Puslapio vaizdai
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What are the lays of artful Addison,
Coldly correct, to Shakespear's warblings wild?
Whom on the winding Avon's willow'd banks
Fair Fancy found, and bore the fmiling babe-
To a clofe cavern: (ftill the fhepherds fhew
The facred place, whence with religious awe
They hear, returning from the field at eve,
Strange whifp'rings of fweet mufic thro' the air)
Here, as with honey gather'd from the rock,
She fed the little prattler, and with fongs
Oft' footh'd his wond'ring ears, with deep delight
On her foft lap he fat, and caught the founds..
Oft near fome crowded city would I walk,.
Liftening the far-off noises, rattling cars,
Loud fhouts of joy, fad fhrieks of forrow, knells
Full flowly tolling, inftruments of trade,
Striking mine ears with one deep-fwelling hum.
Or wand'ring near the fea, attend the founds
Of hollow winds, and ever-beating waves.
Ev'n when wild tempefts fwallow up the plains,..
And Boreas' blasts, big hail, and rains combine
To shake the groves and mountains, would I fit,..
Penfively mufing on th' outrageous crimes

That wake heav'n's vengeance: at fuch folemn hours,,
Dæmons and goblins thro' the dark air fhriek,
While Hecat, with her black-brow'd fifters nine,
Rides o'er the earth, and scatters woes and death. st
Then too, they fay, in drear Egyptian wilds visst of
The lion and the tiger prowl for preyvalg
With roarings loud the lift'ning traveller

Starts fear-ftruck, while the hollow-echoing vaults... |
Of pyramids increase the deathful founds.

But let me never fail in cloudless nights,

When filent Cynthia in her filver car

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Thro' the blue concave flides, when fhine the hills, Twinkle the ftreams, and woods look tipt with gold,, To feek fome level mead, and there invoke

Old Midnight's fifter, Contemplation fage,

(Queen of the rugged brow, and ftern-fix'd eye)
To lift my foul above this little earth,
This folly-fetter'd world: to purge my ears,
That I may hear the rolling planet's fong,

And tuneful turning fpheres: if this be barr'd,wome
The little Fayes that dance in neighbouring dales,.

Sipping:

Sipping the night-dew, while they laugh and love,
Shall charm me with aërial notes.-As thus
I wander mufing, lo, what aweful forms
Yonder appear! fharp-ey'd Philofophy
Clad in dun robes, an eagle on his wrift,
Firft meets my eye; next, virgin Solitude
Serene, who blushes at each gazer's fight;
Then Wisdom's hoary head, with crutch in hand,
Trembling, and bent with age; laft Virtue's felf
Smiling, in white array'd, who with her leads
Sweet Innocence, that prattles by her fide,
A naked boy!-Harrafs'd with fear I ftop,
I gaze, when Virtue thus- Whoe'er thou art,.
Mortal, by whom I deign to be beheld

In thefe my midnight-walks; depart, and fay
"That henceforth I and my immortal train
"Forfake Britannia's ifle; who fondly ftoops
To vice, her favourite paramour.'-She fpoke,
And as the turn'd, her. round and rofy neck,
Her flowing train, and long ambrofial hair,
Breathing rich odours, I enamour'd view.

O who will bear me then to western climes,
(Since Virtue leaves our wretched land) to fields.
Yet unpolluted with Iberian fwords:

The ifles of innocence, from mortal view.
Deeply retir'd, beneath a plantane's fhade,
Where Happiness and Quiet fit enthron'd,
With fimple Indian fwains, that I may hunt
The boar and tiger thro' Savannahs wild,
Thro' fragrant defarts, and thro' citron groves..
There fed on dates and herbs, would I defpife.
The far-fetch'd cates of Luxury, and hoards
Of narrow-hearted Avarice; nor heed
The diftant din of the tumultuous world.
So when rude whirlwinds rouze the roaring main,
Beneath fair Thetis fits, in coral caves,
Serenely gay, nor finking failors' cries

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Disturb her fportive nymphs, who round her form
The light fantaftick dance, or for her hair
Weave rofy crowns, or with according lutes
Grace the foft warbles of her honied voice.

