WRITTEN IN

To watch the distant sail ;

So lightly lie the turf on thee, Perhaps, on Sundah's bills forlorn,

Because thou lov'st simplicity.
He faints, with aching toil o'erborn,

And life's last spirits fail.
Ah, no! the cruel thought forbear!
Avannt, thou fiend of fell despair,

THE PASTORAL PART OF
That only death canst give!
While Heav'n eternal rules above,

MILTON'S EPITAPHIUM DAMONIS. Almena yet may find her love,

O For the soft lays of Himeria's maids!
And Solyman may live!

The strains that died in Arethusa's shades ;
Tun'd to wild sorrow on her mournful shore.
When Daphnis, Hylas, Bion breath'd no more!

Thames' vocal wave shall ev'ry note prolong,
A COTTAGE-GARDEN,

And all his villas learn the Doric song.

How Thyrsis mourn'd his long lov'd Damon AT A VILLAGE IN LORRAIN.

dead,

What sighs he atter'd, and what tears he shed OCCASIONED BY A TRADITION CONCERNING A

Ye dim retreats, ye wandering fountains know,
TREE OF ROSEMARY,

Ye desert wilds bore wiless to his woe:
Arbustum loquitur.

Where oft in grief he past the tedious day,
O thou, whom love and fancy lead

Or lovely languish'd the dull night away. To wander near this woodland bill,

Twice had the fields their blooming honours If ever music smooth'd thy quill,

bore; Or pity wak'd thy gentle reed,

And Autumn twice resign'd bis golden store, Repose beneath my humble tree,

Unconscious of his loss, while Thyrsis staid If thou lov'st simplicity.

To woo the sweet Muse in the Tuscan shade:

Crown'd with her favour, when he songht again Stranger, if thy lot has laid In toilsome scenes of busy life,

His flock forsaken, and his native plain; Full sorely may'st thou rue the strife

When to his old elm's wonted shade return'dOf weary passions ill repaid.

Then---then, he miss'd his parted friend and

mourn'd. In a garden live with ne, If thou lov'st simpliciiy.

And go, he cry'd, my tender lambs, adieu!

Your wretched master has no time for you. Flowers have sprung for many a year

Yet are there pow’rs divine in Earth or sky? O'er the village maiden's grave,

Gods can they be who destin'd tbee to die? That, one memorial sprig to save,

And shalt thou mix with shades of vulgar name; Bore it from a sister's bier;

Lost thy fair honours, and forgot thy fame? And, homeward walking, wept o'er me Not he, the god whose golden wand restrains The true tears of simplicity.

The pale ey'd people of the gloomy plains, And soon, her cottage window near,

Of Damon's fate shall thus regardless be, With care my slender stem she plac'd; Or suffer vuigar shades to berd with thee. And fondly thus her grief embrac'd;

Then go, he cry'd, &c. And cherish'd sad remembrance dear :

Yet while one strain my trembling tongue For love sincere and friendship free Are children of simplicity.

may try,

Not unlamented, shepherd, shalt thou die. When past was many a painful day,

Long in these fields thy fame shall flourish fair, Slow-pacing o'er the village green,

And Daphnis only greater honours share; In white were all its maidens seen,

To Daphnis only purer vows be paid, And bore my guardian friend away.

While Pan or Pales loves the vulgar shade. Ah death! what sacrifice to thee,

If truth or science may survive the grave, The ruins of simplicity.

Or, what is more, a poet's friendship save. One gen'rous swain her heart approv'd,

Then go, &c. A youth whose fond and faithful breast,

These, these are thine: for me what hopes With many an artless sigh confess'd,

remain ? In Nature's language, that he lov'd:

Save of long surrow, and of anguish vain. But, stranger, 'tis no tale to thee,

For who, still faithful to my side, shall go, Unless thou lov'st simplicity.

Like thee, through regions clad with chilling He died—and soon her lip was cold,

snow? And soon her rosy cheek was pale;

Like thee, the rage of fiery summers bear, The village wept to hear the tale,

When fades the wan flower in tbe burning air? When for both the slow bell tollid

The lurking dangers of the chase essay, Beneath yon flow'ry turf they lie,

Or sooth with song and various tales the day? The lovers of simplicity.

Then go, &c. Yet one boon have I to crave;

To whom shall I my hopes and fears impart? Stranger, if thy pity bleed,

Or trust the cares and follies of my heart? Wilt thou do one tendor deed,

Whose gentle councils put those cares to flight? And strew my pale fowers o'er their grave? Whose cheerful converse cheat the tedious night?

loves;

raves,

&C

The social hearth when autumn's treasures store, One gentle tear the British Chloris gave, Chill blow the winds without, and through the Chloris the grace of Maldou's purple wave bleak elm roar.

