O lover of the defart, hail!
Say, in what deep and pathless vale,
Or on what hoary mountain's fide,
'Mid fall of waters you refide,
'Mid broken rocks, a rugged scene,
With green and graffy dales between,
'Mid forefts dark of aged oak,
Ne'er echoing with the woodman's stroke, Where never human art appear'd,
Nor ev'n one straw-roof'd cott was rear'd,
Where NATURE feems to fit alone,
Majestick on a craggy throne;
Tell me the path, fweet wand'rer, tell,
To thy unknown fequefter'd cell,
Where woodbines clufter round the door,
Where shells and mofs o'erlay the floor,
And on whofe top an hawthorn blows,
Amid whofe thickly-woven boughs
Some nightingale still builds her neft,
Each evening warbling thee to rest:
There lay me by the haunted ftream,
Rapt in fome wild, poetick dream,
In converfe while methinks I rove
With SPENSER thro' a fairy grove ;
Till fuddenly awoke, I hear
Strange whifper'd mufick in my ear,
And my glad foul in bliss is drown'd
By the fweetly-foothing found!
Me, Goddess, by the right-hand lead,
Sometimes thro' the yellow mead,
Where Joy and white-rob'd PEACE resort,
And VENUS keeps her feftive court,
Where MIRTH and YOUTH each evening meet,
And lightly trip with nimble feet,
Nodding their lilly-crowned heads,
Where LAUGHTER rofe-lip'd HEBE leads;
Where ECHO walks fteep hills among
Lift'ning to the fhepherd's fong:
Yet not these flowery fields of joy
Can long my pensive mind employ,
Hafte, FANCY, from these scenes of folly
To meet the matron MELANCHOLY,
Goddess of the tearful eye,
That loves to fold her arms and figh!
Let us with filent footsteps go
To charnels and the house of woe,
To Gothick churches, vaults, and tombs,
Where each fad night fome virgin comes,
With throbbing breaft, and faded cheek,
Her promis'd bridegroom's urn to feek;
Or to fome abbey's mould'ring tow'rs,
Where to avoid cold wintry show'rs,
The naked beggar fhivering lies,
While whistling tempefts round her rife,
And trembles left the tottering wall
Should on her fleeping infants fall.
Now let us louder ftrike the lyre, For my heart glows with martial fire, I feel, I feel, with fudden heat, My big tumultuous bofom beat; The trumpet's clangors pierce my ear, A thousand widows' fhrieks I hear, Give me another horfe, I cry, Lo! the bafe GALLIC fquadrons fly; Whence is this rage?-what spirit, say, To battle hurries me away ? "Tis FANCY, in her fiery car, Tranfports me to the thickest war, There whirls me o'er the hills of flain, Where Tumult and Destruction reign; Where mad with pain, the wounded steed Tramples the dying and the dead: Where giant Terror stalks around, With fullen joy furveys the ground, And pointing to th' enfanguin'd field, Shakes his dreadful Gorgon-fhield!
O guide me from this horrid scene To high-arch'd walks and alleys green, Which lovely LAURA feeks, to fhun The fervors of the mid-day fun; The pangs of absence, O remove, For thou can'ft place me near my love, Can't fold in vifionary bliss,
And let me think I steal a kiss,
While her ruby lips difpenfe
Luscious nectar's quinteffence!
When young-ey'd SPRING profufely throws
From her green lap the pink and rofe,
When the foft turtle of the dale
TO SUMMER tells her tender tale,
TO AUTUMN Cooling caverns feeks,
And ftains with wine his jolly cheeks,
When WINTER, like poor pilgrim old,
Shakes his filver beard with cold,
At every season let my ear
Thy folemn whispers, FANCY, hear.
O warm, enthufiaftick maid,
Without thy powerful, vital aid
That breathes an energy divine,
That gives a foul to every line,
Ne'er may I ftrive with lips profane
To utter an unhallow'd strain,
Nor dare to touch the facred ftring,
Save when with smiles thou bid'ft me fing.
O hear our prayer, O hither come
From thy lamented SHAKESPEAR's tomb,
On which thou lov'ft to fit at eve,
Mufing o'er thy darling's grave;
O queen of numbers, once again
Animate fome chosen swain,
Who fill'd with unexhaufted fire,
May boldly fmite the founding lyre,
VOL. III.
May rife above the rhyming throng,
Who with fome new, unequall'd fong
O'er all our lift'ning paffions reign,
O'erwhelm our fouls with joy and pain;
With terror shake, with pity move,
Rouse with revenge, or melt with love.
O deign t' attend his evening walk,
With him in groves and grottos talk:
Teach him to fcorn with frigid art
Feebly to touch th' unraptur'd heart;
Like lightning, let his mighty verse
The bofom's inmost foldings pierce;
With native beauties win applause,
Beyond cold criticks' ftudied laws:
O let each mufe's fame increase,
O bid BRITANNIA rival GREECE!
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