Thro' the gay circle of revolving years,
With rapturous sounds of mystic song,
Attun'd in heavenly harmony to run :
And by the virtue of th' enchanting zone,
Which when the fair Idalian queen_
Accepts, with universal sway
The smiles and winning passions play
In her resistless look and mien;
The loves the heavenly gift admire,
And tip their little darts with lambent fire; 57
Fresh wreaths the graces bring, and form the round,
Where rising daisies mark the measur'd ground.
Now by the rosy mildness sweet,
Of which when youthful Spring awakes,
From thy abundance amply she partakes,
What time the silk-plum'd zephyrs meet
In Saba's groves, to kiss the bending blooms
With balmy lips, and wanton in perfumes;
And by the ripened, redolent grace,
When Summer in the Persian fields bo
To sober-seeming Autumn yields
Her treasures on the loaded sprays,
The sky-rob'd plum, the purple vine,
The velvet peach, and damask nectarine;
While Plenty, waving her Hesperian bough,.
Gladdens Pomona with the golden show.
Great goddess! with the words of peace
Bid this wild uproar of contention cease;
Bid amity with gentle ray,
The woes that low'r on Faction's brow display.
Shall Rome to thee a rebel prove?
For hellish hate abandon heavenly love?
Here, gentle Concord, on each breast
Let thy spring-sweetness bland distil,
Here thy ambrosial fragrance rest,
And all mankind obey thy sovereign will.
CONTEMPLATION, lovely fair,
Far from scenes of noise and care,
Evermore delights to dwell
In the still sequester'd cell:
Lead me then, propitious power,
To thy lonely, rural bower;
To the silent, shady wood,
To the rivulet's dimpling flood:
And, on summer mornings, lead
To the russet heath or mead:
To the cot's plain simple door,
The ploughman's peaceful, happy floor:
Where Phyllis brings her loaded pail,
And young affection lisps its tale;
Lead to dusky lanes or shades,
Where tall oaks lift high their heads;
To the seat of happiness,
To the garden's lov'd recess;
Beds with pinks and roses gay,
The pride and boast of June and May. 20
Contemplation, nymph serene,
Guide to lawns, or uplands green,
Or near the promontory's side-
Let me hear the roaring tide,
Hear old Ocean's wild waves roll;
Or the sad knell slowly toll,
Or, at gloomy hour of day,
With me to the church-yard stray,
And meditate among the dead;
While the sexton plies his spade,
There peruse the time-worn stones,
Or, as he turns up human bones,
Think on what I soon must be,
Think on vast eternity:
'Till torches dissipate the gloom,
And the sable mourners come;
'Till the venerable priest,
In his snowy surplice dress'd,
Loudly begins the solemn lines,
And "dust to dust," at length consigns.
Hail! matron lovely, tho' demure,
Ever chaste and ever pure,
Diffuse thy balm into my breast,
Bring with thee happiness and rest:
Sooth each melancholy sigh,
Teach me to live, and teach to die!
O VOICE divine, whose charmed strain
No mortal measure may attain,
O powerful to appease the smart,
That festers in a wounded heart,
Whose mystic numbers can assuage
The bosom of tumult'ous Rage,
Can strike the dagger from Despair,
And shut the watchful eye of Care.
Oft lur'd by thee, the joy of all,
Hope comes unto the wretches call; o
Exil'd by thee, and dispossest
Envy, forsakes the human breast.
Full oft with thee the bard retires,
And lost to earth, to heaven aspires;
How nobly lost! with thee to rove
Thro' the long deepning solemn grove,
|