VERSES
WRITTEN
IN
LONDON
ON
THE
APPROACH
OF
SPRING
.
EARLY
the
sun
his
radiant
axle
guides
,
Sloping
his
steep
course
with
the
Pleiades
;
On
every
fragant
briar
the
flowret
blooms
,
And
the
wild
woodlark
chaunts
his
early
song
In
heedless
carol
,
to
the
smiling
Hours
,
Young
Maia's
festive
train
;
their
wavy
dance
She
jocund
leads
,
and
from
her
horn
profuse
Pours
roses
,
violets
,
woodbines
,
eglantine
,
Fair
Flora's
dower
,
what
time
the
youthful
Spring
Clasp'd
her
all-blushing
in
a
secret
bower
:
Thou
the
mild
offspring
of
their
warm
embrace
,
Oh
lovely
May
,
and
these
thine
heritage
,
Which
bounteous
thou
with
an
unsparing
hand
Scatterest
to
all
,
tho'
chief
thou
lov'st
to
deck
The
village
Phaebe's
brow
,
and
fairer
far
Is
thy
adorning
,
than
the
sunny
glow
Of
eastern
ruby
,
ill
assorted
grace
That
decks
not
but
deforms
the
faded
cheek
Of
the
wan
courtier
.
—
Far
more
raptur'd
greets
Fancy's
sond
ear
,
where'er
she
musing
roves
,
Thy
minstrelsy
untutor'd
,
than
the
trill
And
languid
descant
of
Italian
art
.
Yet
sings
the
woodlark
,
and
the
hawthorn
blooms
,
Unheard
the
song
,
the
fragrance
unperceiv'd
By
me
;
tho'
not
among
the
sons
of
men
There
lives
,
who
listens
with
more
raptur'd
ear
,
Or
feels
more
lively
,
Nature's
varied
boon
.
For
tho'
confined
in
the
city
walls
To
dwell
with
busy
Care
,
and
with
him
watch
The
call
of
Interest
,
is
my
lot
affix'd
,
Far
happier
seems
to
me
the
peasant's
life
,
Who
treads
the
furrow
labouring
,
yet
his
mind
Vacant
of
thought
can
muse
of
what
around
Strikes
his
rapt
eye
with
beauty
,
or
his
ear
With
pleasing
song
,
than
if
a
golden
mine
Disclos'd
its
boundless
treasures
,
but
condemn'd
My
carking
thought
,
to
watch
the
gilded
mischief
,
And
cunningly
devise
t'
increase
the
store
.
Bereav'd
of
every
pleasure
Nature
gives
Each
plain
but
heart-felt
rapture
,
what
is
wealth
?
In
artful
mazes
we
but
toil
for
bliss
:
True
Pleasure
dwells
not
in
the
arched
roof
,
She
sings
no
carol
to
the
midnight
ball
;
The
loaded
board
and
Bacchus'
flustering
draughts
In
vain
are
tryed
,
for
ah
she
dwells
not
there
!
She
dwells
not
with
such
rude
ill-manner'd
mirth
,
But
seeks
with
her
mild
sister
Chearfulness
The
russet
plain
;
there
prompts
the
virgin's
song
,
Breathes
the
brisk
carol
from
the
cottage
reed
,
Strikes
the
quick
tabor
glad
with
echoing
pulse
,
And
animates
the
village
holiday
.
Nor
then
alone
but
when
his
honest
labour
Calls
the
good
swain
,
she
early
joins
his
step
;
For
the
mild
radiance
of
the
opening
dawn
Gives
to
her
sight
the
wide-extended
view
Of
hill
and
dale
,
hoar
forest
,
flowering
heath
,
Rich
harvest
,
verdant
meadow
,
where
the
stream
Rolls
far
its
plenteous
wave
,
and
all
around
To
Pleasure's
ear
most
grateful
,
thousand
birds
,
Lark
,
linnet
,
thrush
,
and
thou
of
all
the
grove
The
sweetest
songster
,
witching
Philomel
,
Art
rising
to
hymn
out
thy
morning
song
.
