O THOU! the Nymph with placid eye!
O seldom found, yet ever nigh !
Receive my temperate vow:
Not all the storms that shake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon* soul,
And smooth, unaltered brow.
O come, in simple vest arrayed,
With all thy sober cheer displayed,
To bless my longing sight;
Thy mien composed, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,
And chaste, subdued delight.
No more by varying passions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell;
Where, in some pure and equal sky,
Beneath thy soft, indulgent eye,
The modest virtues dwell.
Simplicity, in Attic vest,
And Innocence, with candid breast,
And clear, undaunted eye ;
And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair opening, through this vale of tears,
A vista to the sky.
* Calm, serene, peaceful. — J. W. I.
There Health, through whose calm bosom glide
The temperate joys in even tide,
That rarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Presents her mild, unvarying cheek
To meet the offered blow.
Her influence taught the Phrygian sage*
A tyrant master's wanton rage
With settled smiles to meet :
Inured to toil and bitter bread,
He bowed his meek, submitted head,
And kissed thy sainted feet.
But thou, O Nymph, retired and coy!
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy
To tell thy tender tale?
The lowliest children of the ground,
Moss-rose and violet blossom round,
And lily of the vale.
O! say, what soft, propitious hour
I best may choose to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway?
When Autumn, friendly to the Muse,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,
And shed thy milder day.
When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,
And every storm is laid;
* Esop, the philosopher and writer of fables, who was originally a slave, and procured his liberty by his genius. J. W. I.
If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice,
Low whispering through the shade.
HER even lines her steady temper show,
Neat as her dress, and polished as her brow;
Strong as her judgement, easy as her air;
Correct, though free, and regular, though fair :
And the same graces o'er her pen preside,
That form her manners, and her footsteps guide.
FAREWELL, the softer hours, Spring's opening blush,
And Summer's deeper glow, the shepherd's pipe,
Tuned to the murmurs of a weeping spring,
And songs of birds, and gay enamelled fields,
Farewell! 'Tis now the sickness of the year,
Not to be medicined by the skilful hand.
Pale suns arise, that, like weak kings, behold
Their predecessor's empire moulder from them;
While, swift-increasing, spreads the black domain
Of melancholy Night ;-no more content
With equal sway, her stretching shadows gain
On the bright morn, and cloud the evening sky.
Farewell, the careless, lingering walk, at eve,
Sweet with the breath of kine and new-spread hay;
And slumber on a bank, where the lulled youth,
His head on flowers, delicious languor feels
Creep in the blood.
Invites a different song.
A different season now
The naked trees
Admit the tempest; rent is Nature's robe;
Fast, fast, the blush of Summer fades away
From her wan cheek, and scarce a flower remains
To deck her bosom; Winter follows close,
Pressing impatient on, and, with rude breath,
Fans her discolored tresses.
Yet, not all
Of grace and beauty from the falling year
Is torn, ungenial. Still the taper fir
Lifts its green spire, and the dark holly, edged
With gold, and many a strong perennial plant,
Yet cheer the waste nor does yon knot of oaks
Resign its honors to the infant blast.
This is the time, and these the solemn walks,
When inspiration rushes o'er the soul,
Sudden, as through the grove the rustling breeze.
'Tis past we breathe! assuaged, at length, The flames that drank our vital strength! Smote with intolerable heat,
No more our throbbing temples beat.
How clear the sky, how pure the air,
The heavens how bright, the earth how fair!
The bosom cool, the spirits light,
Active the day, and calm the night!
But O, the swiftly-shortening day!
Low in the West the sinking ray!
With rapid pace, advancing still,
"The morning hoar, the evening chill,"
The falling leaf, the fading year,
And Winter, ambushed in the rear !
Thus when the fervid Passions cool,
And Judgement, late, begins to rule;
When Reason mounts her throne serene,
And social Friendship gilds the scene;
When man, of ripened powers possessed,
Broods o'er the treasures of his breast;
Exults, in conscious worth elate,
Lord of himself,—almost of fate ;-
Then, then declines the unsteady flame,
Disease, slow mining, saps the frame ;
Cold damps of age around are shed,
That chill the heart, and cloud the head,
The failing spirits prompt no more,
The curtain drops, life's day is o'er.
DEAR, faithful object of my tender care,
Whom, but my partial eyes, none fancy fair;
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