Sidor som bilder

The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
In chains of errour our accomplish'd minds,
That decks, with all the splendour of the true,
A false religion, is unknown to you.
Nature indeed vouchsafes, for our delight,
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here;
But brighter beams, than his who fires the skies,
Have ris’n at length on your admiring eyes,
That shoot into

darkest caves the day, From which our nicer opticks turn away.




OH, could I worship aught beneath the skies
That earth has seen, or fancy can devise,
Thine altar, sacred liberty, should stand,
Built, by no mercenary vulgar hand,
With fragrant turf, and Aow'rs as wild and fair
As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air!
Duly, as ever on the mountain's height
The peep of morning shed a dawning light,
Again, when ev'ning in her sober vest
Drew the gray curtain of the fading west,
My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise,
For the chief blessings of my fairest days:
But that were sacrilege-praise is not thine,
But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine:
Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly
A captive bird into the boundless sky,
This triple realm adores thee-thou art come
From Sparta hither, and art here at home.



THE lover, too, shuns business and alarms,
Tender idolater of absent charms.
Saints offer nothing in their warmest pray’rs,
'That 'he devotes not with a zeal like their's ;
"Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time,
And ev'ry thought that wanders, is a crime.
In sighs he worships his supremely fair,
And weeps a sad libation in despair,
Adores a creature, and, devout in vain,
Wins in return an answer of disdain.

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1. I AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Oh, solitude! where are the charms

have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

2. I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech,

I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain,

My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me,


Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestow'd upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of

age, And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.


Religion ! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,

Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going belt

These vallies and rocks never heard,
Ne'er sigh'd at the sound of a knell,

Or smil'd when a sabbath appear’d.



Ye winds, that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more.

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