Shelter'd by the branching pines,
Pendant o'er his grassy seat.
Now the flock forsakes the glade,
Where, uncheck'd, the sun-beams fall;
Sure to find a pleasing shade

By the ivy'd abbey wall.

Echo in her airy round,
Over river, rock and hill,
Cannot catch a single sound,
Save the clack of yonder mill.
Cattle court the zephyrs bland,

Where the streamlet wanders cool;
Or with languid silence stand
Midway in the marshy pool.

But from mountain, dell, or stream,
Not a flutt'ring zephyr springs;
Fearful lest the noon-tide beam
Scorch its soft, its silken wings.

Not a leaf has leave to stir,

Nature's lull'd, serene, and still;
Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur,
Sleeping on the heath-clad hill.
Languid is the landscape round,
"Till the fresh descending shower,
Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Raises ev'ry fainting flower.
Now the hill, the hedge, is green,
Now the warblers' throats in tune!
Blithsome is the verdant scene,
Brighten'd by the beams of Noon!

EVENING.

O'ER the heath the heifer strays
Free (the furrow'd task is done);
Now the village windows blaze,
Burnish'd by the setting sun.
Now he hides behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden sky;
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?
Trudging as the ploughmen go
(To the smoking hamlet bound),
Giant-like their shadows grow,
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground.
Where the rising forest spreads
Shelter for the lordly dome!
To their high-built airy beds

See the rooks returning home!
As the lark, with varied tune,

Carols to the evening loud; Mark the mild resplendent moon Breaking through a parted cloud! Now the hermit-owlet peeps

From the barn, or twisted brake; And the blue mist slowly creeps, Curling on the silver lake. As the trout, in speckled pride, Playful on its bosom springs;

To the banks in ruffled tide

Verges in successive rings. Tripping through the silken grass, O'er the path-divided dale, Mark the rose-complexion'd lass, With her well-pois'd milking-pail. Linnets, with unnumber'd notes, And the cuckoo-bird with two, Tuning sweet their mellow throats, Bid the setting sun adieu.

§ 34. The Contemplatist: a Night Piece. Cunningham..

"Nox erat

"Cum tacet omnis ager, pecudes, pictæque "volucres."

THE Queen of Contemplation, Night,
Begins her balmy reign;
Advancing in their varied light
Her silver-vested train.

'Tis strange, the many marshall'd stars,
That ride yon sacred round,
Should keep among their rapid cars,
A silence so profound!

A kind, a philosophic calm

The cool creation wears!
And what day drank of dewy balm,
The gentle Night repairs.
Behind their leafy curtains hid,

The feather'd race how still!
How quiet now the gamesome kid,
That gambol'd round the hill!

The sweets, that, bending o'er their banks,
From sultry Day declin'd,

Revive in little velvet ranks,

And scent the western wind.

The Moon, preceded by the breeze
That bade the clouds retire,
Appears among the tufted trees,
A Phoenix next on fire.

But soft-the golden glow subsides!
Her chariot mounts on high!
And now, in silver'd pomp, she rides
Pale regent of the sky!

Where Time upon the wither'd tree
Hath carv'd the moral chair,

I sit from busy passions free,
And breathe the placid air.
The wither'd tree was once in prime;
Its branches brav'd the sky!
Thus, at the touch of ruthless Time,
Shall Youth and Vigor die..
I'm lifted to the blue expanse :
It glows serenely gay!
Come, Science, by my side advance,
We'll search the Milky Way.
Let us descend-The daring flight
Fatigues my feeble mind :

And science, in the maze of light,
Is impotent and blind.

What are those wild, those wand'ring fires,
That o'er the moorland ran?
Vapors. How like the vague desires
That cheat the heart of man!

But there's a friendly guide!—a flame,
That, lambent o'er its bed,
Enlivens, with a gladsome beam,
The hermit's osier shed.

Among the russet shades of night,
It glances from afar !

And darts along the dusk; so bright,
It seems a silver star!

In coverts (where the few frequent)
If Virtue deigns to dwell,
"Tis thus the little lamp, Content,
Gives lustre to her cell.

How smooth that rapid river slides
Progressive to the deep!
The poppies, pendent o'er its sides,
Have charm'd the waves to sleep.
Pleasure's intoxicated sons!
Ye indolent! ve gay!
Reflect-for, as the river runs,
Life wings its trackless way.

That branching grove of dusky green
Conceals the azure sky:

Save where a starry space between
Relieves the darken'd eye.

Old Error, thus, with shades impure
Throws sacred Truth behind :'

Yet, sometimes, through the deep obscure
She bursts upon the mind.

