« EdellinenJatka »
Away, thou hideous hell-born sprite, Go, with looks of dark design,
Sullen, sour, and saturnine; Fly to some gloomy shade, nor blot the goodly light.
Thy planet was remote when I was born: 'Twas Mercury that rul'd my natal morn,
What time the Sun exerts his genial ray, And ripens for enjoyment every growing day;
When to exist is but to love and sing, And sprightly Aries smiles upon the spring.
There in yon lonesome heath, Which Flora or Sylvanus never knew,
Where never vegetable drank the dew, Or beast or fowl attempts to breathe ;
Where Nature's pencil has no colours laid ; But all is blank, and universal shade;
Contrast to figure, motion, life, and light, There may'st thou vent thy spite,
For ever cursing, and for ever curs'd, Of all th' infernal crew the worst;
The worst in genius, measure, and degree ; For envy, hatred, malice, are but parts of thee. Or would'st thou change the scene, and quit the
den Where spleen, by vapours dense begot and bred,
Hardness of heart, and heaviness of head, Have rais'd their darksome walls, and plac'd their
thorny bed ; There may'st thou all thy bitterness unload, There may'st thou croak in concert with the toad,
With thee the hollow howling winds shall join, Nor shall the bittern her base throat deny, The querulous frogs shall mix their dregs with
Th' ear-piercing hern, the plover screaming high, Millions of humming gnats fit æstrum shall sup
ply. Away-away--behold an hideous band,
An herd of all thy minions are at hand ; Suspicion first with jealous caution stalks,
And ever looks around her as she walks, With bibulous ear imperfect sounds to catch,
And proud to listen at her neighbour's latch,
Next, Scandal's meagre shade,
A wither'd time-deflower'd old maid,
Hypocrisy succeeds with saint-like look,
And elevates her hands, and plods upon her book. Next comes illiberal scrambling Avarice,
Then Vanity, aud Affectation nice-See, she salutes her shadow with a bow,
As in short Gallic trips she minces by, Starting antipathy is in her eye,
And squeamishly she knits her scornful brow. To thee, Ill-Nature, all the numerous group
With lowly reverence stoop,
TO HOSPITALITY. DOMESTIC power! erewhile rever'd
Where Syria spread her palmy plain, Where Greece her tuneful Muses heard,
Where Rome beheld her patriot-train ;
Thou to Albion too wert known,
Midst the moat and moss-grown wall, That girt her Gothic-structur'd hall
With rural trophies strown.
Upon the pathless forest wild ;
Wide their view around them cast,
Mark'd the distant rustic tower,
And shar'd the free repast.
When Eve's dun robe the sky arrays, Thy punctual hand unfolds the door, Thy eye the mountain road surveys;
Pleas'd to spy the casual guest,
Pleas'd with food his heart to cheer,
And spread his couch for rest.
Where Grandeur's splendid modern seat Far o'er the landscape glitters gay ; Or where fair Quiet's lone retreat
Hides beneath the hoary hill,
Near the dusky upland shade,
And by the tinkling rill.
That friends and relatives endear,
When tales, not often told, we hear ;
There the scholar's liberal mind
Oft instruction gives and gains,
His fair-one's audience kind.
May Health and Peace attend thee still ;
Gratitude thy altar raise,
Wealth to thee her offerings pay, And Genius wake his tuneful lay To celebrate thy praise.
PARENT of joy ! heart-easing Mirth!
Whether of Venus or Aurora born;
Thy glittering colours gay,
Diffuse thy living influence :
shade, And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow. Shine, goddess, shine with unremitted ray, And gild (a second sun) with brighter beamour day.
Labour with thee forgets his pain, And aged Poverty can smile with thee,
If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain,
The Morning opes on high
His glories in a golden shower,
The brood obscene, that own her gloomy sway, Troop in her rear, and fly th' approach of morn. Pale shivering ghosts, that dread th' all-cheering light,
[night. Quick, as the lightning's flash, glide, to sepulchral
But whence the gladdening beam
O'er the long prospect wide ?
With Laughter at her side.
Fear not now Affiction's power,
Nor fear ye ought in evil hour, Save the tardy hand of Age. Now Mirth hath heard the suppliant poet's prayer: No cloud that rides the blast shall vex the troubled air.