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Thy fpirit o'er my foul diffufe,
O'er all my artlefs fongs prefide,
My footfteps to thy temple guide,
To offer, at thy turf-built thrine,
In golden cups no coftly wine,
No murder'd fatling of the flock,
But flowers and honey from the rock.
O Nymph with loofely-flowing hair,
With bufkin'd leg, and bofom bare,
Thy waift with myrtle-girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers crown'd,
Waving in thy fnowy hand

An all-commanding magic wand.
Of pow'r to bid freth gardens blow
'Mid chearlefs Lapland's barren fnow.
Whofe rapid wings thy flight convey
Thro' air, and over earth and fea,
While the vaft various landskip lies
Confpicuous to thy piercing eyes!
O lover of the defart, hail!

Say, in what deep and pathlefs vale,
Or on what hoary mountain's fide, q
'Mid falls of water you refide,

'Mid broken rocks, a rugged fcene,

With green and graffy dales between,

'Mid forefts dark of aged oak,

Ne'er echoing with the woodman's ftroke,

Where never human art appear'd,

Nor e'en one ftraw-roof'd cot was rear'd,
Where Nature feems to fit alone,
Majestic 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 fhells and mofs o'erlay the floor,
And on whofe top an hawthorn blows,
Amid whofe thickly-woven boughs
Some nightingale ftill builds her neft,
Each evening warbling thee to reft:

Then

Then lay me by the haunted ftream,
Rapt in fome wild, poetic dream,
In converfe while methinks I rove
With Spencer thro' a fairy grove;
Till fuddenly awoke, I hear
Strange whisper'd mufic in my ear,
And my glad foul in blifs is drown'd
By the fweetly-foothing found!

Me, Goddefs, by the right-hand lead,
Sometimes thro' the yellow mead,
Where Joy and white-rob'd Peace refort,
And Venus keeps her feftive court,
Where Mirth and Youth each evening meet,
And lightly trip with nimble feet,
Nodding their lily-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 flow'ry fields of joy
Can long my penfive mind employ:
Hafte, Fancy, from thefe fcenes 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 houfe of woe,
To Gothic 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 Abby's mould'ring tow'rs,
Where, to avoid cold wintry fhow'rs,
The naked beggar fhiv'ring lies,
While whiftling tempefts round her rife,
And trembles left the tott'ring wall
Should on her fleeping infants fall.
Now let us louder trike the lyre,

For my heart glows with martial fire,
I feel, I feel, with fudden heat,
My big tumultuous bofom beat;
The trumpets' clangors pierce mine ear,
A thousand widows' fhrieks I hear,
Give me another horfe, I cry,
Lo! the bafe Gallic fquadrons fly;

Whence

Whence is this rage?What spirit, say,.
To battle hurries me away?
'Tis Fancy, in her fiery car,
Transports me to the thickest war,
There whirls me o'er the hills of flain,
Where Tumult and Deftruction reign;
Where mad with pain the wounded Iteed.
Tramples the dying and the dead:
Where giant Terror ftalks 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 fcene
To high-arch'd walks and alleys green,
Which lovely Laura feeks, to fhun
The fervours of the mid-day fun;.
The pangs of abfence, O remove,
For thou canst place me near my love,
Canft fold in vifionary blifs,

And let me think I fteal a kifs.

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 hor tender tale,
When Autumn cooling caverns feeks,
And ftains with wine his jolly cheeks,
When Winter, like poor pilgrim old,
Shakes his filver beard with cold,
At ev'ry feafon let my ear

Thy folemn whispers, Fancy, hear..
O warm, enthufiaftic maid,
Without thy pow'rful, vital aid,.
That breathes an energy divine,
That gives a foul to ev'ry line,
Ne'er may I ftrive with lips profane
To utter an unhallow'd ftrain,
Nor dare to touch the facred ftring,
Save when with fmiles 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 fame chofen fwain,

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