In vain-my grief no soothing words disarm, Then go, ke.

No future hopes, nor present good can charm. When the fierce suns of summer noons invade,

Then go, &c.
And Pan reposes in the green-wood shade, The happier flocks one social spirit moves,
The shepherds hide, the nymphs plunge down The same their sports, their pastures and their
the deep,

[sleep.
And waves the hedge-row o'er the ploughman's Their hearts to no peculiar object tend,
Ah! who shall charm with sueh address refin'd, None knows a fav'rite, or selects a friend.
Such attic wit, and elegance of mind ?

So herd the various natives of the main,
Then go, &c.

And Proteus drives in crowds his scaly train ; Alas! now lonely round my fields I stray,

The feather'd tribes too find an easier fate, And lonely seek the pasture's wonted way.

The meanest sparrow still enjoys his mate; Or in some diin vale's mournful shade repose

And when by chance or wearing age she dies,

The transient loss a second choice supplies.
There pensive wait the weary day's slow close,
While showers descend, the gloomy tempest | The dire vexations that from discord flow,

Man, hapless man, for ever doom'd to know
And o'er my head the struggling twilight waves.

In all the countless numbers of his kind,
Then go, &c.

Can scarcely meet with one congenial mind;

If haply found, Death wings the fatal dart, Where once fair harvest cloth'd my cultur’d The tender union breaks, and breaks his heart. plain,

Then go,
Now weeds obscene and vexing brambles reign;
The groves of myrtle and the clustering vine

Ah me! what erronr tempted me to go
Delight no more, for joy no more is mine.

O'er foreign mountains, and thro' Alpine snow ? My docks no longer find a master's care;

Too great the price to mark in Tyber's gloom Ev'n piteous as they gaze with looks of dumb Nay, yet immortal, could she boast again

The mournful image of departed Rome!
despair.
Then go, &c.

The glories of her universal reign,

And all that Maro left his fields to see, Thy hazel, Tyt'rus, has no charms for me; Too great the purchase to abandon thee! Nor yet thy wild ash, lov'd Alphesibee,

To leave thee in a land no longer seen! No more shall fancy wave her rural dream, Bid mountains rise, and oceans roll between ! By Ægan's willow, or Amynta's stream,

Ah! not embrace thee!-not to see thee die!
The trembling leaves, the fountains cool serene, Meet thy last looks, or close thy languid eye !
The murmuring zephyr, and the mossy green- Not one fond farewell with thy shade to send,
These smile unseen, and those unheeded play, Nor bid thee think of thy surviving friend I
I cut my shrubs, and careless walk'd auay.

Then go, &c.
Then go, &c.

Ye Tuscan shepherds, pardon me this tear ! Mopsus, who knows wbat fates the stars dis- Dear to the Muse, to me for ever dear! pense,

The youth I mourn a Tuscan title boreAnd solves the grove's wild warblings into sense, See Lydian Lucca : for her son deplore! Thus Mopsus mark'd what thus thy spleen O days of ecstacy! when wrapt I lay can move?

Wbore Arpo wanders down bis flow'ry way, Some baleful planet, or some hopeless love? Pluck'd the pale violet, press'd the velvet mead, The star of Saturn oft annoys the swain,

Or bade the myrtle's balmy fragrance bleed !And in the dull cold breast long holds his leaden Delighted, heard amid the rural throng, reign."

Menalcas strive with Lycidas in song.
Then go, &c.

Oft would my voice the mimic strain essay,
The nymphs too, piteous of their shepherd's Nor haply all unheeded was my lay.
Came the sad cause solicitous to know. [woe, For, shepherds, yet I boast your gen'rous meed,
“ Is this the port of jocund youth,” they cry,

The osier basket, and compacted reed: That look disgusted, and that downcast eye?

Francino crown'd me with a poet's fame, Gay smiles and love on that soft season wait;

And Dati 3 taught his beechen grores my name, He's twice a wretch whom beauty wounds too late."

2 The Tuscans were a branch of the Pelasgi Then go, &c.

that migrated into Europe, not many ages after

the dispersion. Some of them marched by land Milton seems to have borrowed this senti- colony under the conduct of Tyrsenus to Italy.

as far as Lydia, and from thence detached a ment from Guarini:

3 When Milton was in Italy, Carlo Dati was Che se t'assale a la canuta etate

professor of philosophy at Florence-a liberal Amoroso talento,

friend to men of genius and learning, as well Havrai doppio tormento,

foreigners as his own countrymen. He wrote a E di quel, che potendo non volesti,

panegyric and some poems on Lewis XIV. beE di quel, che volendo non potrai,

sides other tracts.