Thou
too
at
eve
,
when
all
his
labour
o'er
,
He
at
the
furrow's
end
unyokes
the
steer
,
And
seeks
with
weary
step
his
rest
at
home
,
Dost
with
thy
tranquil
warble
sooth
his
soul
;
Best
prelude
to
the
peace
his
cottage
gives
.
There
at
the
door
his
numerous
offspring
watch
Their
sire's
return
,
and
eager
run
to
tell
The
tyding
of
his
coming
,
while
his
dame
Plys
her
glad
evening
care
,
to
deck
the
board
With
food
uncater'd
by
the
baleful
hand
Of
Luxury
,
and
fittest
to
refresh
His
toil-worn
spirit
,
and
her
smiling
welcome
Gives
its
due
relish
to
the
simple
fare
.
What
are
to
this
the
proud
luxurious
feasts
,
The
City's
boast
,
where
distant
colonies
Of
East
and
Western
worlds
must
be
explor'd
To
strike
the
sickly
palate's
feeble
sense
With
faint
delight
?
Oh
what
are
all
our
joys
,
Ev'n
those
of
monarchs
,
to
the
thousand
beauties
That
strike
the
rapt
soul
of
the
rudest
hind
?
Can
Art's
best
mimicry
their
form
express
?
Can
rich
Loraine
mix
up
the
glowing
tint
Bright
as
Aurora
?
Can
he
form
a
shade
To
strike
the
fancy
with
a
gloom
so
solemn
As
every
thicket
,
copse
,
or
secret
grove
At
twilight
hour
affords
?
Can
savage
Rosa
With
aught
so
wildly
noble
fill
the
mind
,
As
where
the
ancient
oak
in
the
wood's
depth
Has
shed
his
leafy
honours
,
and
around
The
woodman
with
fell
axe
has
lower'd
the
pride
Of
many
a
tall
tree
,
he
deserted
stands
A
barren
trunk
,
while
rude
winds
howl
around
,
And
dreary
torrents
lash
his
naked
limbs
?
Mean
time
the
rifting
thunder
dreadful
roars
,
The
livid
lightnings
flash
,
and
elements
Conjoin'd
pour
out
their
wrath
,
as
if
to
rend
The
lone
,
defenceless
,
aged
,
feeble
oak
.
Such
scenes
awake
Imagination's
powers
To
sacred
thought
;
such
Rosa
cannot
paint
;
'Tis
his
alone
to
show
the
shatter'd
trunk
:
The
winds
keen
howl
,
the
thunder's
aweful
sound
,
The
dreary
rain
,
these
mock
the
pencil's
power
.
Can
aught
of
artful
music
sooth
the
soul
To
so
serene
a
temper
,
as
the
flight
Of
songsters
in
the
grove
?
or
can
thy
strain
,
(
Tho'
there
Enchantment
strike
the
magic
chord
)
Oh
matchless
Purcell
!
with
so
wild
a
charm
Transport
the
mind
,
as
when
at
dusk
of
eve
From
the
hoar
battlement
the
lone
owl's
cry
Pierces
the
awful
silence
,
and
the
fall'n
And
time-worn
hollow
towers
convey
the
sound
To
the
near
wood
,
where
in
the
devious
path
Retired
Fancy
wanders
,
on
her
ear
The
faint
sound
murmurs
,
strait
the
distant
low
Of
unyok'd
heifer
,
strait
the
cuckow's
note
She
hears
,
while
oft
the
roving
Zephyr's
tread
Rustling
alarms
her
,
and
the
measur'd
step
Of
the
slow
steer
,
who
brushes
thro'
the
thicket
To
seek
his
food
,
beats
duly
regular
.
As
on
he
wanders
,
thro'
the
opening
bower
He
sees
the
pale
moon
rising
;
clouds
on
clouds
Pil'd
mountainous
awhile
obstruct
her
beam
,
Till
labouring
thence
she
lifts
her
silver
brow
,
And
pours
her
full
ray
on
the
ivy'd
steeple
.
