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ODE TO THE FIRST OF APRIL.

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Towers distinguish'd from the rest,
And proudly vaunts her winter vest.

Within some whispering osier isle,
Where Glym's* low banks neglected smile;
And each trim meadow still retains
The wintry torrent's oozy stains :
Beneath a willow, long forsook,
The fisher seeks his custom'd nook ;
And bursting through the crackling sedge,
That crowns the current's cavern'd edge,
He startles from the bordering wood
The bashful wild-duck's early brood.

O'er the broad downs, a novel race,
Frisk the lambs with faltering pace,
And with eager bleatings fill
The foss that skirts the beacon'd hill.

His free-born vigor yet unbroke
To lordly man's usurping yoke,
The bounding colt forgets to play,
Basking beneath the noontide ray,
And stretch'd among the daisies pied
Of a green dingle's sloping side :
While far beneath, where Nature spreads
Her boundless length of level meads,
In loose luxuriance taught to stray,
A thousand tumbling rills inlay
With silyer veins the vale, or pass
Redundant through the sparkling grass.

Yet, in these presages rude,
'Midst her pensive solitude,
Fancy, with prophetic glance,
Sees the teeming months advance;
The field, the forest, green and gay,
The dappled slope, the tedded hay;
Sees the reddening orchard blow,
The harvest wave, the vintage flow;
Sees June unfold his glossy robe
Of thousand hues o'er all the globe;
Sees Ceres grasp her crown of corn,
And plenty load her ample horn.

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With dalliance rude young Zephyr wooes
Coy May. Full oft with kind excuse
The boisterous boy the fair denies,
Or with a scornful smile complies.

Mindful of disaster past,
And shrinking at the northern blast,
The sleety storm returning still,
The morning hoar, and evening chill;
Reluctant comes the timid Spring.
Scarce a bee, with airy ring,
Murmurs the blossom'd boughs around,
That clothe the garden's southern bound :
Scarce a sickly straggling flower,
Decks the rough castle's rifted tower:
Scarce the hardy primrose peeps
From the dark dell's entangled steeps ;
O'er the fields of waving broom
Slowly shoots the golden bloom :
And, but by fits, the furze-clad dale
Tinctures the transitory gale.
While from the shrubbery's naked maze,
Where the vegetable blaze
Of Flora's brightest 'broidery shone,
Every chequer'd charm is flown;
Save that the lilac hangs to view
Its bursting gems in clusters blue.

Scant along the ridgy land
The beans their new-born ranks expand :
The fresh-turn'd soil with tender blades
Thinly the sprouting barley shades :
Fringing the forest's devious edge,
Half-rob'd appears the hawthorn hedge ;
Or to the distant eye displays
Weakly green its budding sprays.

The swallow, for a moment seen,
Skims in haste the village green ;
From the grey moor, on feeble wing,
The screaming plovers idly spring :
The butterfly, gay-painted soon,
Explores awhile the tepid noon:
And fondly trusts its tender dyes
To fickle suns, and flattering skies.

Fraught with a transient, frozen shower,
If a cloud should haply lower,
Sailing o'er the landscape dark,
Mute on a sudden is the lark;
But when gleams the Sun again
O'er the pearl-besprinkled plain,
And from behind his watery veil
Looks through the thin descending hail ;
She mounts, and, lessening to the sight,
Salutes the blithe return of light,
And high her tuneful track pursues
'Mid the dim rainbow's scatter'd hues.

Where in venerable rows
Widely-waving oaks inclose
The moat of yonder antique hall,
Swarm the rooks with clamorous call ;
And to the toils of nature true,
Wreath their capacious nests anew.

Musing through the lawny park,
The lonely poet loves to mark
How various greens in faint degrees
Tinge the tall groups of various trees;
While, careless of the changing year,
The pine cerulean, never sere,

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7

ODE.

THE CRUSADE.

