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TO EVENING. Hail, meek-ey'd maiden, clad in sober grey, Whose soft approach the weary wood-man loves ; As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes, Jocund he whistles through the twilight groves. When Phæbus sinks behind the gilded hills, You lightly o'er the misty meadows walk ; The drooping daisies bathe in honey dews, And nurse the nodding violet's slender stalk. The panting dryads, that in day's fierce heat To inmost bowers, and cooling caverns ran; Return to trip in wanton evening-dance; Old Silvan too returns, and laughing Pan. To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair, Light skims the swallow o'er the watery scene; And from the sheep-cote, and fresh-furrow'd field, Stout ploughmen meet, to wrestle on the Green. The swain, that artless sings on yonder rock, His supping sheep, and lengthening shadow spies; Pleas'd with the cool, the calm, refreshful hour, And with hoarse humming of unnumber'd flies. Now every passion sleeps : desponding Love, And pining Envy, ever-restless Pride; A holy calm creeps o'er my peaceful soul, Anger, and mad Ambition's storms subside. O modest Evening! oft let me appear A wandering votary in thy pensive train ; Listening to every wildly-warbling throat That fills with farewell sweet thy darkening plain.
TO LIBERTY. O Goddess, on wliose steps attend Pleasure and laughter-loving Health, White-mantled Peace, with olive-wand, Young Joy, and diamond-sceptred Wealth; Blithe Plenty, with her loaded horn, With Science, bright-ey'd as the morn, In Britain, which for ages past Has been thy choicest darling care ; Who mad'st her wise, and strong, and fair, May thy best blessings ever last ! For thee the pining prisoner mourns, Depriv'd of food, of mirth, of light; For thee, pale slaves to galleys chain'd, That ply tough oars from morn to night; Thee, the proud sultan's beauteous train, By eunuchs guarded, weep in vain, Tearing the roses from their locks; And Guinea's captive kings lament, By christian lords to labour sent, Whip'd like the dull, unfeeling ox. Inspir’d by thee, deaf to fond nature's cries, Stern Brutus, when Rome's genius loudly calld, Gave her the matchless filial sacrifice, Unable to behold her power enthralld ! And he of later age, but equal fame, Dard stab the tyrant though he lov'd the friend; How burnt the Spartan' with warm patriot flame, In thy great cause his valorous life to end ! How burst Gustavus from the Swedish mine! Like light from chaos dark, eternally to shine.
When Heaven to all thy joys bestows,
Britannia watch!.-remember peerless Rome,
down, (Fame, virtue, courage, property, forgot) Thy peaceful villages, and busy towns, Be doom'd some death-dispensing tyrant's lot; On deep foundations may thy freedom stand, Long as the surge shall lash thy sea-encircled land.
WRITTEN ON A RECOVERY FROM THE SMALL-POX.
O WHETHER with laborious clowns,
Or in the temperate Brachman's cell;
In Bath or in Montpellier's plains,
Ne'er saw the purple Autumn smile,
O lovely queen of mirth and ease,
And kings on ivory couches pine;
To aid a languid wretch repair,
And meagre Melancholy die;
coine, restore my aching sight, Yet let me not on Laura gaze; Soon must I quit that dear delight,
O’erpowerd by Beauty's piercing rays; Support my feeble feet, and largely shed Thy oil of gladness on my fainting head.
How nearly had my spirit passid,
And the black river's mournful strand;
Where Maro and Musæus sit
While, monarch of the tuneful throng,