« PreviousContinue »
No painted plumage to display:
O'ER moorlands and mountains, rude, barren, and bare, As wilder'd and wearied I roam,
A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair,
And leads me o'er lawns to her home.
Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd, Green rushes were strew'd on her floor,
Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly round, And deck'd the sod seats at her door.
We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast,
Fresh fruits!-and she cull'd me the best;
Whilst, thrown from my guard by some glances she cast, Love slily stole into my breast.
I told my soft wishes-she sweetly replied, (Ye virgins, her voice was divine!)
"I've rich ones rejected, and great ones denied; Yet take me, fond shepherd-I'm thine."
Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek,
Now jocund together we tend a few sheep;
Together we range o'er the slow-rising hills,
Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distils,
To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire,
The cottager Peace is well known for her sire,
And shepherds have named her, Content.
A PRAYER FOR
BY MRS. GREVILLE.
OFT I've implored the gods in vain,
Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,
If e'er thy pitying heart was moved,
And for the Athenian maid who loved,
Oh! deign once more to exert thy power; Haply some herb or tree,
Sovereign as juice of western flower,
Conceals a balm for me.
I ask no kind return of love,
No tempting charm to please:
Far from the heart those gifts remove,
Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
Far as distress the soul can wound, "Tis pain in each degree:
"Tis bliss but to a certain bound;
Beyond, is agony.
Take then this treacherous sense of mine,
Oh, haste to shed the sacred balm!
At her approach, see Hope, see Fear,
And Disappointment in the rear,
That blasts the promised joy.
The tear which Pity taught to flow,
The eye shall then disown;
The heart that melts for others' woe
Shall then scarce feel its own.
The wounds which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then shall close,
And tranquil days shall still succeed
To nights of calm repose.
O fairy elf! but grant me this,
This one kind comfort send;
And so may never-fading bliss
So may the glow-worm's glimmering light
To some new region of delight,
And be thy acorn goblet fill'd
With heaven's ambrosial dew;
And what of life remains for me
Half pleased, contented will I be,