BOUND for holy Palestine,
Nimbly we brush'd the level brine,
All in azure steel array'd;
O'er the wave our weapons play'd,
And made the dancing billows glow;
High upon the trophied prow,
Many a warrior-minstrel swung
His sounding harp, and boldly sung:

“Syrian virgins, wail and weep,
English Richard plows the deep!
Tremble, watchmen, as ye spy
From distant towers, with anxious eye,

* The Glym is a small river in Oxfordshire, flowing through Warton's parish of Kiddington, or Cuddington, and dividing it into upper and lower town. It is de scribed by bimself in his account of Cuddington, as a deep but narrow stream, winding through willowed meadows and abounding in trouts, pikes, and wild-fowl. It gives

name to the village of Glymton, which adjoins to Kiddington.

3 L

THE

The radiant range of shield and lance

We bid the spectre-shapes avaunt, Down Damascus' hills advance:

Ashtaroth, and Termagauni't From Sion's lurrets as afar

With many a demon, pale of hne, Ye ken the march of Europe's war!

Doom'd to drink the biller dew, Saladin, thou paynim king,

That drops from Macon's sooty tree, From Albion's isle revenge we bring !

'Mid the dread grove of ebony. On Acon's spiry citadel,

Nor magic charms, nor fiends of Hell,
Though to the gale thy banners swell,

The Christian's holy courage quell.
Pictur'd with the silver Moon ;

Salem, in ancient majesty England shall end thy glory soon!

Arise, and lift ihee to the sky! In vain, to break our firm array,

Soon on thy battlements divine Thy brazen drums hoarse discord bray:

Shall wave the badge of Constantine. Those sounds our rising fury fan :

Ye barons, to the Sun unfold English Richard in the van,

Our cross with crimson wove and gold !"
On to victory we go,
A vaunung infidel the foe."

Blondel led the tuneful band,
And swept the wire with glowing hand.
Cyprus, from her rocky mound,
And Crete, with piny verdure crown'd, -

PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT.
Far along the smiling main
Echoed the prophetic strain.
Soon we kiss'd the sacred earth

When now mature in classic knowledge,

The joyful youth is sent lo College,
That gave a murder'd Savior birth ;
Then with ardor fresh endu'd,

His father comes, a vicar plain,

Ai Oxford bred-in Anna's reign, Thus the solemn song renew'd.

And thus, in form of humble suitor, " Lo, the toilsome voyage past, Heaven's favor'd hills appear at last!

Bowing accosts a reverend tutor :

“Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine, Object of our holy vow.

And this my eldest son of nine;
We tread the Tyrian valleys now.
From Carmel's almond-shaded steep

My wife's ambition and my own
We feel the cheering fragrance creep:

Was that this child should wear a gown : O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm

I'll warrant that his good behavior Waves the date-empurpled palm:

Will justity your future favor; See Lebanon's aspiring head

And, for his paris, to tell the truth, Wide his immortal umbrage spread!

My son's a very forward youth; Hail, Calvary. Thou mountain hoar,

Has Horace all by heart-you'd wonder

And mouths ont Homer's Greek like thunder Wet with our Redeemer's gore! Ye trainpled tombs, ye fanes forlorn,

If you'd examine--and admit him, Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn;

A scholarship would nicely fit him; Your ravish'd honors to restore,

That he succeeds 'uis ten to one ; Fearless we climb this hostile shore !

Your vote and interest, sir!"-"Tis done. And thou, the sepulchre of God;

Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated, By mocking Pagans rudely trod,

Are with a scholarship completed: Berest of every awsul rite,

A scholarship but hall maintains, And quench'd thy lamps that beam'd so bright;

And college-rules are heavy chains : For thee, from Britain's distant coast,

In garret dark he smokes and puns, Lo, Richard leads his faithful host!

A prey to discipline and duns; Aloft in his heroic hand,

And now, intent on new designs, Blazing like the beacon's brand,

Sighs for a fellowship—and fines.

When nine full tedious winters past,1
O'er the far-affrighted fields,
Resistless Kaliburn* he wields.

