10 Where'er from time thou court'st relief, The Muse shall still, with social grief, Her gentlest promise keep; Even humble Harting's cottaged vale And bid her shepherds weep. ODE TO EVENING. 1 IF aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs and dying gales; 2 O nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, With braid ethereal wove, 3 Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat, With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, 4 As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum : Now teach me, maid composed, To breathe some soften'd strain, 5 Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; As, musing slow, I hail Thy genial loved return ! 6 For when thy folding-star arising shows 7 And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still, The pensive Pleasures sweet Prepare thy shadowy car. 8 Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. 9 Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, That from the mountain's side, Views wilds, and swelling floods, 10 And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires; And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. 11 While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, 12 While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes; 13 So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, ODE TO PEACE. 1 0 THOU, who badest thy turtles bear And bade his storms arise! 2 Tired of his rude tyrannic sway, But thou, who hear'st the turning spheres, 3 0 Peace, thy injured robes upbind! The British lion, goddess sweet, Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet, 4 Let others court thy transient smile, But come to grace thy western isle, And, while around her ports rejoice, THE MANNERS. AN ODE. FAREWELL, for clearer ken design'd, Farewell the porch, whose roof is seen, Youth of the quick uncheated sight, O thou, who lovest that ampler range, To dream in her enchanted school: Retiring hence to thoughtful cell, With these the white-robed maids combine; Me too amidst thy band admit; There where the young-eyed healthful Wit 21 30 40 50 |