TO A LADY,

TO THE REV. MR. LAMB.

ON READING AN ELEGY WRITI EN BY HER ON THE

SFARCH OF HAPPINESS.

FROM THE BANKS OF THE IRWAX.

LAMB, could the Muse that boasts thy forming care,

To seek the lovely nymph you sing, Unfold the grateful feelings of my heart,

I've wander'd many a weary mile, Her hand for thee should many a wreath prepare, Froin grore to grove, from spring to spring;

And cull the choicest flowers with studious art. If here or there she deign'd to smile. For mark'd by thee was each imperfect ray

Nay what I now must blush to say, That haply wander'd v'er my infant mind ;

For sure it hap'd in evil hour; The dawn of genius brighten'd into day,

I once so far mistook my way, As thy skill open'd, as thy lore refin'd.

To seek her in the haunts of power. Each uncouth lay that faulter'd from my tongue,

How should success my search betide,
At eve or morn from Eden's murmurs caught; For Happiness on Arrowe's side,

When still so far I wander'd wrong?
Whate'er I painted, and whate'er I sung,
Thorude the strain, tho' artless was the

Was list'ning to Maria's song.
draught;

Delighted thos with you to stay,

What hope have I the nymph to see;
You wisely prais'd, and fed the sacred fire Unless you cease your magic lay,
That warms the breast with love and honest Or bring her in your arms to me?

fame;
You swell’d to nobler heights the infant lyre,
Rais'd the low thought, and check'd th' exu-

TO ALMENA. berant flame. O conld the Muse in future times obtain

“Where trembling poplars shade their parent One humble garland from th’ Aonian tree! With joy I'd bind thy favour'd brows again,

vale, With joy I'd form a fairer wreath for thee.

And tune to melody the mountain gale;
Where Irwan murmurs musically slow,
And breathing breezes through his osiers blow;

Friend of my heart, behold thy poet laid
EPISTLE TO MR.

In the dear silence of bis native shade!

Ye sacred vales, whereof the Muse, unseen, From scenes where fancy no excursion tries, Led my light steps along the moon-light green; Nor trusts her wing to smoke-envelop'd skies; Ye scenes, where peace and fancy beld their Far from the town's detested haunts remov'd,

reign, And nought but thee deserted that I lov'd; For ever lov'd, and once enjoy'd again! From noise and folly and the world got free, Ah! where is now that nameless bliss refin'd, One truant thought yet only stays for thee. That tranquil hour, that vacancy of mind? What is that world which makes the heart its As sweet the wild rose bears its baliny breast; slare?

As soon the breeze with inurmurs sooihs to rest; A restless sea, revolving wave on wave :

As smooth the stream of silver Irwan flows; There rage the storms of each uncertain clime; As fair each fower along bis border blows; There float the wrecks of fortune and of time: Yet dwells not here that nameless bliss refin'd, There hope's smooth gales in soft succession That tranquil hour, that vacancy of mind. blow,

Is it that knowledge is allied to woe; While disappointment hides the rock below. And are we happy only e'er we know? The syren pleasures tune their fatal breath, Is it that Hope withbolds ber golden ray, And lull you to the long repose of death.

That Fancy's fairy visions fade away?
What is that world? ah!'tis no more

Or can I, distant far froin all that's dear,
Than the vext ocean wbile we walk the shore. Be happy only when Almena's near?
Loud roar the winds and swell the wild waves That truth, the feelings of my heart disclose:
high,

Too dear the friendship for the friend's repose." Lash the rude beach, and frighten all the sky;

Thus mourn'd the Muse, when thro' his osiers No longer shall my little bark be rent,

wild, Since Hope resign'd her anchor to Content. The hill-born Irwan rajs'd bis head and smil'd:

Like some poor fisher that, escap'd with life, “ Child of my hopes," he fondly cried, “for. Will trust no more to elemental strife;

Nor let thy Irwan witness thy despair. (bear; But sits in safety on the green-bank side, Has peace indeed forsook my flow'ry shore? And lives upon the leavings of the tide ;

Shall Fame, and Hope, and Fancy charm no Like him contented you your friend shall see,

more? As safe, as bappy, and as poor as he.

Tho' Fame and Hope io kindred air depart,
Yet Fancy still should hold thee to her heart;
For, at thy birth, the village hind has seen
Her light wings waving o'er the shadowy green.
With rosy wreaths she crown'd the new-born

hours,
And rival fajries Gillid thy bed with flowers;

AND CONSTANTIA.