That utmost wish is crown'd at last :
Proud Saracen, pollute no more

But the rich prize no sooner got, The shrines by martyrs built of yore!

Again he quarrels with his lot: From each wild mountain's trackless crown

These fellowships are pretty things,

We live indeed like peily kings :
In vain thy gloomy castles frown:

But who can bear to waste his whole age
Thy battering engines, huge and high,
In vain our steel-clad steeds defy;

Amid the dullness of a college,
And, rolling in terrific state,

Debarr'd the common joys of life, On giant-wheels harsh thunders grate.

And that prime bliss—a loving wife! When eve has hush'd the buzzing camp,

0! what's a table richly spread, Amid the moonlight vapors damp,

Without a woman at its head ?
Thy necromantic forms, in vain,
Haunt us on the tented plain :

| Ashtaroth is mentioned by Milton as a general name

of the Syrian deities: Par. Lost, i. 422. And Termagaunt * Kaliburn is the sword of king Arthur; which, as the is the name given in the old romance to the god of the monkish historians say, came into the possession of Rich. Saracens. See Percy's Relics, vol. 1. p. 74. ard I., and was given by that monarch, in the Crusades, 1 The scholars of Trinity are superannuated, if they to Tancred king of Sicily, as a royal present of inestima. do not succeed to fellowships in nine years afer their ble value, about the year 1130.

election to scholarships.

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Would some snug benefice but fall,

Why did I sell my college life,” Ye feasts, ye dinners! farewell all !

He cries, " for benefice and wife? To offices I'd bid adieu,

Return, ye days, when endless pleasure of dean, vice prees.—of bursar too ;

I found in reading, or in leisure ! Come joys, that rural quiet yields,

When calm around the common room Come, tythes, and house, and fruitful fields!" I puff'd my daily pipe's perfume ! Too fond of freedom and of ease

Rode for a stomach, and inspected, A patron's tanity to please,

At annual bottlings, corks selected : Long-time he watches, and by stealth,

And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under Each frail incumbent's doubtful health ;

The portrait of our pious founder! At length, and in his fortieth year,

When impositions were supplied A living drops—iwo hundred clear!

To light my pipe-or soothe my prideWith breast elate beyond expression,

No cares were then for forward peas, He hurries down to take possession,

A yearly-longing wife to please ; With rapture views the sweet retreat

My thoughts no christ'ning dinners crost, “What a convenient house! how neat!

No children cried for butler'd toast; For fuel here's sufficient wood :

And ev'ry night I went to bed, Pray God the cellars may be good!

Without a modus in my head!" The garden—that must be new-plann'd

Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart! Shall these old-fashion'd yew-trees stand ? Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art; O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise

A dupe to follies yet untried, The flow'ry shrub of thousand dyes :

And sick of pleasures, scarce enjoy'd ! Yon wall, that feels the southern ray,

Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases, Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay:

And in pursuit alone it pleases.
While thick beneath its aspect warm
O'er well-rang'd hives the bees shall swarm,
From which, ere long, of golden gleam
Metheglin's luscious juice shall stream:
This awkward hut, o'ergrown with ivy,

INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE,
We'll alter to a modern privy:
Up yon green slope, of hazels trim,

AT ANSLEY HALL, IN WARWICKSHIRE. An avenue so cool and dim Shall to an arbor at the end,

BENEATH this stony roof reclin'd, In spite of gout, entice a friend.

I soothe to peace my pensive mind; My predecessor lov'd devotion

And while, to shade my lowly cave, But of a garden had no nolion."

Embowering elms their umbrage wave; Continuing this fantastic farce on,

And while the maple dish is mine, He now commences country parson.

The beechen cup, unstain’d with wine ; To make his character entire,

I scorn the gay licentious crowd, He weds—a cousin of the 'squire,

Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. Not over-weighty in the purse ; But many doctors have done worse :

Within my limits lone and still, And though she boasts no charms divine,

The blackbird pipes in artless trill; Yet she can carve and make birch-wine.