And
hark
its
bell
now
tolls
the
minute
knell
,
And
thro'
the
churchway
path
the
surplic'd
priest
Walks
slowly
forward
,
while
the
snowy
pall
Covering
the
relicks
of
some
love
lorn
virgin
,
Passes
with
aweful
pace
along
the
glade
.
Wrapt
harmonist
!
what
tho'
thy
studied
chord
Can
sound
the
slow
knell
,
echo
to
the
note
The
lone
owl
utters
,
breathe
the
heifer's
low
,
And
mark
the
funeral
step
with
pausing
cadence
,
And
music
can
no
more
,
where
is
the
tower
O'er-hung
with-ivy
,
seen
by
the
pale
moon
,
Whose
faint
beam
glimmers
on
the
snowy
pall
?
Where
are
the
rocky
clouds
from
whence
she
breaks
?
Yet
do
not
these
,
does
not
the
rustling
breeze
And
the
slow-treading
heifer
add
delight
?
Do
not
accordant
senses
join
to
fill
The
musing
mind
with
calm
and
holy
rapture
?
And
can
the
city
by
the
utmost
force
Of
mimic
art
,
with
labour'd
imitation
So
soothe
the
soul
,
or
give
such
mild
delight
?
Ye
gay
and
sportive
votaries
of
Joy
,
Forgive
the
thoughtless
Muse
,
for
she
has
led
me
To
talk
of
pleasing
horror
,
and
the
bliss
Which
melancholy
gives
;
ye
cannot
form
Amid
the
circling
follies
,
which
urge
on
Your
laughing
hours
,
perhaps
ye
cannot
form
A
notion
of
these
joys
,
and
with
a
taunt
Of
high
contempt
,
despise
the
wild
enthusiasm
.
Yet
on
the
well-trod
stage
have
ye
not
seen
Your
Roscius
fired
by
the
natural
bard
,
Immortal
Shakespear
,
wander
the
bleak
heath
A
poor
and
outcast
king
,
nor
blame
the
winds
Whose
keen
tooth
seiz'd
his
age
,
nor
chide
the
elements
For
their
unkindness
,
while
the
ruffling
storm
Tore
the
proud
garments
from
his
shivering
trunk
,
And
the
fierce
lightnings
fir'd
his
maddening
brain
?
Have
you
not
then
felt
horror
?
Would
ye
not
Change
your
rich
pomp
for
Edgar's
naked
hovel
,
And
be
the
poor
king's
host
?
—
Have
ye
not
wish'd
To
range
with
Rosaline
the
forest
wild
,
Or
live
beneath
the
shelter
of
some
oak
With
melancholy
Jaques
?
Tell
me
,
why
then
Ye
look'd
on
wealth
and
greatness
with
a
scorn
?
Why
but
because
the
Muse
with
native
strength
Pour'd
truth
on
Fancy's
eye
;
and
yet
the
Muse
Can
only
boast
in
the
most
warm
description
A
faint
resemblance
,
nor
has
she
such
force
To
strike
as
Nature
has
.
Alas
!
her
voice
But
wakes
remembrance
of
our
absent
bliss
;
And
when
she
sings
of
incense-breathing
Spring
,
She
wafts
no
odours
to
the
longing
sense
,
But
only
prompts
our
sigh
,
that
we
must
dwell
Confin'd
in
the
full
city
,
distant
far
From
every
scene
of
rural
innocence
,
Whose
woods
,
whose
shades
,
whose
storms
,
or
funerals
,
Ev'n
raise
a
sense
of
pleasure
.
What
can
then
The
brighter
views
,
what
can
the
happy
hour
That
gives
the
blushing
bride
to
the
true
arms
Of
faithful
Damon
?
