On which a dark hill, fteep and high,
Holds and charms the wand'ring eye.
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood;
His fides are cloath'd with waving wood;
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below; ~
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps :
So both a fafety from the wind
On mutual dependence find.
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode;
'Tis now th' apartment of the toad;
And there the fox fecurely feeds,
And there the pois'nous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, mofs, and weeds;
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.
Yet Time has feen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has feen this broken pile compleat,
Big with the vanity of state:
But tranfient is the fmile of Fate!
A little rule, a little fway,
A fun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.
And fee the rivers, how they run
Thro' woods and meads, in fhade and fun!
Sometimes fwift, fometimes flow,
Wave fucceeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless fleep!
Thus is Nature's vefture wrought,
To inftruct our wand'ring thought;
Thus fhe dreffes green and
To difperfe our cares away.
Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody vallies warm and low;
The windy fummit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!
The pleasant feat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the fhady bow'r;
The town and village, dome and farm;
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.
See on the mountain's fouthern fide,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the ev'ning gilds the tide,
How close and small the hedges lie!
What ftreaks of meadows cross the eye!
A ftep, methinks, may pass the stream,
So little diftant dangers feem:
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd thro' Hope's deluding glass.
As yon fummits soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which, to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the fame coarse way;
The present's still a cloudy day.
O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I fee!
Content me with an humble fhade,
My paffions tam'd, my wifhes laid;
For while our wifhes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the foul :
'Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And mifers gather wealth and care.
Now, e'en now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain turf I lie;
P
While the wanton Zephyr fings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with mufick fill the sky,
Now, e'en now, my joys run high.
Be full, ye courts! be great, who will;
Search for Peace with all
Open wide the lofty door;
Seek her on the marble floor:
In vain ye search, she is not there;
In vain ye fearch the domes of Care!
Grafs and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain heads,
Along with Pleasure close ally'd,
Ever by each other's fide,
And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is ftill,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.
Vade, liber, verbifque meis loco grata faluta; Fortunæ memorem te decet
H! what avails this fhort fublunar fphere?
Why wish to act in the fantastick scene;
Subject at best to many a doubt and fear,
Too oft to cold neglect, and certain pain ?
Why does vain man his fondest wishes pour?
Why do his earlieft pray'rs attack the sky, To stretch the space of each contracted hour? Say, is it then so terrible to die?
What joys hath life to counterpoise it's cares?
What sweets to recompense for all it's woes?
Lo! Av'rice gnaws, and fell Ambition tears
The racking breaft with hell's united throes.
Lo! fquinting Jealoufy's unfettled frown;
Lo! haggard Envy, with her bloodshot eye,
Sick'ning at noble deeds and fair renown,
And circulating ftill th' envenom'd lye.
And creeping Fraud, with well diffembled leer,
Exerts her base infinuating art,
Watching the gen'rous ftripling's prone career,
To circumvent his unfufpecting heart.
Nor these alone embitter th' irksome way,
That leads to chequer'd life's uncertain goal;
Pandora's minifters, a dread array,
Convulfe the fenfe, and rack the tortur'd foul.
Who but has feen the Epileptick rage,
With wild diftortion rend the alter'd frame;
The Paify, fad concomitant of age,
And thirsty Fever's all-devouring flame!
That fell disease, which o'er th' enchanting face
The hideous veil of rugged horror throws;
The Dropfy, ever fwol'n with foul increase,
And pamper'd Gout's excruciating woes.
Did lavish Fortune, from her endless store,
Vain mortal! gratify each greedy thought:
Did new-born pleasures court each circling hour,
Alas! how dearly is existence bought!
How dearer ftill, when nor kind Fortune's ray,
Nor vivid pleasure, nor ferene delight,
Chear the fad morning of the wretch's day,
Or close his eye-lids in the stormy night!
Such are his fates, who now in plaintive lore
Pours forth the anguish of his woe-ftruck mind,
Swelling with tears the gentle river's store,
Beneath a weeping willow's fhade reclin'd;
Or near that pile *, where, mould'ring in the tomb,
The frail remains of once fam'd St. John lie,
Joylefs he wanders thro' night's murky gloom,
The hollow winds re-echoing to his figh
Banish'd his much lov'd home, the blissful plains,
Where princely Shannon laves the flow'ry ftrand,
No dear affociate, no kind friend remains,
To chear his wand'rings in a foreign land.
And thee, fair Limerick! whofe beleaguer'd wall
So oft the bolts of raging Britain stood ;
Before thy gates what thousands met their fall,
And with their bodies choak'd the fpacious flood!
Parent of heroes! each illuftrious child
Enlarg'd thy fame thro' ev'ry rolling age; Propitious Fortune on her labour fmil'd,
And with their triumphs fwell'd the storied page..
Batterfea, where the great Lord Bolingbroke lies buried.
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