Fast by my couch, congenial- guest, Thus fixt, content he taps his barrel,

The wren has wove her mossy nest; Exhorts his neighbors not to quarrel ;

From busy scenes, and brighter skies, Finds his church-wardens have discerning

To lurk with innocence, she flies : Both in good liquor and good learning;

Here hopes in safe repose to dwell,
With lythes his barns replete he sees,

Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell.
And chuckles o'er his surplice fees ;
Studies to find out latent dues,

At morn I take my custom'd round,
And regulates the state of pews;

To mark how buds yon shrubby mound, Rides a sleek mare with purple housing,

And every opening primrose count, To share the monthly club's carousing;

That trimly paints my blooming mount: of Oxford pranks facetious tells,

Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude, And—but on Sundays—hears no bells ;

That grace my gloomy solitude, Sends presents of his choicest fruit,

I teach in winding wreaths to stray
And prunes himself each sapless shoot;

Fantastic ivy's gadding spray.
Plants cauliflowers, and boasts to rear
The earliest melons of the year;

At eve, within yon studious nook,
Thinks alteration charming work is,

I ope my brass-embossed book, Keeps Bantam cocks, and feeds his turkeys ;

Portray'd with many a holy deed Builds in his copse a fav’rite bench,

Of martyrs, crown'd with heavenly meed. And stores the pond with carp and tench.- Then as my taper waxes dim, But ah! too soon his thoughtless breast

Chant, ere I sleep, my measur'd hynm; By cares domestic is opprest ;

And at the close, the gleams behold And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,

of parting wings bedropt with gold. Threaten inevitable ruin: For children fresh expenses yet,

While such pure joys my bliss create, And Dicky now for school is fit.

Who but would smile at guilty blate ?

ODE SENT TO A FRIEND,

Who but would wish his holy lot
In calm Oblivion's humble grot?
Who but would cast his pomp away,
To take my staff, and amice grey ; *
And to the world's tumultuous stage
Prefer the blameless hermitage ?

ON HIS LEAVING A FAVORITE VILLAGE IN

HAMPSHIRE.

ODE.

THE HAMLET.

WRITTEN IN WHICHWOOD FOREST.

:

The hinds how blest, who ne'er beguil'd To quit their hamlet's hawthorn wild ; Nor haunt the crowd, nor tempt the main, For splendid care, and guilty gain!

When morning's twilight-tinctur'd beam Strikes their low thatch with slanting gleam, They rove abroad in ether blue, To dip the scythe in fragrant dew; The sheaf to bind, the beech to fell, That nodding shades a craggy dell.

'Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear, Wild nature's sweetest notes they hear: On green untrodden banks they view The hyacinth's neglected hue : In their lone haunts, and woodland rounds, They spy the squirrel's airy bounds, And starile from her ashen spray, Across the glen, the screaming jay: Each native charm their steps explore Of Solitude's sequester'd store.

For them the Moon with cloudless ray
Mounts, to illume their homeward way:
Their weary spirits to relieve,
The meadow's incense breathe at eve.
No riot mars the simple fare,
That o'er a glimmering hearth they share :
But when the curfew's measur'd roar
Duly, the darkening valleys o'er,
Has echoed from the distant town,
They wish no beds cygnet-down,
No trophied canopies, to close
Their drooping eyes in quick repose.

Their little sons, who spread the bloom
Of health around the clay-built room,
Or through the primros'd coppice stray,
Or gambol in the new-mown hay ;
Or quaintly braid the cowslip twine,
Or drive afield the tardy kine;
Or hasten from the sultry hill
To loiter at the shady rill;
Or climb the tall pine's gloomy crest,
To rob the raven's ancient nest.

Their humble porch with honied flow'rs
The curling woodbine's shade embow'rs :
From the small garden's thymy mound
Their bees in busy swarms resound :
Nor fell Disease, before his time,
Hastes to consume life's golden prime:
But when their temples long have wore
The silver crown of tresses hoar;
As studious still calm peace to keep,
Beneath a flowery turf they sleep.

