« PředchozíPokračovat »
Unless the World were all prepard t'embrace
TO THE REVEREND MR. NEWTON.
AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY.
Compose their useless wing,
The wildest wind that blows,
Bids me and Mary mourn ;
And whispers your return.
Shall chase him from the bow'rs, And weave fresh garlands ev'ry day,
To crown the smiling hours.
Of happier times, appear,
Shall shine and dry the tear.
She came-she is gone--we have met
And meet perhaps never again; The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain. Catharina has fled like a dream
(So vanishes pleasure, alas !) But bas left a regret and esteem,
That will not so suddenly pass.
The last ev'ning ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I, Our progress was often delay'd
By the nightingale warbleing nigh. We paus'd under many a tree,
And much she was charm'd with a tone Less sweet to Maria and me,
Who so lately had witness'd her own.
My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine, As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I esteemid
The work of my fancy the more, And ev'n to myself never seem'd
tuneful a poet before.
Though the pleasures of London exceed
In number the days of the year, Catharina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here; For the close woven arches of limes
On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times
Than aught that the city can show.
So it is, when the mind is endu'd
With a well-judging taste from above, Then, whether embellish'd or rude,
'Tis nature alone that we love.
May even our wonder excite,
A lasting, a sacred delight.