Thenot
pleas'd
revives
To
former
youth
,
and
gayest
of
the
day
Provokes
the
village
mirth
,
and
from
his
soul
Enjoys
the
spousal
of
his
boy
,
who
scarce
(
O'ercome
with
rapture
)
can
himself
conduct
His
festival
;
and
but
for
busy
Thenot
,
Each
due
right
were
neglected
,
and
the
guests
Unbidden
by
the
tabor's
sprightly
sound
To
seek
the
green
,
and
in
the
jocund
dance
Each
maiden
with
her
youth
breathe
sport
and
joy
,
Save
the
still
happier
pair
:
their
greater
bliss
Fills
the
whole
breast
,
nor
leaves
a
vacant
place
For
lighter
mirth
.
Unnotic'd
speaks
the
pipe
:
They
hear
no
sound
but
the
endearing
voice
Of
mutual
love
:
they
do
not
mark
the
joy
In
every
face
around
;
for
their
attention
,
Fix'd
on
each
other
,
watches
every
glance
Diffused
by
the
lovely
languid
eye
.
Well
may
all
else
be
unperceiv'd
;
for
who
Observes
bright
Hesper
dart
his
pointed
ray
,
When
riding
high
mild
Cynthia
pours
serene
Her
steady
beam
.
Oh
tell
me
,
when
compar'd
To
these
true
raptures
,
what's
the
shadowy
pomp
And
artful
splendour
,
when
the
golden
shackles
Fetter
two
venal
souls
,
by
interest
call'd
To
prostitute
the
ever-hallow'd
rites
Of
holy
Hymen
?
—
On
the
village
plain
Nought
joins
but
mutual
love
;
no
sordid
motive
Promotes
unnatural
union
;
but
the
flame
That
first
united
glows
throughout
their
life
A
steady
fire
,
whose
unabating
light
Gilds
Youth
with
rapture
,
and
with
fostering
warmth
Chears
drooping
Age
,
who
smiling
sees
his
offspring
Step
forth
to
claim
the
joys
he
celebrates
With
annual
hospitality
,
what
time
The
circling
year
brings
round
the
happy
day
That
shower'd
down
blessings
on
him
,
when
it
gave
To
his
fond
vow
the
willing
Sylvia's
charms
,
Then
blooming
young
,
now
hoary
,
but
her
heart
Unchang'd
by
time
;
for
still
the
same
desire
To
add
to
every
joy
,
or
fondly
soothe
Each
woe
he
feels
,
reigns
unabated
there
.
His
social
roof
receives
each
welcome
guest
,
His
open
heart
diffuses
round
his
pleasure
,
And
each
plain
neighbour
with
unfeigning
tongue
Congratulates
his
bliss
.
Who
would
not
leave
For
these
sincere
delights
,
the
pageant
pomp
,
The
rich
array
,
the
courtly
formal
speech
Unutter'd
by
the
heart
,
the
birth-day
wish
Of
venal
hirelings
,
who
for
interest
croud
The
glittering
levee
?
Happier
(
Reason
deems
View'd
in
each
light
)
the
simple
village
life
,
Than
all
that
courtiers
wish
,
or
kings
bestow
.
Kings
cannot
give
a
boon
of
so
rich
price
As
are
thy
smiles
,
O
lovely
Health
!
and
thou
Shunning
the
tumult
,
to
the
rural
green
Retirest
.
There
,
not
built
by
mortal
hand
,
Stands
on
the
southern
slope
of
the
fresh
hill
Thy
temple
,
from
whose
roof
the
eglantine
And
vagrant
woodbine
hang
;
and
at
the
porch
Sits
thy
good
priestess
Ease
,
administring
To
Exercise
(
who
up
the
gentle
slope
By
moderate
footing
moves
)
the
holy
cup
Of
Temperance
,
nymph
of
the
crystal
spring
That
dwells
beneath
thy
altar
;
and
from
thence
Warbling
with
gentle
lapse
joins
the
full
stream
,
That
winding
wild
delays
its
silver
course
In
the
rich
mead
,
whose
bank
the
peasant
oft
Approaches
to
allay
his
thirst
,
and
quaffs
The
simple
beverage
from
the
limpid
fount
.
Bright
virgin
,
thee
of
all
the
Powers
who
range
The
rural
plain
,
I
woo
with
constant
vow
Most
ardent
!