An mourn, thou lov'd retreat! No more
Shall classic steps thy scenes explore!
When morn's pale rays but saintly peep
O'er yonder oak-crown'd airy steep,
Who now shall climb its brows to view
The length of landscape, ever new,
Where Summer flings, in careless pride,
Her varied vesture far and wide ?
Who mark, beneath, each village-charm,
Or grange, or elm-encircled farm :
The flinty dove-cote's crowded roof,
Watch'd by the kite that sails aloof:
The tufted pines, whose umbrage tall
Darkens the long-deserted hall :
The veteran beech, that on the plain
Collects at eve the playful train:
The cot that smokes with early fire,
The low-roof'd fane's embosorn'd spire ?

Who now shall indolently stray
Through the deep forest's tangled way;
Pleas'd at his custom'd task to find
The well-known hoary-tressed hind,
That toils with feeble hands to glean
Of wither'd boughs his pittance mean?
Who 'mid thy nooks of hazel sit,
Lost in some melancholy fit;
And listening to the raven's croak,
The distant fail, the falling oak?
Who, through the sun-shine and the shower,
Descry the rainbow-painted lower ?
Who, wondering al return of May,
Catch the first cuckoo's vernal lay?
Who musing waste the summer hour,
Where high o'er-arching trees embower
The grassy lane, so rarely pac'd,
With azure flow'rets idly grac'd ?
Unnotic'd now, at twilight's dawn
Returning reapers cross the lawn;
Nor fond attention loves to note
The wether's bell from folds remote :
While, own'd by no poetic eye,
Thy pensive evenings shade the sky!

For lo! the Bard who rapture found
In every rural sight or sound;
Whose genius warm, and judgment chaste,
No charm of genuine nature pass'd ;
Who felt the Muse's purest fires,
Far from thy favor'd haunt retires;
Who peopled all thy vocal bowers
With shadowy shapes, and airy powers.

Behold, a dread repose resumes,
As erst, thy sad sequester'd glooms!
From the deep dell, where shaggy roots
Fringe the rough brink with wreathed shoots,
Th' unwilling genius flies forlorn,
His primrose chaplet rudely torn.
With hollow shriek the nymphs forsake
The pathless copse and hedge-row brake :
Where the delv'd mountains headlong side
Its chalky entrails opens wide,
On the green summit, ambush'd high,
No longer Echo loves to lie.
No pearl-crown'd raids with wily look,
Rise beckoning from the reedy brook.

Grey clothing, from the Latin verb amicie, to clothe.

Around the glow-worm's glimmering bank, Beneath yon ruin'd abbey's moss-grown piles No Fairies run in fiery rank ;

Oft let me sit, at twilight hour of eve, Nor brush, half-seen, in airy tread,

Where through some western window the pale Moon The violet's unprinted head.

Pours her long-level'd rule of streaming light; But Fancy, from the thickets brown,

While sullen sacred silence reigns around, The glades that wear a conscious frown, Save the lone screech-owl's note, who builds his bow's The forest oaks, that, pale and lone,

Amid the mould’ring caverns dark and damp, Nod to the blast with hoarser tone,

Or the calm breeze, that rustles in the leaves Rough glens, and sullen water-falls,

of flaunting ivy, that with mantle green Her bright ideal offspring calls.

