Already, from the bleak north-east,
The Genius of the wood appear!
-Far other office once his prime delight,
To nurse thy saplings tall, and heal the harms of night.
With ringlets quaint to curl thy shade,
To bid the insect tribes retire,
To guard thy walks and not invade
O wherefore then provoke his ire?
Alas! with prayers, with tears his rage repel, While yet the redd'ning shoots with embryo-blossoms swell.
Too late thou'lt weep, when blights deform
The fairest produce of the year;
Too late thou'lt weep, when every storm
Shall loudly thunder in thy ear,
'Thus, thus the green-hair'd Deities maintain
'Their own eternal rights, and Nature's injur❜d reign.'
WRITTEN UPON LEAVING
A FRIEND's HOUSE IN WALES.
BY THE REV. DR. MARKHAM,
Now Archbishop of York.
THE winds were loud, the clouds deep-hung,
And dragg'd their sweepy trains along
The dreary mountain's side;
When, from the hill, one look to throw
On Towy's rambling flood below,
I turn'd my horse-and sigh'd.
But soon the gusts of sleet and hail
Flew thick across the darken'd vale,
And blurr'd the face of day:
Forlorn and sad, I jogg'd along;
And though Tom cry'd, 'You're going wrong,'
Still wander'd from my way.
The scenes, which once my fancy took,
And my aw'd mind with wonder struck
Pass'd unregarded all !
Nor black Trecarris' steepy height,
Nor waste Trecastle gave delight;
Nor clamorous Hondy's fall.
Did the bleak day then give me pain ?
The driving snow, or pelting rain,
Or sky with tempests fraught?
No! these unheeded rag'd around;
Nought in them so much Mine I found,
As claim'd one wandering thought.
Far other cares engross'd my mind,
Cares for the joys I left behind
In Newton's happy groves!
Yet not because its woods disclose
Or grots or lawns more sweet than those Which Pan at noon-day loves;
But that, beside its social hearth,
Dwells every joy, which youthful mirth,
Or serious age can claim ;
The man too whom my soul first knew,
To virtue and to honour true;
And friendship's sacred name.
O Newton, could these pensive lays,
In worthy numbers scan thy praise,
Much gratitude would say ;
But that the Muse, ingenuous maid,
Of flattery seems so much afraid,
She'll scarce her duty pray.
HON. WILMOT VAUGHAN,
NOW EARL OF LISBURNE) IN WALES.
BY THE REV. FRANCIS COVENTRY, A. M.
Ye distant realms, that hold my friend
Beneath a cold ungenial sky,
Where lab'ring groves with weight of vapours bend,
Or raving winds o'er barren mountains fly;
Restore him quick to London's social clime,
Restore him quick to friendship, love and joy;
Be swift, ye lazy steeds of Time,
Ye moments, all your speed employ.
Behold November's glooms arise,
Pale suns with fainter glory shine,
Dark gath'ring tempests blacken in the skies,
And shiv'ring woods their sickly leaves resign.
Is this a time on Cambrian hills to roam,
To court disease in Winter's baleful reign,
To listen to th' Atlantic foam,
While rocks repel the roaring main,
While horror fills the region vast,
Rheumatic tortures Eurus brings,
Pregnant with agues flies the northern blast,
And clouds drop quartans from their flagging wings.
Dost thou explore Sabrina's fountful source,
Where huge Plinlimmon's hoary height ascends:
Then downward mark her vagrant course,
'Till mix'd with clouds the landscape ends
Dost thou revere the hallow'd soil
Where Druids old sepulchred lie;
Or up cold Snowden's craggy summits toil,
And muse on ancient savage liberty?
Ill suit such walks with bleak autumnal air,
Say, can November yield the joys of May ?
When Jove deforms the blasted year,
Can Wallia boast a cheerful day?
The town expects thee.-Hark, around,
Through every street of gay resort,
New chariots rattle with awak'ning sound,
And crowd the levees, and besiege the court.
The patriot, kindling as his wars ensue,
Now fires his soul with liberty and fame,
Marshals his threat'ning tropes anew,
And gives his hoarded thunders aim.
Now seats their absent lords deplore,
Neglected villas empty stand,
Capacious Gro'venor gathers all its store,
And mighty London swallows up the land.
See sportive Vanity her flights begin,
See new-blown Folly's plenteous harvest rise,
See mimic beauties dye their skin,
And harlots roll their venal eyes.
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