At ev'ning a keen eaftern breeze arose,
And the defcending rain unfully'd froze.
Soon as the filent fhades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view
The face of nature in a rich disguise,
And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes:
For ev'ry fhrub, and ev'ry blade of grafs,
And ev'ry pointed thorn, feem'd wrought in glass;
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns fhow,
While through the ice the crimfon berries glow.
The thick-fprung reeds, which watʼry marthes yield,
Seem'd polifh'd lances in a hoftile field.
The ftag in limpid currents, with furprize,
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rife:
The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther fhine.
The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun,
Which wave and glitter in the distant fun.
When if a fudden guft of wind arife,
The brittle foreft into atoms flies,
The crackling wood beneath the tempeft bends,
And in a spangled fhow'r the prospect ends:
Or, if a fouthern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintry charm,
The traveller a miry country fees,
And journies fad beneath the dropping trees:
Like fome deluded peafant, Merlin leads
Through fragrant bow'rs, and thro' delicious meads,
While here inchanted gardens to him rife,
And airy fabricks there attract his eyes,
His wand'ring feet the magic paths pursue,
And while he thinks the fair illufion true,
The tracklefs fcenes difperfe in fluid air,.
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear,
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the tranfient vifion mourns.
To the EARL of WARWICK, on the DEATH of Mr. ADDISON. [TICKELL.]
F, dumb too long, the drooping Mule hath stay'd,
And left her debt to Addison unpaid,
Blame not her filence, Warwick, but bemoan,
And judge, oh judge, my bofom by your own.
What mourner ever felt poetic fires!
Slow comes the verfe that real woe infpires:
Grief unaffected fuits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Can I forget the difmal night, that gave
My foul's beft part for ever to the grave!
How filent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps, the manfions of the dead,
Thro' breathing ftatues, then unheaded things,
Thro' rows of warriors, and thro' walks of kings!
What awe did the flow folemn knell infpire;
The pealing organ, and the paufing choir;
The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate pay'd;
And the laft words, that duft to duft convey'd!
While fpeechlefs o'er thy clofing grave we bend,
Accept thefe tears, thou dear departed friend;
Oh gone for ever, take this long adieu;
And fleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague.
To ftrew fresh laurels let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim, at thy facred fhrine;
Mine with true fighs thy abfence to bemoan,
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy ftone.
If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part,
May fhame afflict this alienated heart;
Of thee forgetful if I form a fong,
My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue;
My grief be doubled from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchaftis'd by thee.
Oft let me range the gloomy ifles alone,
Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown,.
Along the walls, where fpeaking marbles fhow
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below:
Proud names, who once the reins of empire held;
In arms who triumph'd, or in arts excell'd;
Chiefs, grac'd with fears, and prodigal of blood;
Stern patriots, who for facred Freedom ftood;
Juft men, by whom impartial laws were given;
And faints who taught, and led the way to heav'n.
Ne'er to thefe chambers, where the mighty reft,
Since their foundation, came a nobler gueft;
Nor e'er was to the bow'rs of blifs convey'd
A fairer fpirit, or more welcome shade.
In what new region, to the juft affign'd,
What new employments pleafe th' unbody'd mind?
A winged Virtue, through th' etherial sky,
From world to world, unweary'd, does he fly?
Or, curious, trace the long laborious maze
Of Heaven's decrees, where wond'ring angels gaze?
Does he delight to hear bold feraphs tell
How Michael battel'd, and the Dragon fell;
Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow
In hymns of love, not ill effay'd below?
Or doft thou warn poor mortals left behind,
A task well fuited to thy gentle mind?
Oh! if, fometimes, thy fpotlefs form defcend,
To me, thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend!
When Rage mifguides me, or when Fear alarms,
When Pain diftreffes, or when Pleasure charms,
In filent whifp'rings purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart;
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
Till Blifs fhall join, nor Death can part us more.
That awful form, (which, fo ye Heav'ns decree,
Muft ftill be lov'd, and ftill deplor'd by me)
In nightly vifions feldom fails to rife,
Or, rous'd by Fancy, meets my waking eyes.
If bufinefs calls, or crowded courts invite,
Th' unblemish'd ftatefman feems to ftrike my fight;
If in the ftage I feek to footh my care,
I meet his foul which breathes in Cato there;
If, penfive, to the rural fhades I rove,
His fhape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove;
'Twas there of juft and good he reafon'd ftrong,
Clear'd fome great truth, or rais'd fome ferious fong:
There, patient, fhow'd us the wife courfe to fteer,
A candid cenfor, and a friend fevere;
There taught us how to live, and (oh! too high.
The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
Thou hill, whofe brow the antique ftructures grace,
Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race,
Why, once fo lov'd, whene'er thy bow'r appears,
O'er my dim eye-balls glance the fudden tears!
How fweet were once thy profpects, fresh and fair,
Thy floping walks, and unpolluted air!:
How fweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,
Thy noon-tide fhadow, and thy ev'ning breeze!
His image thy forfaken bow'rs reftore;
Thy walks and airy profpects charm no more;
No more the fummer in thy glooms allay'd,
Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day fhade..
From other ills, however Fortune frown'd,
Some refuge in the mufe's art I found;
Reluctant, now, I touch the trembling ftring,.
Bereft of him who taught me how to fing;
And thefe fad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn,
Betray that abfence they attempt to mourn.
O! muft I, then, (now fresh my bofom bleeds,
And Craggs in death to Addison fucceeds)
The verfe, begun to one loft friend, prolong,
And weep a fecond in th' unfinish'd fong!
Thefe works divine, which, on his death-bed laid,
To thee, O Craggs, th' expiring fage convey'd,
Great, but ill-omen'd monument of fame,
Nor he furviv'd to give, nor thou to claim.
Swift after him thy focial fpirit flies,
And clofe to his, how foon! thy coffin lies..
Bleft pair! whofe union future bards fhall tell
In future tongues: each other's boaft, farewell;
Farewell! whom join'd in fame, in friendship try'd,.
No chance could fever, nor the grave divide.
FLeinfter, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid ftream
Reflect a fairer face;
Till luckless love, and pining care,
Impair'd her rofy hue,
Her coral lips, and damafk cheeks,
And eyes of gloffy blue..
Oh! have you feen a lily pale,
When beating rains defcend?
So droop'd the flow-confuming maid,,
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flatt'ring fwains
Take heed, ye eafy fair:
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjur'd fwains, beware.
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And, shrieking at her window thrice,
The raven flapp'd his wing:
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The folemn boding found:
And thus, in dying words, befpoke,
The virgins weeping round:
"I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which fays, I must not stay;
I fee a hand you cannot fee,
Which beckons me away.
By a falfe heart, and broken vows,
In early youth I die:
Was I to blame, because his bride
Was thrice as rich as I?
"Ah Colin! give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone:
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kifs,
Nor think him all thy own.
To-morrow, in the church to wed,
Impatient, both prepare!
But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
That Lucy will be there!
"Then bear my corfe, ye comrades dear,
This bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim fo gay,
I in my winding-fheet."
She spoke, fhe dy'd; her corfe was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet,
He in his wedding-trim fo gay,
She in her winding-fheet.
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were thefe nuptials kept?
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Compaffion, fhame, remorfe, defpair,
At once his bofom fwell:
The damps of death bedew'd his brow;
He groan'd, he fhook, he fell.
From the vain bride, ah bride no more,
The varying crimson fled,
When, ftretch'd befide her rival's corfe,
She faw her husband dead.
He to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembing fwains,
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