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See thy great deliverer nigh,
Calls thee from thy sorrow vain;
Bids thee on his love rely,
Bless the salutary pain.
From thine eyes the mist dispelling,
Lo! the well of life he shows;
In his presence ever dwelling,
Bids thee find thy true repose.
Future prospects rich in blessing,
Open to thy hopes secure;
Sure of endless joys possessing,
Of an heavenly kingdom sure.
When pleasure sparkles in the cup of youth,
And the gay hours on downy wing advance,
Oh! then 'tis sweet to hear the lip of truth
Breathe the soft vows of love, sweet to entrance
The raptured soul by intermingling glance
Of mutual bliss; sweet amid roseate bowers,
Led by the hand of love, to weave the dance,
Or unmolested crop life's fairy flowers,
Or bask in joy's bright sun through calm, unclouded hours.
Yet they, who light of heart in May-day pride,
Meet love with smiles and gaily amorous song,
(Though he their softest pleasures may provide,
Even then when pleasures in full concert throng)
They cannot know with what enchantment strong
He steals upon the tender suffering soul,
What gently soothing charms to him belong,
How melting sorrow owns his soft control,
Subsiding passions hushed in milder waves to roll.
When vexed by cares, and harassed by distress,
The storms of fortune chill thy soul with dread,
Let love, consoling love! still sweetly bless,
And his assuasive balm benignly shed ;
His downy plumage o'er thy pillow spread,
Shall lull thy weeping sorrows to repose ;
To love the tender heart hath ever fled,
As on its mother's breast the infant throws
Its sobbing face, and there in sleep forgets its woes.
Oh! fondly cherish, then, the lovely plant,
Which lenient Heaven hath given thy pains to ease;
Its lustre shall thy summer hours enchant,
And load with fragrance every prosperous breeze;
And when rude winter shall thy roses seize,
When nought through all thy bowers but thorns remain,
This still with undeciduous charms shall please,
Screen from the blast and shelter from the rain,
And still with verdure cheer the desolated plain.
Through the hard season love, with plaintive note,
Like the kind redbreast tenderly shall sing,
Which swells mid dreary snows its tuneful throat,
Brushing the cold dews from its shivering wing,
With cheerful promise of returning spring
To the mute tenants of the leafless grove.
Guard thy best treasure from the venomed sting
Of baneful peevishness; oh! never prove
How soon ill-temper's power can banish gentle love !
Repentance may the storm of passion chase,
And Love, who shrunk affrighted from the blast,
May hush his just complaints in soft embrace,
And, smiling, wipe his tearful eye at last:
Yet when the wind's rude violence is past,
Look what a wreck the scattered fields display!
See on the ground the withering blossoms cast!
And hear sad Philomel, with piteous lay,
Deplore the tempest's rage that swept her young away.
The tears capricious beauty loves to shed,
The pouting lip, the sullen silent tongue,
May wake the impassioned lover's tender åread,
And touch the spring that clasps his soul so strong.
But ah, beware! the gentle power too long
Will not endure the frown of angry strife ;
He shuns contention, and the gloomy throng
Who blast the joys of calm domestic life,
And flies when discord shakes her brand with quarrels rife.
Oh! he will tell you that these quarrels bring
The ruin, not renewal of his flame:
If oft repeated, lo! on rapid wing
He flies to hide his fair but tender frame;
From violence, reproach, or peevish blame
Irrevocably flies. Lament in vain!
Indifference comes the abandoned heart to claim,
Asserts for ever her repulsive reign,
Close followed by disgust and all her chilling train.
Indifference, dreaded power! what art shall save
The good so cherished from thy grasping hand ?
How shall young Love escape the untimely grave
Thy treacherous arts prepare ? or how withstand
The insidious foe, who, with her leaden band,
Enchains the thoughtless, slumbering deity ?
Ah, never more to wake! or e’er expand
His golden pinions to the breezy sky,
Or open to the sun his dim and languid eye.
Who can describe the hopeless, silent pang,
With which the gentle heart first marks her sway?
Eyes the sure progress of her icy fang
Resistless, slowly fastening on her prey;
Sees rapture's brilliant colours fade away ;
And all the glow of beaming sympathy:
Anxious to watch the cold averted ray
That speaks no more to the fond meeting eye
Enchanting tales of love, and tenderness, and joy.
Too faithful heart! thou never canst retrieve
Thy withered hopes : conceal the cruel pain !
O’er thy lost treasure still in silence grieve;
But never to the unfeeling ear complain:
From fruitless struggles dearly bought refrain !
Submit at once,—the bitter task resign,
Nor watch and fan the expiring flame in vain;
Patience, consoling maid, may yet be thine,
Go seek her quiet cell, and hear her voice divine !
But lo! the joyous sun, the soft-breathed gales
By zephyrs sent to kiss the placid seas,
Curl the green wave, and fill the swelling sails ;
The seamen's shouts, which jocund hail the breeze,
Call the glad knight the favouring hour to seize.
Her gentle hostess, Psyche, oft embraced,
Who still solicitous her guest to please,
On her fair breast a talisman had placed,
And with the valued gem her parting blessing graced.
How gaily now the bark pursues its way,
Urged by the steady gale! while round the keel
The bubbling currents in sweet whispers play,
Their force repulsive now no more they feel;
No clouds the unsullied face of heaven conceal,
But the clear azure one pure dome displays,
Whether it bids the star of day reveal
His potent beams, or Cynthia's milder rays
On deep cerulean skies invite the eye to gaze.
ON RECEIVING A BRANCH OF MEZEREON,
WHICH FLOWERED AT WOODSTOCK, DECEMBER, 1809.
Odours of spring, my sense ye charm
With fragrance premature;
And, mid these days of dark alarm,
Almost to hope allure.
Methinks with purpose soft ye come
To tell of brighter hours,
Of May's blue skies, abundant bloom,
Her sunny gales and showers.
Alas! for me shall May in vain
The powers of life restore;
These eyes that weep and watch in pain
Shall see her charms no more.
No, no, this anguish cannot last !
Beloved friends, adieu !
The bitterness of death were past,
Could I resign but you.