BY SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D.
STERN Winter now by Spring repress'd,
Forbears the long-continued strife,
And Nature on her naked breast
Delights to catch the gales of Life.
Now, o'er the rural kingdom roves
Soft Pleasure, with her laughing train,
Love warbles in the vocal groves,
And Vegetation plants the plain.
Unhappy whom to beds of pain
Arthritic Tyranny consigns,
Whom smiling Nature courts in vain,
Tho' Rapture sings, and Beauty shines.
Yet tho' my limbs Disease invades,
Her wings Imagination tries,
And bears me to the peaceful shades,
Where **'s humble turrets rise.
Here stop, my Soul, thy rapid flight,
Nor from the pleasing groves depart, Where first great Nature charm'd my sight, Where Wisdom first inform'd my heart.
Here let me thro' the vales pursue
A guide, a father, and a friend;
Once more great Nature's work renew,
Once more on Wisdom's voice attend.
From false caresses, causeless strife,
Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd;
Here let me learn the use of life,
When best enjoy'd, when most improv'd.
Teach me, thou venerable bower,
Cool Meditation's quiet seat,
The generous scorn of venal power,
The silent grandeur of retreat.
When Pride by guilt to greatness climbs,
Or raging Factions rush to war;
Here let me learn to shun the crimes
I can't prevent, and will not share.
But, lest I fall by subtler foes,
Bright Wisdom teach me Curio's art,
The swelling passions to compose,
And quell the rebels of the heart.
BY WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR, ESQ.
Immortalia ne speres, monet annus------ HOR.
Now Spring begins her smiling round,
Lavish to paint th' enamel'd ground;
The birds exalt their cheerful voice,
And gay on every bough rejoice.
The lovely Graces, hand in hand,
Knit in Love's eternal band,
With dancing step, at early dawn,
Tread lightly o'er the dewy lawn;
Where'er the youthful Sisters move,
They fire the soul to genial love.
Now, by the river's painted side,
The swain delights his country-bride:
While, pleas'd, she hears his artless vows,
Above the feather'd songster wooes.
Soon will the ripen'd summer yield
Her various gifts to ev'ry field;
Soon fruitful trees, a beauteous show,
With ruby-tinctur'd births shall glow;
Sweet smells, from beds of lilies born,
Perfume the breezes of the morn.
The sunny day, and dewy night,
To rural play my Fair invite;
Soft on a bank of violets laid,
Cool she enjoys the evening-shade;
The sweets of summer feast her eye:
Yet soon, ah! soon will Summer fly.
Attend, my lovely Maid, and know
To profit by the moral show ;
Now young and blooming thou art seen,
Fresh on the stalk of vivid green;
Now does th' unfolded bud disclose
Full blown to sight the blushing rose:
Yet, once the sunny season past,
Think not the coz'ning scene will last;
Let not the flatt'rer Hope persuade :
Ah must I say that this will fade
For see the Summer posts away,
Sad emblem of our own decay !
Now Winter, from the frozen North,
Drives his iron chariot forth;
His grisly hand in icy chains
Fair Tweda's silver flood constrains:
Cast up thy eyes, how bleak and bare
He wanders on the tops of Yare!
Behold his footsteps dire are seen
Confest on many a with'ring green.
Griev'd at the sight, when thou shalt see,
A snowy wreath clothe ev'ry tree,
Frequenting now the stream no more,
Thou fly'st, displeas'd, the barren shore.
When thou shalt miss the flow'rs that grew
But late to charm thy ravish'd view,
Shall I, ah horrid! wilt thou say,
Be like to this another day?
Yet, when in snow and dreary frost
The pleasure of the field is lost,
To blazing hearths at home we run,
And fires supply the distant Sun,
In gay delights our hours employ,
We do not lose, but change our joy;
Happy, abandon ev'ry care,
To lead the dance, to court the fair,
To turn the page of ancient Bards,
To drain the bowl, and deal the cards.
But when the beauteous white and red
From the pale ashy cheek is fled;
When wrinkles dire, and Age severe,
Make Beauty fly we know not where:
The fair, whom Fates unkind disarm,
Have they for ever ceas'd to charm?
Or is there left some pleasing art,
To keep secure a captive heart?
Unhappy love! might lovers say,
Beauty, thy food doth swift decay;
When once that short-liv'd stock is spent,
What Art thy famine can prevent?
Virtues prepare with early care,
That Love may live on Wisdom's fare; Vol. XIV.
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