Glow with these wonders to thy fancy shown,
Still may the Delian God thy powerless toils disown.
"A thousand tender scenes of soft distress
May swell thy breast with sympathetic woes;
A thousand such dread forms on fancy press,
As from my dreary realms of darkness rose.
Whence Shakspere's chilling fears,
And Otway's melting tears-
That aweful gloom, this melancholy plain,
The types of every theme that suits the tragic strain.
"But dost thou worship Nature night and morn,
And all due honour to her precepts pay?
Canst thou the lure of Affectation scorn,
Pleas'd in the simpler path of Truth to stray?
Hast thou the Graces fair
Invok'd with ardent prayer?
They must attire, as Nature must impart,
The sentiment sublime, the language of the heart.
"Then, if assenting Genius pour his ray,
Warm with inspiring influence on thy breast;
Taste, judgment, fancy, if thou canst display,
And the deep source of Passion stand confest;
Then may the listening train,
Affected, feel thy strain;
Feel Grief or Terror, Rage or Pity move:
Change with thy varying scenes, and every scene approve."
Humbled before her sight, and bending low,
I kiss'd the borders of her crimson vest;
Eager to speak, I felt my bosom glow,
But Fear upon my lips her seal imprest.
While awe-struck thus I stood,
The bowers, the lawn, the wood,
The Form celestial, fading on my view,
Dissolv'd in liquid air, and all the vision flew.
PARENT of Joy! heart-easing Mirth!
Whether of Venus or Aurora born,
Yet Goddess sure of heavenly birth,
Visit benign a son of Grief forlorn :
Thy glittering colours gay,
Around him, Mirth, display;
And o'er his raptur'd sense
Diffuse thy living influence :
So shall each hill in purer green array'd,
And flower adorn'd in new-born beauty glow;
The grove shall smooth the horrors of his shade,
And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow.
Shine, Goddess, shine with unremitted ray,
And gild (a second sun) with brighter beam our day.
Labour with thee forgets his pain,
And aged Poverty can smile with thee,
If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain,
And weak the uplifted arm of Tyranny.
The morning opes on high
His universal eye;
And on the world doth pour
His glories in a golden shower.
Lo! Darkness trembling 'fore the hostile ray
Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn;
The brood obscene, that own her gloomy sway,
Troop in her rear, and fly th' approach of morn.
Pale shivering ghosts, that dread th'all-chearing
light,
Quick, as the lightning's flash, glide to sepulchral night.
But whence the gladdening beam
That pours his purple stream
O'er the long prospect wide?
'Tis Mirth, I see her sit
In majesty of light,
With laughter at her side.
Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering near
Wide waves her glancing wing in air;
And young Wit flings his pointed dart,
That guiltless strikes the willing heart.
Fear not now Affliction's power,
Fear not now wild passion's rage,
Nor fear ye aught in evil hour,
Save the tardy hand of Age.
Now Mirth hath heard the suppliant Poet's
No cloud, that rides the blast,shall vex the troubled air.
BY THE REV. THOMAS PENROSE.
'Twas the deep groan of death
That struck th' affrighted ear!
The momentary breeze,―the vital breath
Expiring sunk!-Let Friendship's holy tear-
Embalm her dead, as low he lies.-
To weep another's fate, oft teaches to be wise.
Wisdom! set the portal wide,-
Call the young, and call the vain,
Hither lure presuming Pride,
With Hope mistrustless at her side,
And Wealth, that chance defies, and greedy Thirst of Gain.
Call the group, and fix the eye,—
Shew how aweful 'tis to die.
Shew the portrait in the dust :
Youth may frown-the picture's just,—
And tho' each nerve resists-yet yield at length they must.
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