To a FRIEND in the COUNTRY *. W HILE you (where paffion, noise, nor cares affail,) Waste the calm hour in Life's fequefter'd vale, Bleft with each object that confpires to please, Books, friends, retirement, freedom, health, and eafe; Me vainly pining, Fate's rough hand removes Far from deep fhades, and confecrated groves; To count long days that roll fucceffive o'er, Launch'd far on deeps where darkness wraps the fhore; What numbs the thought, or tears the feeling heart; SHE, oft' attendant on thy happier days, Or whirl'd with Hector thro' the ranks of fight; * The greater part of this Poem der this intimation might have been was wrote at a very early period of life. Perhaps to the difcerning rea spared, Thrill'd as thou hearft the patient man complain, The waste of æther eyed, or pathless main, While, each dear object of his care furvey'd, Loved fceres, but wrapt in ever-during fhade, Still to the murmuring deeps that rowl below, Swells the long plaint of foul-fubduing woe. PERHAPS You liften to fome gentler ftrain That paints the gliding ftream, or flowery plain; Or fee'ft Corneille the ftrength of Genius prove, Or hearst on Petrarch's lute the plaint of love. Does milder Fenelon his aid impart To charm the fancy, while he mends the heart? Unhappy Fenelon! condemn'd to spend Thy Youth in cares, thine age without a friend; To tear the lawrel wreath that graced thy brow; Then foreign realms confpired thy fame to raise, HAIL loved retreat where melts the thrilling lay! Hail fhades illumed with Pleasure's gentleft ray ! When shall I rest in each sequester'd cell! Or haunt the bower where Thought delights to dwell! HERE Shakespear first th' inspiring voice obey'd, Lone Nature rear'd him in the woodland fhade: Deep was the gloom, the intermingling fprays Screen'd her wild manfion from the noon-day blaze: A A folemn vault, to human fearch denied, Lay what informs the earth, or fcents the air; LED by the light her own effulgence gave, The Power observant scann'd his boundless mind; He burft the bands, and with exalted aim Tower'd like the Source from whence his Genius came. O grant me Heav'n fome deep fequefter'd scene, Though calm, not dull, and though retired, not mean! With affluence bleft to still the plaint of woe, OFT' when the mind to cool remembrance brought, O'erpower'd, not fated, leaves the feast of thought; (Bleft, where the liberal heart with pleasure ftored, Shares each rich viand of the various board ;) Then may we, rapt to Fancy's woodbine bower, Steal from the noife of life one happier hour; O'er themes ftill new each mutual thought impart, Indulge the talk that opes th' unconscious heart; Thus bleft, till landed on the peaceful fhore, Serene we reft where Pleasure lures no more. Written |