On the sooth'd ear.

From these abstracted oft,

You wander through the philosophic world;
Where in bright train continual wonders rise,
Or to the curious or the pious eye.
And oft, conducted by historic truth,

You tread the long extent of backward time:
Planning, with warm benevolence of mind,
And honest zeal unwarp'd by party-rage,
Britannia's weal; how from the venal gulph
To raise her virtue, and her arts revive.
Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts
The muses charm: while, with sure taste refin'd,
You draw th' inspiring breath of ancient song;
Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own.

Perhaps thy lov'd Lucinda shares thy walk,
With soul to thine attun'd. Then nature all
Wears to the lover's eye a look of love;
And all the tumult of a guilty world,
Toss'd by ungen'rous passions, sinks away.
The tender heart is animated peace;
And as it pours its copious treasures forth,
In varied converse, soft'ning ev'ry theme,
You, frequent-pausing, turn, and from her eyes,

Where meeken'd sense, and amiable grace,
And lively sweetness dwell, enraptur'd, drink
That nameless spirit of ethereal joy,

Unutterable happiness! which love,

Alone, bestows, and on a favour'd few.
Mean-time you gain the height, from whose fair

brow

The bursting prospect spreads immense around: And snatch'd o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn, And verdant field, and dark'ning heath between, And villages embosom'd soft in trees,

And spiry towns by surging columns mark'd

Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams:
Wide-stretching from the hall, in whose kind haunt
The hospitable genius lingers still,

To where the broken landscape, by degrees
Ascending, roughens into rigid hills;

O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds
That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise.
Flush'd by the spirit of the genial year,

Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom
Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round;

Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youth;

The shining moisture swells into her eyes,
In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves,
With palpitations wild; kind tumults seize
Her veins; and all her yielding soul is love.
From the keen gaze her lover turns away,
Full of the dear ecstatic pow'r, and sick
With sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair!
Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts:
Dare not th' infectious sigh; the pleading look,
Downcast, and low, in meek submission drest,
But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue,
Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,
Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bow'r,
Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch,
While ev❜ning draws her crimson curtains round,
Trust your soft minutes with betraying man.

And let th' aspiring youth beware of love, Of the smooth glance beware; for 'tis too late, When on his heart the torrent-softness pours. Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame Dissolves in air away; while the fond soul, Wrapt in gay visions of unreal bliss,

Still paints th' illusive form; the kindling grace;

Th' inticing smile; the modest-seeming eye,
Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heav'n,
Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death:
And still false-warbling in his cheated ear,
Her syren voice, enchanting, draws him on
To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy.
E'en present, in the very lap of love
Inglorious laid; while music flows around,
Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours;
Amid the roses fierce repentance rears

Her snaky crest: a quick-returning pang

Shoots thro' the conscious heart; where honour still,
And great design, against th' oppressive load
Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave.

But absent, what fantastic woes arous'd,

Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed, Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life? Neglected fortune flies; and sliding swift,

Prone into ruin, fall his scorn'd affairs.

'Tis nought but gloom around: the darken'd sun Loses his light: the rosy-bosom'd Spring

To weeping fancy pines; and yon bright arch,
Contracted, bends into a dusky vault.

All nature fades extinct; and she alone
Heard, felt, and seen, possesses ev'ry thought,
Fills ev'ry sense, and pants in ev'ry vein.
Books are but formal dullness, tedious friends:
And sad amid the social band he sits,

Lonely, and unattentive. From his tongue
Th' unfinish'd period falls: while, borne away
On swelling thought, his wafted spirit flies
To the vain bosom of his distant fair;
And leaves the semblance of a lover, fix'd
In melancholy site, with head declin❜d,
And love-dejected eyes. Sudden he starts,
Shook from his tender trance, and restless runs
To glimm'ring shades, and sympathetic glooms;
Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling stream,
Romantic, hangs: there through the pensive dusk
Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation lost,
Indulging all to love: or on the bank

Thrown, amid drooping lilies, swells the breeze
With sighs unceasing, and the brook with tears.
Thus in soft anguish he consumes the day,
Nor quits his deep retirement, till the moon
Peeps through the chambers of the fleecy east,