Sleep, and her sister Silence reign,

They lock the shepherd's fold! But hark-I hear a lamb complain, 'Tis lost upon the wold !

To savage herds, that hunt for prey,
An unresisting prize!

For having trod a devious way,
The little rambler dies.

As luckless is the Virgin's lot,

Whom pleasure once misguides:
When hurried from the halcyon cot,
Where Innocence presides-
The passions, a relentless train!
To tear the victim, run:
She seeks the paths of peace in vain,
Is conquer'd—and undone.
How bright the little insects blaze,
Where willows shade the way;
As proud as if their painted rays

Could emulate the Day!

'Tis thus the pigmy sons of pow'r
Advance their vain parade!
Thus glitter in the darken'd hour,
And like the glow-worms fade!

The soft serenity of night

Ungentle clouds deform! The silver host that shone so bright, Is hid behind a storm! The angry elements engage!

An oak (an ivied bower,)
Repels the rough wind's noisy rage,
And shields me from the shower.
The rancor, thus, of rushing fate
I've learnt to render vain:
For, whilst Integrity's her seat,
The soul will sit serene.

A raven, from some greedy vault,
Amidst that cloister'd gloom,
Bids me, and 'tis a solemn thought!
Reflect upon the tomb.

The tomb!--The consecrated dome!
The temple rais'd to Peace!
The port, that to its friendly home
Compels the human race!

Yon village, to the moral mind,
A solemn aspect wears;
Where sleep hath lull'd the labor'd hind,
And kill'd his daily cares:

'Tis but the church-vard of the Night;
An emblematic bed!

That offers to the mental sight
The temporary dead.

From hence, I'll penetrate in thought
The grave's unmeasur'd deep;
And, tutor'd hence, be timely taught
To meet my final sleep.

Tis peace (the little chaos past!)
The graceful moon restor'd!
A breeze succeeds the frightful blast,
That through the forest roar'd!
The Nightingale, a welcome guest!
Renews her gentle strains;

And Hope (just wand'ring from my breast
Her wonted seat regains.

YesWhen yon lucid orb is dark,
And darting from on high;
My soul, a more celestial spark,
Shall keep her native sky.

Fann'd by the light, the lenient breeze,
My limbs refreshment find;

And moral rhapsodies, like these,
Give vigor to the mind.

ease,

And pour oblivion in the ear of pain. In this fair vale eternal Spring shall smile, And Time unenvious crown the roseate hour; Eternal Joy shall every care beguile, [flower. Breathe in each gale, and bloom in every The silver stream, that down its crystal way Frequent has led thy musing steps along, Shall, still the same, its funny mazes play,

And with its murmurs melodise thy song. Unfading green shall these fair groves adorn; Those living meads immortal flowers unfold: In rosy smiles shall rise each blushing morn, And every evening close in clouds of gold. The tender Loves that watch thy slumbering rest, And round thee flowers and balmy myrtles [breast,

strew,

Shall charm, through all approaching life, thy
With joys for ever pure, for ever new.
The genial power that speeds the golden dart,
Each charm of tender passion shall inspire;
With fond affection fill the mutual heart,

And feed the flame of ever young Desire. Come, gentle Loves! your myrtle garlands bring; The smiling bower with cluster'd roses spread; Come, gentle airs! with incense-dropping wing The breathing sweets of vernal odor shed. Hark, as the strains of swelling music rise,

How the notes vibrate on the fav'ring gale! Auspicious glories beam along the skies, And powers unseen the happy moments hail! Ecstatic hours! so every distant day,

Like this, serene on downy wings shall move; Rise, crown'd with joys that triumph o'er decay, The faithful joys of fancy and of love."

ELEGY II.

AND were they vain, those soothing lays ye sung?

Children of Fancy! yes, your song was vain; On each soft air though rapt Attention hung,

And Silence listen'd on the sleeping plain. The strains yet vibrate on my ravish'd ear, And still to smile the mimic beauties seem, Though now the visionary scenes appear

Like the faint traces of a vanish'd 'dream.

Mirror of life: the glories thus impart

Of all that Youth, and Love, and Fancy frame, When painful Anguish speeds the piercing dart, Or Envy blasts the blooming flowers of Fame. Nurse of wild wishes, and of fond desires,

The prophetess of Fortune, false and vain,
To scenes where Peace in Ruin's arms expires,
Fallacious Hope deludes her hapless train.
Go, Syren, gothy charms on others try;
My beaten bark at length has reach'd the
shore ;

Yet on the rock my dropping garments lie;
And let me perish, if I trust thee more.
Come, gentle Quiet! long-neglected maid!
O come, and lead me to thy mossy cell;
There, unregarded in the peaceful shade,
With calm Repose and Silence let me dwell.
Come, happier hours of sweet unanxious rest,
When all the struggling passions shall subside;
When Peace shall clasp me to her plumy breast,

And smooth my silent minutes as they glide.
But chief, thou goddess of the thoughtless eye,
Whom never cares or passions discompose,
O blest Insensibility, be nigh,

And with thy soothing hand my weary eyelids

close.

