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Mysterious round! what skill, what Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings force divine,
In mingled clouds to him, whose sun
Breathe your still song into the reaper's But wandering oft, with brute uncon heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand,
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth That, ever busy, wheels the silent asleep spheres;
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest Works in the secret deep; shoots, steam beams, ing, thence
Ye constellations, while your angels The fair profusion that o'erspreads the strike, spring;
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Flings from the sun direct the flaming Great source of day! best image here day;
From world to world, the vital ocean
On Nature write with every beam his
The thunder rolls: be hushed the pros.
rocks, Breathe soft, whose spirit in your fresh Retain the sound; the broad responsive ness breathes :
low, 0, talk of him in solitary glooms; Ye valleys, raise; for the great ShepWhere, o'er the rock, the scarcely wav herd reigns, ing pine
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will
Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless
Sweetest of birds! sweet Philomela, His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trem
charm bling rills;
The listening shades, and teach the night And let me catch it as I muse along.
his praise. Ye headlong torrents, rapid and pro- Ye chief, for whom the whole creation found;
smiles, Ye softer floods, that lead the humid At once the head, the heart, and tongue
of all, Along the vale; and thou, majestic main, Crown the great hymn! in swarming A secret world of wonders in thyself,
cities vast, Sound his stupendous praise, whose Assembled men to the deep organ greater voice
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking
JOHN DYER. clear, At solemn pauses, through the swelling
(1700- 1758.] And, as each mingling flame increases
GRONGAR HILL. each, In one united ardor rise to heaven. Silent nymph, with curious eye! Or if you rather choose the rural shade, Who, the purple eve, dost lie And find a fane in every sacred grove, On the mountain's lonely van, There let the shepherd's flute, the vir- Beyond the noise of busy man, gin's lay,
Painting fair the form of things, The prompting seraph, and the poet's While the yellow linnet sings, lyre,
Or the tuneful nightingale Still sing the God of seasons, as they Charms the forest with her tale, roll.
Come, with all thy various hues, For me, when I forget the darling Come and aid thy sister Muse. theme,
Now, while Phæbus, riding high, Whether the blossom blows, the summer Gives lustre to the land and sky, ray
Grongar Hill invites my song, Russcts the plain, inspiring autumn Draw the landscape bright and strong; gleams,
Grongar, in whose mossy cells Or winter rises in the blackening east, Sweetly musing Quiet dwells; Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no Grongar, in whose silent shade, Inore,
For the modest Muses made, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to So oft I have, the evening still, beat!
At the fountain of a rill, Shoulil fate command me to the far- Sat upon a flowery bed,
With my hand beneath my head, Of the green earth, to distant barbarous While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's climes,
flood, Rivers unknown to song, -- where first Over mead and over wood, the sun
From house to house, from hill to hill, Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting Till Contemplation had her fill. beam
About his checkered sides I wind, Flames on the Atlantic isles, - 't is And leave his brooks and meads be. naught to me :
hind, Since God is ever present, ever felt, And groves and grottos where I lay, In the void waste, as in the city full; And vistas shooting beams of day. And where he vital breathes, there must Wide and wider spreads the vale, be joy.
As circles on a sniooth canal. When even at last the solemn hour shall | The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height, And wing my mystic flight to future Withdraw their summits froin the skies, worlds,
And lessen as the others rise.
Adds a thousand woods and meads;
What a landscape lies below!
Does the face of Nature show,
Old castles on the cliffs arise,
Proudly towering in the skies;
When will the landscape tire the view! Rushing from the woods, the spires The fountain's fall, the river's flow; Seem from hence ascending fires; The woody valleys, warm and low; Half his beams Apollo sheds
The windy summit, wild and high, On the yellow mountain-heads,
Roughly rushing on the sky; Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, And glitters on the broken rocks. The naked rock, the shady bower;
Below me trees unnumbered rise, The town and village, dome and farm, Beautiful in various dyes :
Each gives each a double charm, The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. The yellow beech, the sable yew,
See on the mountain's southern side, The slender fir that taper grows,
Where the prospect opens wide, The sturdy oak with broad-spread Where the evening gilds the tide ; boughs;
How close and small the hedges lie! And beyond the purple grove,
What streaks of meadow
cross the Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love!
eye! Gaudy as the opening dawn,
A step methinks may pass the stream, Lies a long and level lawn,
So little distant dangers seem; On which a dark hill, steep and high, So we mistake the Future's face, Holds and charms the wandering eye. Eyed through Hope's deluding glass; Deep are his feet in Towy's flood : As yon summits, soft and fair, His sidles are clothed with waving Clad in colors of the air, wood,
Which to those who journey near,
Still we tread the same coarse way,
And never covet what I see;
Content me with an humble shade, "T is now the raven's bleak abode ; My passions tamed, my wishes laid; *T is now the apartment of the toad; For while our wishes wildly roll, And there the fox securely feeds; We banish quiet from the soul: And there the poisonous aider breeds, 'T is thus the busy beat the air, Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds; And misers gather wealth and care. While, ever and anon, there fall
Now, even now, my joys run high, Hugr heaps of hoary mouldered wall. As on the mountain-turf I lie; Yet Time has seen, that lifts the low While the wanton Zephyr sings, And level lays the lofty brow,
And in the vale perfumes his wings; Has seen this broken pile complete, While the waters murmur deep; Big with the vanity of state.
While the shepherd charms his sheep; But trausient is the smile of Fate ! While the birds unbounded tly, A little rule, a little sway,
And with music fill the sky, A sunbeam in a winter's day,
Now, even now, my joys run high. Is all the proud and mighty have
Be full, ye courts; be great who Between the criulle and the grave.
will; And see the rivers how they run, Search for Peace with all your skill: Through woods and meads, in shade and Open wide the lofty door, sun,
Seek her on the marble floor. Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, In vain you search ; she is not there! Wave succeeding wave, they go
In vain you search the domes of Care ! A various journey to the deep,
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
Ever by each other's side;
Hears the thrush, while all is still
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.