  Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought These scenes so deeply-stain'd with Sorrow's dye? Is there in all thy stores no cheerful draught, To brighten yet once more in Fancy's eye? Yes—from afar a landscape seems to rise, Embellish'd by the lavish hand of Spring; Thin gilded clouds float lightly o'er the skies, And laughing Loves disport on fluttering wing. How blest the youth in yonder valley laid! What smiles in every conscious feature play! While to the murmurs of the breezy glade His merry pipe attunes the rural lay. Hail Innocence! whose bosom, all serene, Feels not as yet th' internal tempest roll! O ne'er may Care distract that placid mien! Ne'er may the shades of Doubt o'erwhelm thy soul! Vain wish! for lo, in gay attire conceal'd, Yonder she comes! the heart-inflaming fiend! (Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield?) Swift to her destin'd prey see Passion bend! O smile accurs'd, to hide the worst designs! Now with blithe eye she wooes him to be blest, While round her arm unseen a serpent twines— And lo, she hurls it hissing at his breast! And, instant, lo, his dizzy eyeball swims Ghastly, and reddening darts a frantic glare; Pain with strong grasp distorts his writhing limbs, And Fear's cold hand erects his frozen hair! Is this, O life, is this thy boasted prime! And does thy spring no happier prospect yield? Why should the sunbeam paint thy glittering clime, When the keen mildew desolates the field? How memory pains! Let some gay theme beguile The musing mind, and soothe to soft delight. Ye images of woe, no more recoil; Be life's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night. Now when fierce Winter, arm'd with wasteful power, Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar, How sweet to sit in this sequester'd bower, To hear, and but to hear, the mingling war! Ambition here displays no gilded toy That tempts on desperate wing the soul to rise Nor Pleasure's paths to wilds of woe decoy, Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur's proud disguise. Oft has Contentment cheer'd this lone abode With the mild languish of her smiling eye; Here Health in rosy bloom has often glow'd, While loose-robed Quiet stood enamour'd by. Even the storm lulls to more profound repose; The storm these humble walls assails in vain; The shrub is shelter'd when the whirlwind blows, While the oak's mighty ruin strows the plain. Blow on, ye winds! Thine, Winter, be the skies, And toss'd th' infuriate surge, and vales lay waste: Nature thy temporary rage defies; To her relief the gentler Seasons haste. Thron'd in her emerald-car see Spring appear! (As Fancy wills, the landscape starts to view) Her emerald-car the youthful Zephyrs bear, Fanning her bosom with their pinions blue. Around the jocund Hours are fluttering seen; And lo, her rod the rose-lipp'd power extends! And lo, the lawns are deck'd in living green, And Beauty's bright-ey'd train from heaven descends! Haste, happy days, and make all nature glad— But will all nature joy at your return? O, can ye cheer pale Sickness' gloomy bed, Or dry the tears that bathe th' untimely urn? Will ye one transient ray of gladness dart Where groans the dungeon to the captive's wail? To ease tir'd Disappointment's bleeding heart, Will all your stores of softening balm avail? When stern Oppression in his harpy-fangs From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel bears, Can ye allay the dying parent's pangs, Whose infant craves relief with fruitless tears? For ah! thy reign, Oppression, is not past. Who from the shivering limbs the vestment rends? Who lays the once-rejoicing village waste, Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends? But hope not, Muse, vainglorious as thou art, With the weak impulse of thy humble strain, Hope not to soften Pride's obdurate heart, When Errol's bright example shines in vain. Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye, Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight; Thy haunts, alas! no gleams of joy supply, Or transient gleams, that flash, and sink in night. Yet fain the mind its anguish would forego— Spread then, historic Muse, thy pictur'd scroll; Bid thy great scenes in all their splendour glow, And rouse to thought sublime th' exulting soul. What mingling pomps rush on th' enraptur'd gaze! Lo, where the gallant navy rides the deep! Here glittering towns their spiry turrets raise! There bulwarks overhang the shaggy steep! Bristling with spears, and bright with burnish'd shields, Th' embattled legions stretch their long array; Discord's red torch, as fierce she scours the fields, With bloody tincture stains the face of day. And now the hosts in silence wait the sign. Keen are their looks whom Liberty inspires. Quick as the Goddess darts along the line, Each breast impatient burns with noble fires. Her form how graceful! In her lofty mien The smiles of love stern wisdom's frown control; Her fearless eye, determin'd though serene, Speaks t |
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