Then shall the cares of love and glory cease,
Alike regardless, in the arms of Peace,
And all the fond anxieties of fame;

In

Lyttelton though all the Muses praise,

If these extol, or those debase a name.

His generous praise shall then delight no more, Nor the sweet magic of his tender lays

Shall touch the bosom which it charm'd before.

Nor then, though Malice, with insidious guise Nor then, though Envy broach her blackening Of friendship, ope the unsuspecting breast; lies,

Shall these deprive me of a moment's rest, O state to be desir'd! when hostile rage

Prevails in human more than savage haunts; When man with man eternal war will wage,

And never yield that mercy which he wants: When dark design invades the cheerful hour, And draws the heart with social freedom

warm,

Its cares, its wishes, and its thoughts to pour, Smiling insidious with the hopes of harm. Vain man, to others' failings still severe,

Yet not one foible in himself can find; Another's faults to Folly's eyes are clear, But to her own e'en Wisdom's self is blind. O let me still, from these low follies free,

This sordid malice, and inglorious strife, Myself the subject of my censure be,

And teach my heart to comment on my life. With thee, Philosophy, still let me dwell,

My tutor'd mind from vulgar meanness save;

Bring Peace, bring Quiet to my humble cell, And bid them lay the green turf on my grave.

ELEGY III.

BRIGHT o'er the green hills rose the morning ray, The wood-lark's song resounded on the plain, Fair nature felt the warm embrace of day,

And smil'd through all her animated reign. When young Delight, of Hope and Fancy born, His head on tufted wild-thyme half-reclin'd, Caught the gay colors of the orient morn,

And thence of life this picture vain design'd: "Oborn to thoughts, to pleasures more sublime Than beings of inferior nature prove! To triumph in the golden hours of Time,

And feel the charms of fancy and of love! "High favor'd man! for him unfolding fair In orient light this native landscape smiles; For him sweet Hope disarms the hand of Care, Exalts his pleasures, and his grief beguiles. "Blows not a blossom on the breast of Spring, Breathes not a gale along the bending mead, Trills not a songster of the soaring wing,

But fragrance, health, and melody succeed. "O let me still with simple nature live,

My lowly field-flowers on her altar lay,
Enjoy the blessings that she meant to give,
And calmly waste my inoffensive day!
"No titled name, no envy-teasing dome,

No glittering wealth my tutor'd wishes crave; So Health and Peace be near my humble home, A cool stream murmur, and a green tree wave. "So may the sweet Euterpe not disdain

At eve's chaste hour her silver lyre to bring; The muse of Pity wake her soothing strain,

And tune to sympathy the trembling string. "Thus glide the pensive moments o'er the vale, While floating shades of dusky night descend; Not left untold the lover's tender tale,

Nor unenjoy'd the heart-enlarging friend. "To love and friendship flow the social bowl! To Attic wit and elegance of mind; To all the native beauties of the soul,

The simple charms of truth, and sense refin'd! "Then to explore whatever ancient sage

Studious from Nature's early volume drew, To trace sweet Fiction through her golden age, And mark how fair the sun-flower, Science, blew!

"Haply to catch some spark of eastern fire, Hesperian fancy, or Aonian ease; Some melting note from Sappho s tender lyre, Some strain that Love and Phoebus taught to please.

Он, yet, ye dear, deluding visions, stay!

Fond hopes, of Innocence and Fancy born! For you I'll cast these waking thoughts away, For one wild dream of life's romantic morn. Ah, no! the sunshine o'er each object spread By flattering Hope, the flowers that blew so Like the gay gardens of Armida fled, [fair, And vanish'd from the powerful rod of Care. So the poor pilgrim, who, in rapturous thought Seems on his way by guardian seraphs brought, Plans his dear journey to Loretto's shrine, Secs aiding angels favor his design. Ambrosial blossoms, such of old as blew By those fresh founts on Eden's happy plain, And Sharon's roses all his passage strew: So Fancy dreams; but Fancy's dreams are vain. Wasted and weary on the mountain's side;

His way unknown, the hapless pilgrim lies, Or takes some ruthless robber for his guide, And prone beneath his cruel sabre dies. Life's morning landscape gilt with orient light, Where Hope and Joy and Fancy hold their reign,

The grove's green wave, the blue stream sparkling bright, [wain ; The blithe hours dancing round Hyperion's In radiant colors Youth's free hand portrays,

Then holds the flattering tablet to his eye; Nor thinks how soon the vernal grove decays, Nor sees the dark cloud gathering o'er the sky. Hence Fancy, conquer'd by the dart of Pain, And wandering far from her Platonic shade, Mourns o'er the ruins of her transient reign, Nor unrepining sees her visions fade.