Invests some wasted tow'r. Or let me tread So by some sage enchanter's spell,

Its neighb'ring walk of pines, where mus'd of old (As old Arabian fablers tell,)

The cloister'd brothers : through the gloomy void Amid the solitary wild,

That far extends beneath their ample arch Luxuriant gardens gaily smil'd:

As on I pace, religious horror wraps From sapphire rocks the fountains stream'd, My soul in dread repose. But when the world With golden fruit the branches beam'd; Is clad in Midnight's raven-color'd robe, Fair forms, in every wondrous wood,

'Mid hollow charnel let me watch the flame Or lightly tripp'd, or solemn stood ;

of ta per dim, shedding a livid glare And oft, retreating from the view,

O'er the wan heaps ; while airy voices talk Betray'd, at distance, beauties new :

Along the glimm'ring walls; or ghostly shape, While gleaming o'er the crisped bowers

At distance seen, in vites with beck'ning hand Rich spires arose, and sparkling towers. My lonesome steps, through the far-winding vaults If bound on service new to go,

Nor undelightful is the solemn noon The master of the magic show

or night, when haply wakeful from my couch His transitory charm withdrew,

I start: lo! all is motionless around ! Away th' illusive landscape flew :

Roars not the rushing wind; the sons of men Dun clouds obscur'd the groves of gold, And every beast, in mute oblivion lie; Blue lightning smote the blooming mould: All nature's hush'd in silence and in sleep. In visionary glory rear'd,

O then how fearful is it to reflect, The gorgeous castle disappeard ;

That through the still globe's awful solitude, And a bare heath's unfruitful plain

No being wakes but me! till stealing sleep
Usurp'd the wizard's proud domain.

My drooping temples bathes in opiate dews.
Nor then let dreams, of wanton folly born,
My senses lead through now'ry paths of joy ;
But let the sacred genius of the night
Such mystic visions send, as Spenser saw,
When through bewild'ring Fancy's magic maze,

To the fell house of Busyrane, he led
PLEASURES OF MELANCHOLY.

Th' unshaken Britomart; or Milton knew,

When in abstracted thought he first conceiv'd
Præcipe lugubres

All Heav'n in tumult, and the seraphim
Cantus, Melpomene!-

Come tow'ring, arm'd in adamant and gold.

Let others love soft Summer's evening smiles, Mother of musings, Contemplation sage,

As list’ning to the distant waler-fall,
Whose grotto stands upon the topmost rock They mark the blushes of the streaky west;
of Teneriffe ; 'mid the tempestuous night, I choose the pale December's foggy glooms.
On which, in calmest meditation held,

Then, when the sullen shades of ev’ning close, Thou hear'st with howling winds the beating rain Where through the room a blindly glimm'ring g'eam And drifting hail descend; or if the skies

The dying embers scatter, far remote (roof Unclouded shine, and through the blue serene From Mirth's mad shouts, that through th'illumin'd Pale Cynthia rolls her silver-axled car,

Resound with festive echo, let me sit, Whence gazing stedfast on the spangled vault Blest with the lowly cricket's drowsy dirge. Raptur'd thou sitt'st, while murmurs indistinct Then let my thought contemplative explore of distant billows soothe thy pensive ear.

This fleeting state of things, the vain delights, With hoarse and hollow sounds; secure, self-blest, The fruitless toils, that still our search elude, There oft thou listen'st to the wild uproar

As through the wilderness of life we rove. Of Aeets encount'ring, that in whispers low This sober hour of silence will unmask Ascend the rocky summit, where thou dwell'st False Folly's smile, that like the dazzling spells Remote from man conversing with the spheres ! Of wily Comus cheat the unweeling eye O lead me, queen sublime, to solemn glooms With blear illusion, and persuade to drink Congenial with my soul; to cheerless shades, That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair To ruin'd seats, to twilight cells and bow'rs, Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man. Where thoughtful Melancholy loves to muse, Eager we taste, but in the luscious draught Her fav'rite midnight haunts. The laughing scenes Forget the poisonous dregs that lurk beneath of purple Spring, where all the wanton train Few know that elegance of soul refin'd, Or Smiles and Graces seem to lead the dance Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy In sportive round, while from their hand they show'r From Melancholy's scenes, than the dull pride Ambrosial blooms and now'rs, no longer charm; Of tasteless splendor and magnificence Tempé, no more I court thy balmy breeze, Can e'er afford. Thus Eloise, whose mind Adieu, green vales ! ye broider'd meads, adieu! Had languish'd to the pangs of melting love,

THE

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