SILENT

DYER.

GRONGAR HILL.

Nymph with curious eye,
Who, the purple ev'ning, lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noife of bufy man,
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet fings;
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the foreft with her tale ;
Come, with all thy various hues,
Come, and aid thy fifter Mufe.
Now, while Phoebus riding high,
Gives lufire to the land and fky,
Grongar Hill invites my fong,

Draw the landscape bright and strong;
Grongar! in whofe moffy cells,
Sweetly mufing, Quiet dwells;
Grongar! in whofe quiet fhade,
For the modeft Mufes made,
So oft I have, the ev'ning ftill,
At the fountain of a rill,

Sat upon a flow'ry bed,

With my hand beneath my head,

While ftray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood;

Over mead and over wood,

From houfe to houfe, from hill to hill,

Till Contemplation had her fill.

About his chequer'd fides I wind,

And leave his brooks and meads behind;

And groves and grottos where I lay,
And viftas fhooting beams of day.
Wide and wider fpreads the vale,
As circles on a fmooth canal:
The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height,
Withdraw their fummits from the skies,

And leffen as the others rife,
Still the profpect wider fpreads,
Adds a thoufand woods and meads
Still it widens, widens ftill,
And finks the newly-rifen hill.

Now I gain the mountain's brow;

What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapours, intervene ;
But the gay, the open scene,
Does the face of Nature show,

In all the hues of heaven's bow;
And, fwelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the fight.
Old caftles on the cliffs arife,
Proudly tow'ring in the skies;
Rushing from the woods, the fpires
Seem from hence afcending fires:
Half his beams Apollo sheds
On the yellow mountain-heads;
'Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks.

Below me trees unnumber'd rife,

Beautiful in various dyes:

The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,

The yellow beach, the fable yew;

The fender fir, that taper grows,

The sturdy oak, with broad-spread boughs:
And, beyond the purple grove,

Haunt of Phillis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,

On which a dark hill, fleep and high,
Holds and charms the wand'ring eye.
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood;
His fides are cloth'd with waving wood
Ancient towers crown his brow,
That caft an awful look below;
Whofe ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms froin falling keeps:
So both a safety from the wind

One mutual dependance find.

'Tis now the raven's bleak abode

'Tis now the apartment of the toad;
And there the fox fecurely feeds;
And there the pois'nous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, mofs, and weeds:
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.
Yet time has been, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has feen this broken pile complete
Big with the vanity of state;
But tranfient is the fmile of Fate
A little rule, a little sway,

A fun-beam in a winter's day,

Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And, fee the rivers, how they run,

Through woods and meads, in shade and fun,
Sometimes fwift, and fometimes flow,
Wave fucceeding wave they go,
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless fleep!
Thus is Nature's vefture wrought,
To inftruct our wand'ring thought;
Thas the dreffes green and gay,
To difperfe our cares away.

Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landscape tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody vallies, warm and low;
The windy fummit wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!

The pleasant feat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the fhady bow'r;
The town and village, dome and farm ;
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's fouthern fide,
Where the profpect opens wide,
Where the ev'ning gilds the tide,
How close and fmall the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows crofs the eye!
A ftep, methinks, may pass the stream,
So little diftant dangers feem:
So we mistake the future's face,

Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass.

As yon fummits, foft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which, to thofe who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear:
Still we tread the fame coarfe way;
The prefent's ftill a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,

And never covet what I fee!
Content me with an humble fhade,
My paffions tam'd; my wifhes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the foul:
'Tis thus the bufy beat the air,
And mifers gather wealth and care.
Now, e'en now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton zephyr fings,
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 mufic fill the sky,

Now, e'en now, my joys run high.

Be full, ye courts! be great who will; Search for Peace with all your skill; Open wide the lofty door,

Seek her on the marble floor:

In vain ye fearch, fhe is not there;
In vain ye fearch the domes of Care!
Grafs and flowers Quiet treads,

On the meads and mountain-heads,