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Beat it to Earth ? or with indignant grief Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope, Bright flower of Hope kill'd in the opening bud ? Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine And mock my boding! Dim similitudęs .Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour From anxious SELF, Life's cruel Task-Master ! And the warm wooings of this sunny day Tremble along my frame and harmonize TH' attemper'd organ, that even saddest thoughts Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes Play'd deftly on a soft-toned instrument.
THE EOLIAN HARP.
Composed at Clevedon, Somersetshire.
My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined
And that simplest Lute,
Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings
And thus, my love ! as on the midway slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst thro' my half-closed eye-lids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main, And tranquil muse upon tranquillity; Full many a thought uncall’d and undetain’d, And many idle fitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and flutter on this subject lute!
And what if all of animated nature
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Darts, O beloved woman! nor such thoughts Dim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject, And biddest me walk humbly with my God. Meek daughter in the family of Christ ! Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd These shapings of the unregenerate mind, Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring. For never guiltless may I speak of him, Th’ Incomprehensible ! save when with awe I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels ; Who with his saying mercies healed me, A sinful and most miserable Man, Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess Peace, and this Cot, and Thee, heart-honor'd Maid ! VOI.. IL.
On having left a Place of Retirement,
Low was our pretty Cot: our tallest Rose