JOHN DYER (1700-1758)

GRONGAR HILL

Silent nymph, with curious eye,
Who, the purple evening, lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of busy man;
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet sings;
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the forest with her tale;
Come, with all thy various hues,
Come, and aid thy sister muse;
Now, while Phoebus, riding high,
Gives luster to the land and sky!
Grongar Hill invites my song,
Draw the landscape bright and strong;
Grongar, in whose mossy cells,
Sweetly musing, Quiet dwells;
Grongar, in whose silent shade,
For the modest Muses made;
So oft I have, the evening still,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sat upon a flowery bed,

With my hand beneath my head;

While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's flood, Over mead, and over wood,

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away.

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As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks!

Below me trees unnumbered rise, Beautiful in various dyes:

See, on the mountain's southern side, Where the prospect opens wide, Where the evening gilds the tide, How close and small the hedges lie! What streaks of meadows cross the eye! A step, methinks, may pass the stream, So little distant dangers seem; So we mistake the future's face, Eyed through hope's deluding glass; As yon summits soft and fair, Clad in colors of the air, Which to those who journey near, Barren, brown, and rough appear; Still we tread the same coarse way, The present's still a cloudy day. O may I with myself agree, And never covet what I see! Content me with an humble shade, My passions tamed, my wishes laid; For while our wishes wildly roll, We banish quiet from the soul: 'Tis thus the busy beat the air, And misers gather wealth and care. Now, even now, my joys run high, As on the mountain turf I lie; While the wanton zephyr sings, And in the vale perfumes his wings; While the waters murmur deep, While the shepherd charms his sheep, While the birds unbounded fly, And with music fill the sky,

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And level lays the lofty brow,
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state;
But transient is the smile of fate!
A little rule, a little sway,
A sunbeam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.
And see the rivers, how they run
Through woods and meads, in shade and

sun,

Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless sleep!
Thus is nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wandering thought;
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

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Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landscape tire the view!

The fountain's fall, the river's flow,

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FROM THE SCHOOLMISTRESS

The woody valleys, warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,