In vain--if grief shall waste thy blooming years, In what lone cave, what sacred cell,
And life dissolve ia solitude and tears."

Coeval with the birth of 'Time,
Wrapt in high cares, and thoughts sublime,

In awful silence dost thou dwell?
TO GEORGE COLMAN, ESQ.

Oft in the depth of winter's reign,

As blew the bleak winds o'er the dale; PREFIXED TO THE CORRESPONDENCE OF THEODOSIUS Moaning along the distant gale,

Has Fancy heard thy voice complain, To live beneath the golden star of love,

Oft in the dark wood's lonely way, With happier fancy, passions more refin'd,

Swift has she seen thee glancing by; Each soft'ning charm of tenderness to prove,

Or down the summer evening sky, And all the finer movements of the mind

Sporting in clouds of gilded day. From gifts like these say, what the boasted gain

If caught from thee the sacred fire, Of those who exquisitively feel or know?

That glow'd within my youthful breast ; The skill from pleasure to extract the pain,

Those thoughts too high to be exprest, And open all the avenues of woe.

Genius, if thou didst once inspire, Yet shall we, Colman, at these gifts repine ?

O pleas'd accept this votive lay, Implore cold apathy to steel the heart?

That, in my native shades retir'd, Would you that sensibility resign,

And once, once more by thee inspir'd,
And with thuse powers of genius would you

In gratitude I pay,
part?
Ah me! my friend! nor deem the verse divine
That weakness wrote in Petrarch's gentle

HYMN TO HOPE.
strain!
When once he own'd at love's unfav'ring shrine

Μυνη δ' αυλοθι ΕΛΠΙΣ εν άρρηκτοισι δομοισιν “A thousand pleasures were not worth one

Hes. pain."

WRITTEN IN 1761.
The dreams of fancy sooth the pensive heart;
For fancy's urn can new delights dispense:

Sun of the soul! whose cheerful ray
The powers of genius purer joys impart;

Darts o'er this gloom of life a smile; For genius brightens all the springs of sense.

Sweet Hope, yet further gild my way,

Yet light my weary steps awhile, O charm of every muse-ennobl'd mind,

Far, far above the grovelling crowd to rise !- Till thy fair lamp dissolve in endless day. Leave the low train of trifling cares behind,

O come with such an eye and mien, Assert its birthright, and affect the skies!

As when by amorous shepherd seen ; Oright divine, the pride of power to scorn! While in the violet-breathing vale On fortune's little vanity look down!

He meditates his evening tale ! With nobler gifts, to fairer honours born,

Nor leave behind thy fairy train,
Than fear, or folly, fancies in a crown! Repose, Belief, and Fancy vain;

That towering on her wing sublime,
As far each boon that Nature's hand bestows
The worthless glare of fortune's train exceeds,

Outstrips the lazy flight of Time,

Riots on distant days with thee,
As yon fair orb, whose beam eternal glows,

And opens all futurity.
Outshines the transient meteor that it feeds.
To Nature, Colman, let thy incense rise,

O come! and to my pensive eye
For, much indebted, much hast thou to pay; Thy far-foreseeing tube apply,
For taste refin'd, for wit correctly wise,

Whose kind deception steals uso'er
And keen discernment's soul-pervading ray. The gloomy waste that lies before;

Still opening to the distant sight To catch the manners from the various face,

The sunshine of the mountain's height;
To paint the nice diversities of mind,

Where scenes of fairer aspect rise,
The living lines of character to trace,
She gave thee powers, and the task assign'd.

Elysian groves, and azure skies.
Seize, seize the pen! the sacred hour departs ! Nor, gentle Hope, forget to bring

Nor, led by kindness, longer lend thine ear : The family of Youth and Spring ; The tender tale of two ingenuous hearts

The hours that glide in sprightly round, Would rob thee of a moment and a tear. The Mountain-nymphs with wild thyme crown'd;

Delight that dwells with raptur'd eye

On stream, or flower, or field, or sky:
AN ODE

And foremost in thy train advance

The Loves and Joys in jovial dance;
TO THE GENIUS OF WESTMOP.ELAXD.

Nor last be Expectation seen,
Hail, hidden power of these wild groves, That wears a wreath of ever-green.
These uncouth rocks, and mountains grey!
Where oft, as fades the closing day,

Attended thus by Beleau's streams,
The family of Fancy roves.

Oft hast thou sooth'd my waking dreams, VOL. XVI.