But tender blossom, why so pale?
Dost hear stern Winter in the gale?

And didst thou tempt the dubious sky,
To catch one vernal glance, and die?

Such the wan lustre Sickness wears,
When Health's first faltering beam appears:
So languid are the smiles, that seek
To nestle in the care-worn cheek;

When timorous Hope the head half rears;
Still drooping, and still moist with tears;
If thwart involving griefs be seen
Of Bliss the distant speck serene.

And sweeter far the early blow

Of Solace, following storms of Woe,

Than, Comfort's riper season come,

Joys more mature, and Pleasure's gaudier bloom.

ΤΟ

THE NAIAD OF BRINKINALT.*

To thee, bright Naiad of the silver Spring,
(List from thy pebbly grotto, while I sing,)

To thee the tribute of her earliest lays, t

For many a mantling Draught, the Muse repays.

* The name of Lord Dungannon's seat in Denbighshire. These lines were written while the author was on a visit there, in 1785.

Healthsome and pure, as is the morning gale,

Such lymph should crown the Hermit's thrifty meal,
Who but requires what frugal Nature wants;
Water and fruits; the feast of Temperance!
Thy flower-enamell'd turf, and mirror fair,

To praise were vain: accept the Poet's prayer;
And bounteous Naiad still our board supply:—
(When cold will quench, what Maiden should deny?)
So may no Hand impure thy current soil,

Thy crystal sources taint, or banks defile!
Thro' blooms untrampled while thy splendours flow,
And on their brink half-hidden violets glow;
That seem, so low their dusky corolls droop,
Faint with excessive fragrance-thus to stoop.
So may no Frost, thy limpid course detaining,
To silence doom, in Scythian fetters chaining!
So may you ne'er, while parching Summers burn,
Mourn a scant channel, and exhausted urn!
But, whether Winter frore the gloomy scene
Deform, or Sirius sheathe his fires in green,
Down the moist cliff thy murmuring tribute throw
To Deva's wizard streams, that foam below!*
And may some future Bard, fair Naiad, sing,
In happier melodies, thy Cambrian spring!
O'er distant tracts effuse the liquid name,

And teach to emulate Blandusiant fame!

* The stream rises on a hill; and hurrying down, joins a branch of the Dee which flows through the vale beneath. The excellence of the water gave occasion to these lines.-" Nor yet "where Deva spreads her wizard stream." MILTON.

O fons Blandusiæ! splendidior vitro!

HOR.

ODE.*

O Tu, severi Religio loci,

Quocunque gaudes nomine, (non leve
Nativa nam certé fluenta

Numen habet, veteresque sylvas ;
Præsentiorem et conspicimus Deum
Per invias rupes, fera per juga,
Clivosque præruptos, sonantes
Inter aquas, nemorumque noctem,
Quam si repostus sub trabe citreâ
Fulgeret auro, et Phidiacâ manu,)
Salve vocanti rité, fesso et
Da placidam Juveni quietem!
Quod si invidendis sedibus, et frui
Fortuna sacrâ lege silentii
Vetat volentem, me resorbens
In medios violenta fluctus;

Saltem remoto des Pater angulo
Horas Senectæ ducere liberas !

Tutumque vulgari tumultu

Surripias, Hominumque curis!

IMITATED.+

Shade-wrapt and silent!-Power austere,
Whom Wisdom's musing sons revere !
Unseen of thoughtless glance profane,

Whom yet these solemn haunts contain;

* Of Gray; written in the Album of the Fathers, at the Grand Chartreuse.

+ I cannot tell the date of this imitation.

M.

And mid hoar woods, and torrents bold,
To the rapt eye thy form unfold,
More awful dim, than, eftly plann'd
By Phidias' wonder-working hand,
Within some Parian Temple raised
Had it in pomp of sculpture blazed!
By thy deep solitudes inspired,
Of the World's worthless tumult tired,
A willing, longing guest, I come;
And hail and court-thy soothing gloom.
For-pall'd how soon! my listless youth
Sighs for repose: Repose and Truth.
But hurried from the twilight seat,
And stillness of thy blest retreat,
Should Fortune plunge me in the noise
Of Life's vain griefs, and idler joys,
O bid at least "my weary age
"Find out the peaceful hermitage !"

The calm I sue for, there at length attain,

Far from the vulgar din, and trivial cares of Men?

NUMBER XLII.

SATURDAY, JULY 2d, 1808.

Non anxié disputo quibus modis id fiat. Mihi satis est, quod Qui promisit hoc futurum*—sic verax est, ut mentiri non possit: sic potens est, ut quicquid velit, nutu valeat efficere.

ERASMUS.t

WHILST Infidels profanely dispute the miracles of Revelation, they are surrounded, and as it were confuted, by a host of daily marvels, which they are compelled to believe.

All we behold is Miracle: but seen

So duly, all is miracle in vain !+

Is not Man a Miracle? His form, his nature,

* As the miraculous conception, birth, holiness, life, sufferings, death, resurrection, glory, God-head, intercession, and eternal life of our Redeemer-are a mere fulfillance of the promises of God, made theretofore to Man, by the mouths of his inspired Prophets.

+ Inquisitio de Fide. It is manifest that the person into whose mouth these words, in the dialogue, are put, is intended to represent Erasmus himself; and that, in the passage which I have chosen for a motto, this learned and enlightened Man is giving his own profession of Faith.

+ COWPER.