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Remoteness of situation, and some other circumstances, have hitherto deprived the author of that happiness he might receive from seeing Mr. Garrick.
'Tis the universal regard his character commands, occasions this address.
It may be thought by many, (at a visit so abrupt as this is) that something highly complimentary should be said on the part of the intruder; but according to the ideas the author has conceived of Mr. Garrick's delicacy and good sense, a single period in the garb of flattery would certainly offend him.
He therefore takes his leave;—and after having stept (perhaps a little too forward) to offer his tribute of esteem, respectfully retires.
Carpe diem. Hor.
In the barn the tenant cock,
Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
And the peeping sun-beam, now,
Philomel forsakes the thorn,
Plaintive where she prates at night; And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.
From the low-roof d cottage ridge,
Darting through the one-arch'd bridge,
Now the pine-tree's waving top
Kidlings, now, begin to crop
From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd,
Now the busy bee's employ'd
Trickling through the crevie'd rock,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock
Colin, for the promis'd corn
(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe)
Anxious, hears the huntsman's horn, Boldly sounding, drown his pipe.
Sweet,—O sweet, the warbling throng,
Nature's universal song
Fervid on the glitt'ring flood, Now the noon-tide radiance glows:
Dropping o'er its infant bud,
By the brook the shepherd dines;
From the fierce meridian heat Shelter'd, by the branching pines,
Pendent o'er his grassy seat. Now the flock forsakes the glade,
Where, uncheck'd, the sun-beams fall;Sure to find a pleasing shade By the ivy'd abbey wall.
Echo in her airy round, O'er the river, rock, and hill,
Cannot catch a single sound,
Cattle court the zephyrs bland,
Or with languid silence stand
But from mountain, dell, or stream,
Fearful lest the noon-tide beam
Not a leaf has leave to stir,
Nature's lull'd—serene—and still!
Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur,
Languid is the landscape round,
Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Now the hill—the hedge—is green, Now the warblers' throats in tune!
Blithsome is the verdant scene, Brighten'd by the beams of noon!
O'er the heath the heifer strays
Now the village windows blaze,
Now he hides behind the hill,
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Trudging as the ploughmen go,
Giant-like their shadows grow,
Where the rising forest spreads,
To their high-built airy beds,
As the lark, with vary'd tune,
Mark the mild resplendent Moon,
Now the hermit Howlet peeps
And the blue mist slowly creeps,
As the trout in speckled pride,
Linnets, with unnumber'd notes,
Tuning sweet their mellow throats, Bid the setting Sun adieu.
A HIGBT FIECE.
Cum tacet omnis ager, pecudes, pictseque rolucres.
The queen of Contemplation, Night,
Begins her balmy reign; Advancing in their varied light
Her silver-vested train.
'Tis strange, the many marshall'd stars.
That ride yon sacred round,
A kind, a philosophic calm,
The cool creation wears!
The gent le night repairs.
Behind their leafy curtains hid, The feather'd race how still!How quiet now the gamesome kid, That gainbol'd round the hill!
The sweets, that, bending o'er their banks,
From sultry day declin'd,
The Moon, preceded by the breeze That bade the clouds retire,
But soft—the golden glow subsides!
Her chariot mounts on high!
Pale regent of the sky!
Where Time, upon the wither'd tree Hath carv'd the moral chair,
The wither'd tree was once in prime;
Its branches brav'd the sky I
Shall youth and vigour die.
I 'in lifted to the blue expanse!
It glows serenely gay!
We 'II search the milky way.
Let us descend—the daring flight Fatigues my feeble mind;
Is impotent and blind.
What are those wild, those wand'ring fires,
That o'er the moorland ran? Vapours. How like the vague desires
That cheat the heart of man!
But there 's a friendly guide! a flame,
That, lambent o'er its bed, Enlivens, with a gladsome beam, The hermit's osier shed.
Among the russet shades of night,
It glances from afar!
It seems a silver star!
In coverts, (where the few frequent)
If Virtue deigns to dwell,
Gives lustre to her cell.
THE THRUSH AND PIE.
How amooth that rapid river slides
Progressive to the deep!
Pleasure's intoxicated sons!
Ye indolent! ye gay!
Life wings its trackless way.
That hranching grove of dusky green Conceals the azure sky;
Old Errour, thus, with shades impure,
To savage herds, that hunt for prey,
An unresisting prize I
The little rambler dies.
As luckless is the virgin's lot,
When hurried from the halcyon cot,
The passions, a relentless train!
To tear the victim run:
Is conquer'd and undone.
How bright the little insects hlaze,
As proud as if their painted rays
Tis thus, the pigmy sons of Pow'r
Advance their vain parade! Thus, glitter in the darken'd hour,
And like the glow-worms fade!
The soft serenity of night,
Ungentle clouds deform!
Is hid hehind a storm!
The angry elements engage!
An oak (an ivied bower!)
And shields me from the shower.
The rancour, thus, of rushing fate,
I've learnt to render vain: For whilst Integrity's her seat,
The soul will sit serene.
A raven, from some greedy vault,
The tomh! the consecrated dome!
The temple rais'd to Peace!
Compels the human race!
Yon village, to the moral mind,
A solemn aspect wears; Where sleep hath lull'd the lahour'd hind.
And kill'd his daily cares:
Tis hut the church-yard of the night;
An emhlematic hed I
The temporary dead.
From hence, I 'll penetrate, in thought,
The grave's nnmeasur'd deep;
To meet my final sleep.
'Tis peace (the little chaos past!)
The gracious Moon restor'd
That through the forest roar'd!
The nightingale, a welcome guest!
Renews her gentle strains; And Hope, (just wand'ring from my breast)
Her wonted seat regains.
Yes when yon lucid orb is dark,
And darting from on high; My soul, a more celestial spark,
Shall keep her native sky.
Fann'd by the light—the lenient breeze,
My limbs refreshment find; And moral rhapsodies, like these,
Give vigour to the mind.
THRUSH AND PIE:
Conceat'n within an hawthorn bush,
At length, the little wond'ring race