And if thou my voice inspire,
And with wonted frenzy fire,
Aided by thee, I build the rhyme,
Such as nor the flight of time
Nor wasting flame nor eating shower
Nor lightning's blast can e'er devour.
Or if chance some moral page
My attentive thoughts engage,
On I walk, with silent tread,
Under the thick-woven shade,
While the thrush, unheeded by,
Tunes her artless minstrelsy.
Listening to their sacred lore,
I think on ages long pass'd o'er,
When Truth and Virtue, hand in hand,
Walk'd upon the smiling land,
Thence my eyes on Britain glance,
And, awaken'd from my trance,
While my busy thoughts I rear,
Oft I wipe the falling tear.
When the night again descends
And her shadowy cone extends,
O'er the fields I walk alone,
By the silence of the moon.
Hark! upon my left I hear
Wild music wandering in the air;
Led by the sound I onward creep,
And through the neighbouring hedge I peep;
There I spy the fairy band
Dancing on the level land,
Now with step alternate bound,
Join'd in one continued round,
Now their plighted hands unbind,
And such tangled mazes wind
As the quick eye can scarce pursue,
And would have puzzled that famed clue
Which led the' Athenian's unskill'd feet
Through the labyrinth of Crete.
At the near approach of day,
Sudden the music dies away,
Wasting in the sea of air,
And the phantoms disappear,
All (as the glowworm waxes dim)
Vanish like a morning dream,
And of their revels leave no trace,
Save the ring upon the grass.
When the elfin show is fled
Home I haste me to my bed;
There, if thou with magic wand
On my temples take thy stand,
I see in mix'd disorder rise
All that struck my waking eyes:
So when I stand, and round me gaze,
Where the famed Lodona strays,
On the woods and thickets brown,
That its sedgy margins crown,
And watch the vagrant clouds that fly
Through the vast desert of the sky,
When adown I cast my look
On the smooth unruffled brook
(While its current clear doth run,
And holds its mirror to the sun),
There I see the' inverted scene
Fall and meet the eye again.
RETURN, fair Health! the Muse again,
A sweet associate of thy train,
To sketch the landscapes as they lie
Brightening beneath thy beamy eye,
Shall follow where thy footsteps lead
Along the morn-empurpled mead,
That, slanting down old Askew's side,
Obtrudes on Trent's diminish'd tide.
Touch'd by thy spirit, genial power!
And crown'd by thee, life's varied hour
A gay unclouded aspect wears,
High o'er the groveling mist of cares.
While Hope in every changeful scene
Exults beneath thy radiant mien,
O, most indulge my favoured breast
When Friendship greets the heart-loved guest;
Nor let my hand, with languor faint,
Cast o'er his welcome cold restraint.
O, ever round my chearful board
Be all thy social pleasures pour'd,
While, sparkling from the liberal mind,
The gladden'd thought starts, unconfined
By slow Reserve or downcast Awe,
Whose words in faltering haste withdraw;
Or Inattention's torpid ear,
Who, gazing, only seems to hear;
Or dark Distrust, in silence bound,
With jealous eye that peers around,
Thy influence wakes a fairer birth,
Light Ease, and Play, and vacant Mirth;
The dancing Hopes, the glittering vein
That runs through Fancy's boundless reign;
With all the vivid grace of thought,
In Wit's energic quickness wrought;
And Humour, at whose festal sounds
Fantastic-footed Laughter bounds.
With thee even Solitude is seen
Clear from the withering hue of spleen;
Her solemn air, her musing pace,
Each deep, composed, majestic grace,
Flush'd heavenly by thy vital bloom
A freer fairer look assume;
Her listless thought, her languid tone
No more oppressive sadness own;
But, nerved by thee, such transport take
That all her silent fancies wake.
Thou, in Retirement's hermit hour,
A fairy saint to bless her bower,
Shalt chase, with holy spell, away
The fiends that vex her private day;
Self-tired and sullen Discontent;
Hatred, his brows in anger bent;
And Superstition's gorgon head
That rends the midnight dream with dread;
And Melancholy's moping train,
Grief, and the sickly dregs of Pain ;
And stern Disgust of Life, that bears
With murmur'd woe his weight of cares,
Or, as his desperate sorrows rave,
Visits in gore his timeless grave.
When evening shadows haunt the vale,
And dewy sweets enrich the gale,
And musing through her motley groves
With Inspiration Autumn roves;
When Hope, upon her morning's wing,
Enchanting sheds the bloom of spring;
When Summer's sultry noon persuades
Where Coolness wreathes her bowery shades,
And Beauty courts, with loosen'd vest,
The struggling Zephyrs to her breast;
When shuddering crones, in wintry nights,
Recount long tales of ghostly sights,
And, hovering o'er the embers' gleam,
At every casual sparkle scream;
O genius of the chosen hour!
When most I court thy glowing power,
From irksome labours ever free,
If Heaven such bliss reserve for me,
From social mirth retired awhile,
Full on my soul delighted smile!
Though Grandeur stoop not to my shed;
Though Pride avert his lifted head;
Though tasteless Folly fluttering by
Leer on my lot with Mockery's eye;
Yet here while Health consents to stay,
The charmer of my secret day;
While Love, with youthful Hope allied,
Beneath my cottage roof abide ;
While myrtle-handed Leisure throws
O'er soften'd life her sweet repose;
And Fancy to her favourite lute
Some high ambitious rhyme shall suit;
My heart, with these sublimely bless'd,
Bids Pride and Folly share the rest.
Yet if my fate my wish deny;
If leisure, love, and fancy fly,
While, dim and weary, life remains,
And heaves the slow blood through my veins,
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