.
O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance,
Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey,
Glittering in beams of visionary day;

O, yet while Fate delays th' impending woe,
Be roused to thought, anticipate the blow;
Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;
Lest, thus encompass'd with funereal gloom,
Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,
Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.
Wise, beauteous, good! O every grace combined,
That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
Fresh as the floweret opening on the morn,
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove
Thine ardent votary bring,

And bless his hours, and bid them move
Serene, on silent wing?

'Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind With dreams of former days,

When in the lap of Peace reclined
He framed his infant lays;

When Fancy roved at large, nor Care
Nor cold Distrust alarm'd,

Nor Envy with malignant glare
His simple youth had harm'd.

''Twas then, O Solitude! to thee

His early vows were paid,

From heart sincere, and warm, and free,
Devoted to the shade.

Ah why did Fate his steps decoy
In stormy paths to roam,

Remote from all congenial joy!-
O take the wanderer home.

Thy shades, thy silence now be mine,

Thy charms my only theme;

My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
Waves o'er the gloomy stream.
Whence the scared owl on pinions gray
Breaks from the rustling boughs,
And down the lone vale sails away

To more profound repose.

'O, while to thee the woodland pours

Its wildly warbling song,

And balmy from the bank of flowers

The Zephyr breathes along;

Let no rude sound invade from far,

No vagrant foot be nigh,

No ray from Grandeur's gilded car

Flash on the startled eye.

But if some pilgrim through the glade

Thy hallow'd bowers explore,

O guard from harm his hoary head,
And listen to his lore;

For he of joys divine shall tell,
That wean from earthly woe,

And triumph o'er the mighty spell
That chains his heart below.

For me, no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread;

No more I climb those toilsome heights,
By guileful Hope misled;

Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
To Mirth's enlivening strain;

For present pleasure soon is o'er,
And all the past is vain.'

ELEGY,

Written in the Year 1758.

STILL shall unthinking man substantial deem
The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream
Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies,
And sad realities in prospect rise;

And, from elysian slumbers rudely torn,
The startled soul awakes, to think and mourn.
O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance,
Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey,
Glittering in beams of visionary day;

O, yet while Fate delays th' impending woe,
Be roused to thought, anticipate the blow;
Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;
Lest, thus encompass'd with funereal gloom,
Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,
Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.
Wise, beauteous, good! O every grace combined,
That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
Fresh as the floweret opening on the morn,
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!

Sweet as the downy-pinion'd gale, that roves
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!
Mild as the melodies at close of day,

That heard remote along the vale decay!

Yet, why with these compared? What tints so fine,
What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine?
Why roam abroad, since recollection true
Restores the lovely form to fancy's view;
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile;
That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright,
Where Meekness beams ineffable delight;
That brow, where Wisdom sits enthroned serene,
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien :
Still let me listen, while her words impart
The sweet effusions of the blameless heart,
Till all my soul, each tumult charm'd away,
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.

By thee inspired, O Virtue, age is young,
And music warbles from the faltering tongue :
Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow,
And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow,
Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies
Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes :
But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams,
Resistless on the view the glory streams,
Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm,
And beauty dazzles with angelic charm.
Ah, whither fled! ye dear illusions, stay!
Lo, pale and silent lies the lovely clay.
How are the roses on that cheek decay'd,

Which late the purple light of youth display'd!
Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd:
With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd.
Fair was the blossom, soft the vernal sky;
Elate with hope we deem'd no tempest nigh;
When lo, a whirlwind's instantaneous gust
Left all its beauties withering in the dust.

Cold the soft hand, that sooth'd Woe's weary head! And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that shed! And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole, Infusing balm, into the rankled soul!

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