Deign
around
my
temples
bind
Thy
fragrant
wreath
,
and
deck
my
purpled
cheek
With
thy
rich
glow
.
Then
undisturb'd
the
mind
Musing
pursues
its
holy
meditation
,
And
rapt
in
trance
,
can
trace
a
thousand
gifts
Shower'd
by
the
gracious
hand
of
Nature's
King
To
deck
the
various
field
.
The
wondering
eye
Roams
o'er
the
fair
creation
;
then
to
heaven
Unbidden
soars
;
for
the
full
soul
imprest
With
holy
transport
,
there
directs
its
view
From
whence
its
blessings
flow
,
and
the
rapt
voice
Accordant
hymns
the
grateful
song
of
praise
.
The
rapid
gusts
of
passion
,
which
or
pride
,
Or
folly
,
or
the
thousand
varying
forms
Of
courtly
affectation
ever
raise
,
Here
all
subside
,
and
the
composed
breast
Expands
with
love
,
and
to
its
utmost
power
Diffuses
blessings
to
mankind
,
nor
fears
Ingratitude
should
check
,
or
pride
should
spurn
The
offer'd
bounties
of
the
generous
heart
.
Bless'd
be
the
day
,
and
doubly
bless'd
the
hour
,
When
my
Fidele
with
unfeigned
vow
Gave
her
fond
hand
,
and
own'd
her
constant
love
:
Tho'
since
that
hour
already
thrice
the
sun
From
every
sign
has
seen
our
growing
bliss
;
And
tho'
thy
smile
of
unaffected
love
Adds
joy
to
every
joy
,
and
charms
to
ease
The
brow
of
Care
;
tho'
thou
art
all
that
heaven
Could
give
in
woman
,
tenderness
,
and
truth
,
And
all
my
heart
e'er
wish'd
,
when
warmest
Fancy
Form'd
the
fond
future
view
of
houshold
bliss
;
Yet
happier
still
perhaps
our
lot
had
been
,
Hadst
thou
beneath
the
rural
thatch
receiv'd
My
faithful
vow
,
and
we
had
never
heard
Of
town
or
city
life
;
a
Marian
thou
,
And
rustic
Corin
I
.
Then
on
the
plain
Contented
we
had
pass'd
Life's
little
day
.
While
Youth
with
sprightly
beam
illum'd
her
hours
,
They
would
move
on
with
joy
;
and
when
at
noon
Firm
Manhood
call'd
us
forth
to
till
the
soil
,
And
with
our
labouring
hand
direct
the
plough
,
We
would
be
ready
,
nor
refuse
the
task
,
Due
tribute
to
the
public
;
till
at
eve
Our
vigour
lost
,
when
Age
came
creeping
on
,
We
would
unyoke
our
heifers
,
and
retire
To
welcome
ease
,
our
best
skill
then
employ'd
At
our
own
home
;
attentive
there
to
thatch
The
chinks
which
Time
had
made
,
and
to
root
up
Each
foul
weed
that
deform'd
our
little
plot
.
This
business
over
,
calm
we
should
attend
Th'
approaching
hour
of
our
eternal
rest
;
And
when
it
came
,
borne
to
our
peaceful
grave
By
the
plain
villager
;
what
tho'
no
tomb
Of
sculptur'd
marble
call'd
the
passing
eye
To
read
our
story
,
yet
the
cottage
tear
Should
on
our
ashes
fall
,
and
the
good
heart
O'erflow
sincerely
for
a
neighbour
lost
:
Upon
our
bier
the
virgin
troop
would
hang
Fresh-woven
chaplets
of
the
sweetest
flowers
:
Green
turf
should
deck
our
grave
;
and
every
year
In
spring-time
would
some
friendly
hand
with
care
Bind
the
fresh
briar
around
,
to
guard
the
place
From
the
rude
insult
of
the
careless
step
;
And
faithful
Memory
to
late
time
record
,
We
were
the
happiest
pair
of
human
kind
.