For me, each wayward passion laid, Should Fate in bow'r or leafy shade My tranquil days assign; Unmov'd by Splendour's fading toys, Oh! let me prove thine inmost joys, And make thy raptures mine.
If haply doom'd to weep forlorn, Distress shall blast my vernal morn, In fancy pictur'd fair; Oh! while the mental thunders roll, Oh lift thy suppliant's 'wilder'd soul To spurn each baneful care!
And deign, as ling'ring life expires, To soothe, revive, her fleeting fires, And calm her bursting sighs; Her hopes, appall'd in death, restore, And when this heart shall throb no more, Survive in softer skies.
ADDRESSED TO SIR WILLIAM JONES,
FRIEND of my heart, companion of my youth, As fam'd for learning as rever'd for truth; In whom united we alike admire
The Sage's wisdom, and the Poet's fire;
A gen'rous temper, and a noble mind, Ardour undamp'd, and genius unconfin'd; Well-skill'd to tread the scientific maze, And trace dark Nature thro' her winding ways; Skilful alike to raise the lofty song, Or playful sport the flow'ry reeds among; The smiling Muse has taught thee all her art To catch the fancy, and to seize the heart. To form thy wreath, from ev'ry clime she brings Each choicest product whence it native springs. See her obsequious bring, at thy command, Sweet Khoten's * musk, and gems of Samarcand, Each fragrant shrub from fam'd Bocara's grove, Sacred alike to Poetry and Love.
This known to all; but words can ill impart The cheering features of thy friendly heart.
† Oh may our friendship, form'd in this dark cell, Where " deathful spirits and magicians dwell ‡," To time superior, firmly rooted, brave
The gloomy sea and dragon-teeming wave;
Purg'd in that wave, and rendered still more bright, "For ever blaze amid surrounding light!"
FROM THE SYLVE OF STATIUS. LIB. V.
How have I wrong'd thee, Sleep, thou gentlest power Of Heaven? that I alone at night's dread hour Still from thy soft embraces am represt, Nor drink oblivion on thy balmy breast? Now every flock, and every field is thine, And seeming slumbers bend the mountain pine; Hush'd is the tempest's howl, the torrent's roar, And the smooth wave lies pillow'd on the shore. But seven sad moons have seen this faded cheek, And eyes too plainly that their vigils speak; Aurora hears my plaint at her return, And sheds her pitying dew-drops as I mourn. How shall I last? not he, to such a length E'er watch'd at once with all his body's strength, The sacred Argus, whose unnumber'd eyes Would scarce to this eternal care suffice. And now some happy, some enraptur'd boy, In the full pride of his permitted joy, Holding his dear girl to his panting breast, Calls thee not, Sleep, nor courts thy worthless rest. Come thence to me;-yet shed not here thy whole Ambrosial influence o'er the wretched soul, To this let, happier, easier hearts presume, Touch me, more lightly, with thy passing plume.
HIST, Henry! hist! what means that air so gay? Thy looks, thy dress, bespeak some holiday; Thy hat is brush'd; thy hands, with wond'rous pains, Are cleans'd from garden mould and inky stains; Thy glossy shoes confess the lacquey's care; And recent from the comb shines thy sleek hair. * What god, what saint, this prodigy has wrought? Declare the cause; and ease my lab'ring thought.
John, faithful John, is with the horses come, Mamma prevails, and I am sent for home.
+ Thrice happy who such welcome tidings greet! Thrice happy who reviews his native seat! For him the matron spreads her candy'd hoard, And early strawberries crown the smiling board; For him crush'd gooseberries with rich cream combine, And bending boughs their fragrant fruit resign: Custards and syllabubs his taste invite;
Sports fill the day, and feasts prolong the night.
* Think not I envy, I admire thy fate; † Yet, ah! what different tasks thy comrades wait! Some in the grammar's thorny maze to toil, Some with rude strokes the snowy paper soil, Some o'er barbaric climes in maps to roam, Far from their mother-tongue, and dear-loved home. Harsh names, of uncouth sound, their memories load, And oft their shoulders feel th' unpleasant goad.
Doubt not our turn will come some future time. Now, Harry, hear us twain contend in rhyme, For yet thy horses have not eat their hay, And unconsum'd as yet th' allotted hour of play.
↑ Then spout alternate, I consent to hear, Let no false rhyme offend my critic ear; But say, what prizes shall the victor hold? I guess your pockets are not lin'd with gold!
A ship these hands have built, in ev'ry part Carv'd, rigg'd, and painted, with the nicest art; The ridgy sides are black with pitchy store, From stem to stern 'tis twice ten inches o'er. The lofty mast, a strait, smooth hazel fram'd, The tackling silk, the Charming Sally nam'd; And-but take heed lest thou divulge the tale, The lappet of my shirt supply'd the sail; An azure ribband for a pendant flies:
Now, if thy verse excel, be this the prize.
* Non equidem invideo, miror magis. + At nos hinc alii sitientes ibimus Afros,
Pars Scythiam, et rapidum Cretæ veniemus Oaxem, + Alternis dicetis.
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