On corse lie weltering! From the skirting wood Howls the gaunt wolf! and vultures, snuffing blood, Ere yet the warriour-arm one sword unsheathe, Scream their dire tocsin o'er the ranks of death!

O from a troubled dream like this-to wake!
Sweet to the peaceful spirit is morning-break!
O from the trances or of fear, or grief,

In vernal smiles we hail the soft relief.

From wilds and wastes, where fancy chills and burns,
To some safe bower the trembling bosom turns,
And seeks the seat serene, the asylum near,
That quiets in its lid the scalding tear.

Sweet to the heart untainted, to retire
Where nature, kind to satisfied desire,
Hath all her richest balsams in reserve,
To still, if griefs assail, the throbbing nerve,
And offers, in a sunbeam or a flower,
The unvalued treasure of a tranquil hour.

When beauty opens all its stores to Taste, We gaze on simple colour, cool and chaste. From mead to sylvan glen, from gloom to glade, Delicious every tint, and every shade.

There, where the new sown acres lure the sight, How steals the green, in sprinklings soft and light;

Or, where again the slope or meadow lives,
In breathing succulence its freshness gives,
Or in the sycamore-the slender larch-

Or where rathe limes inweave their fragrant arch;
Or on the tops of elms (where old and sear
Their verdure had endur'd the gradual year)
Aspiring, as its airy progress springs,
In young variety its softening flings;

Or ripens, amidst acorns rich and brown,
Where the gnarl'd oak displays its ancient crown,

And still doth colour sprightlier charms unfold Bright in those flowers that flush the meads with gold, And kindles through the fields in various bloom, Wakes the dun heath, and lights the yellow broom; Or in the woodbine climbs the cavern deep, Or stars in clematis the rocky steep; Or in the tulip's streaky lustre glows,

Or riots in the luxury of the rose.

Sweet is the charm, when now, from distant hill, We hear new music in the tinkling rill; When not the lightest vapour flits above, And not a leaf thro' lawn or glen or grove.

But when the feathery breeze breathes whisperingly From field to field, from tufted tree to tree,

Or, rising, o'er the extensive upland sails
And in a brisker murmur sweeps the vales;
'Tis then-how colour dances to the eye-
Gray mists that zoned the mountain, glittering, fly;
The fescue trembles thro' the level meads,
And spiry rye-grass rolls its seeded blades;
The poppied cornfield fluctuates, one red flush,
Now sober'd to a browner duskier blush,
And pouring, more profuse, the drowsy wave
Bids to soft slumbers its exuberance heave!
'Tis then the twinkling aspin, gleam on gleam,
And shivering willows croud the crisped stream,
And, high above the rest, its branches round
The broad beech spreading, bends across the mound
(Where summer-shrubs their honied essence breathe,}
Its silky sprays, to brush the flowers beneath :
The summer-shrubs their bosom-tints disclose;
And in full pride its shadowy foliage flows.

Sweet is the minstrel, that "from heaven-gate sings,"
As in the dawning cloud she bathes her wings;
Or song, love-labour'd, from the wakeful bird,
That, rich in dulcet melodies, is heard,

When in dim nook, to stranger all unseen,
Sparkles her wild-bright eye, the leaves between ;
Or strains that (whisper'd first) from golden beak
Steal o'er the dusky stillness, pausing break

On the charm'd listener, an enamour'd lay,
And in low liquid warbles, melt away;
Or, from the cheerful swain and cottage-maid,
The ditties that enchant the rural shade.

And, O! if wandering down the summer-glen,
Dies on my ear the hum of busy men,

Till where, around me deepening, wildwoods close,
I greet, secure, the curtains of repose;
And not a breath disturbs the sainted spot,
Where the rock opens in a gelid grot;
Shall I not hide me from the intruder care,
And welcome a select assemblage there-
Its graystone roof, where many a speckled shell
Shews, in chaste guise, the simple hermit-cell;
Its root-fram'd seat; its pebble-paven floor;
And, at its mouth, by harebells shaded o'er
The brook that, dimpling as they dip, imbues
Nectareous kiss! their cups with clearer hues.

Such was the grot, that mortals hail'd their home, Ere from their noiseless haunts they learn'd to roam; And dissipation mix'd with sweets, that cloy,

The first pure fountain of primeval joy.

Nor did the bower of leafy texture, less

Speak their true sense of homely happiness!

But soon, how soon, licentious fancy wove,

Midst impious rites, " her hangings for the grove.”
How soon Ambition bade her minions rear,
To dastard guilt or superstitious fear,
The amazing monument, and tower sublime,
To send their glories down to future time;
And, where the tyrant on his millions trod,
Nail to a narrow nich the future god:

Whilst, as Caprice scoop'd out re-echoing dells,

Shrines sprang from bowers, and pyramids from cells;
Aud, vainly wrapt in one stupendous gloom,
A province frown'd, a temple or a tomb!

Hence, as amidst the sapphire blaze above, Sc wl'd, in supernal state, the Theban Jove : Hence Belus: Hence the Dragon's wild abodes: And vastness triumph'd in colossal Rhodes.

But see-refulgent thro' that olive bloom,

The column'd faue, the decorated dome ;
Where. 'midst clear ether, in the Parian stone
Polisht and fair, symmetric order shone ;
And soft the acanthus curl'd, the chizzel's pride,
To veil with sacred shade Ilyssus' tide.

There o'er the Great, the Graceful and the Young, Her careless folds had glowing Sculpture flung;