Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year!
O could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.
THE peace of Heaven attend thy shade,
My early friend, my favourite maid!
When life was new, companions gay,
We hail'd the morning of our day.
Ah, with what joy did I behold
The flower of beauty fair unfold!
And fear'd no storm to blast thy bloom,
Or bring thee to an early tomb!
Untimely gone! for ever fied
The roses of the cheek so red;
The' affection warm, the temper mild,
The sweetness that in sorrow smil'd.
Alas! the cheek where beauty glow'd;
The heart where goodness overflow'd,
A clod amid the valley lies,
dust to dust' the mourner cries.
O from thy kindred early torn,
And to thy grave untimely borne !
Vanish'd for ever from my view,
Thou sister of my soul, adieu!
Fair, with my first ideas twin'd,
Thine image oft will meet my mind;
And, while remembrance brings thee near,
Affection sad will drop a tear.
How oft does sorrow bend the head,
Before we dwell among the dead!
Scarce in the years of manly prime,
I've often wept the wrecks of time.
What tragic tears bedew the eye!
What deaths we suffer ere we die!
Our broken friendships we deplore,
And loves of youth that are no more!
No after-friendship e'er can raise
The' endearments of our early days;
And ne'er the heart such fondness prove,
As when at first began to love.
Affection dies, a vernal flower;
And love, the blossom of an hour;
The spring of fancy cares control,
And mar the beauty of the soul.
Vers'd in the commerce of deceit,
How soon the heart forgets to beat!
The blood runs cold at Interest's call :-
They look with equal eyes on all.
Then lovely Nature is expell'd,
And Friendship is romantic held;
Then Prudence comes with hundred eyes:
The veil is rent-the vision flies.
The dear illusions will not last;
The era of enchantment's past;
The wild romance of life is done;
The real history is begun.
The sallies of the soul are o'er,
The feast of fancy is no more;
And ill the banquet is supplied
By form, by gravity, by pride.
Ye gods! whatever ye withhold,
Let my affections ne'er grow old;
Ne'er may the human głow depart,
Nor Nature yield to frigid Art!
Still may the generous bosom burn,
Though doom'd to bleed o'er beauty's urn;
And still the friendly face appear,
Though moisten'd with a tender tear!
YE virgins! fond to be admir'd,
With mighty rage of conquest fir'd,
And universal sway;
Who heave the' uncover'd bosom high,
And roll a fond, inviting eye,
On all the circle gay!
You miss the fine and secret art
To win the castle of the heart,
For which you all contend;
The coxcomb tribe may crowd your train,
But you will never, never gain
If this your passion, this your praise,
To shine, to dazzle, and to blaze,
You may be call'd divine:
But not a youth beneath the sky
Will say in secret, with a sigh,
'O were that maiden mine!'
You marshal, brilliant, from the box,
Fans, feathers, diamonds, castled locks,
Your magazine of arms;
But 'tis the sweet sequester'd walk,
The whispering hour, the tender talk,
That gives your genuine charms.
The nymph-like robe, the natural grace,
The smile, the native of the face,
Refinement without art;
The eye where pure affection beams,
The tear from tenderness that streams,
The accents of the heart:
The trembling frame, the living cheek,
Where, like the morning, blushes break
To crimson o'er the breast;
The look where sentiment is seen,
Fine passions moving o'er the mien,
And all the soul exprest:
Your beauties these: with these you shine, And reign on high by right divine,
The sovereigns of the world;
Then to your court the nations flow;
The Muse with flowers the path will strew,
Where Venus' car is hurl'd.
From dazzling deluges of snow,
From summer-noon's meridian glow,
We turn our aching eye,
To Nature's robe of vernal green,
To the blue curtain, all serene,
Of an autumnal sky.
The favourite tree of Beauty's queen,
Behold the myrtle's modest green,
The virgin of the grove!
Soft from the circlet of her star,
The tender turtles draw the car
Of Venus and of Love.
The growing charm invites the eye;
See morning gradual paint the sky
With purple and with gold!
See spring approach with sweet delay!
See rosebuds open to the ray,
And leaf by leaf unfold!
We love the' alluring line of grace,
That leads the eye a wanton chase,
And lets the fancy rove;
The walk of beanty ever bends,
And still begins, but never ends
The labyrinth of love.
At times, to veil is to reveal,
And to display is to conceal;
Mysterious are your laws!
The vision finer than the view;
Her landscape Nature never drew
So fair as Fancy draws.
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