Their parent banish'd, hence her children fly The fairy race that fill'd her festive train': Joy tears his wreath, and Hope inverts her eye, And Folly wonders that her dream was vain.

§ 36. A Letter from Italy to the Right Honor-
ahie Charles Lord Halifax. In the year 1701.
Addison.
WHILE you, my Lord, the rural shades admire,
And from Britannia's public posts retire,
Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please,
For their advantage sacrifice your ease;
Me into foreign realms my fate conveys,
Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
Where the soft season and inviting clime
Conspire to trouble your repose with rhyme.
For wheresoe'er I turn my ravish'd eyes,
Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise;
Poetic fields encompass me around,

And still I seem to tread on classic ground;
For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung,
That not a mountain rears its head unsung;
Renown'd in verse each shady thicket grows,
And ev'ry stream in heavenly numbers flows.
How am I pleas'd to search the hills and woods
For rising springs and celebrated floods!

To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source,
To see the Mincio draw his wat'ry store
Through the long windings of a fruitful shore,
And hoary Albula's infected tide
O'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide.
Fir'd with a thousand raptures, I survey
Eridanus through flow'ry meadows stray,
The king of floods! that rolling o'er the plains,
The tow'ring Alps of half their moisture drains;
And, proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows,
Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows.
Sometimes misguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for streams immortaliz'd in song,
That lost in silence and oblivion lie
(Dumb are their fountains, and their channels
Yet run for ever by the Muse's skill, [dry,)
And in the smooth description murmur still.

Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
And the fam'd river's empty shores admire,
That, destitute of strength, derives its course
From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source;
Yet, sung so often in poetic lays,

With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys;
So high the deathless Muse exalts her theme!
Such was the Boyne, a poor inglorious stream
That in Hibernian vales obscurely stray'd,
And unobserv'd in wild meanders play'd,
Till, by your lines and Nassau's sword renown'd,
Its rising billows through the world resound;
Where'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce,
Or where the fame of an immortal verse.
Oh, could the Muse my ravish'd breast inspire
With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire,
Unnumber'd beauties in my verse should shine,
And Virgil's Italy should yield to mine!
See how the golden groves around me smile,
That shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle,
Or, when transplanted and preserv'd with care,
Curse the cold clime, and starve in northern air.
Here kindly warmth their mountain juice fer-

ments

To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents;

Een the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom,
And trodden weeds send out a rich perfume.
Bear me, some God, to Baia's gentle seats;
Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats;
Where western gales eternally reside,
And all the seasons lavish all their pride;
Blossoms, and fruits, and flow'rs together rise,
And the whole year in gay confusion lies.

Immortal glories in my mind revive,
And in my soul a thousand passions strive,
When Rome's exalted beauties I descry
Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.

Au amphitheatre's amazing height
Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
That on its public shows unpeopled Rome,
And held uncrowded nations in its womb;
Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies;
And here the proud triumphal arches rise,
Where the old Romans' deathless acts display'd
Their base degen' rate progeny upbraid;
Whole rivers here forsake the fields below,
And, wond'ring at their height, through airy
channels flow.

Still to new scenes my wand'ring Muse retires,
And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires;
Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown,
And soften'd into flesh the rugged stone.
In solemn silence, a majestic band,
Heroes, and gods, and Roman consuls, stand;
Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
And emperors, in Parian marble frown;
While the bright dames, to whom they humbly
sued,
[subdued.
Still show the charms that their proud hearts
Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse,
And show th' immortal labors in my verse,
Where from the mingled strength of shade and
A new creation rises to my sight; [light,
Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colors glow,
From theme to theme with secret pleasures tost,
Amidst the soft variety I'm lost.
Here pleasing airs my ravish'd soul confound
With circling notes and labyrinths of sound;
Here domes and temples rise in distant views,
And op'ning palaces invite my Muse.

How has kind Heaven adorn'd the happy land, And scatter'd blessings with a wasteful hand! But what avail her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores, With all the gifts that heaven and earth impart, The smiles of nature, and the charms of art, While proud Oppression in her valleys reigns, And Tyranny usurps her happy plains? The poor inhabitant beholds in vain The redd'ning orange and the swelling grain; Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines, And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines; Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curst, And in the loaded vineyard dies for thirst. Oh Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright, Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, And smiling Plenty leads the wanton train;