But tranquil scenes, from vice apart,
Infuse their influence in the heart;
Instruct the mind, delight the eye,
And soften disappointment’s sigh;
Well did I know, no future bliss,
Midst busy crouds, could equal this,
Well did my bosom’s rapture tell
No future hours would please so well;
Yet oft, a vagrant wish would rise,
To breath the air of foreign skies;
Still would I heave a half formed sigh,
On other scenes to feast my eye,
Extend o’er earth my raptured view,
And search creation’s beauties through;
Oh had that wish but been suppress’d!
That sigh ne’er heav’d my infant breast,
Still had I in retirement dwelt,
And quiet’s tranquil influence felt.
XXVI
I gaz’d upon the pale moon’s face;
I sought the meteor’s path to trace;
I counted every orb of light,
That gem’d the azure vault of night;
I gaz’d o’er all the starry train
’Till softly, sleep came o’er my brain.
My senses sunk in soft repose,
Bright visions to my sight arose.
XXVII
The moon has fled upon the hill,
No more it gilds the murm’ring rill;
The stars are faint, and dimly seen,
Unlighted by their lovely queen;
The magic of the night is past,
And morning’s rays are coming fast;
In the grey skirtings of the east,
Across the ocean’s waveless breast,
Faint streaks of doubtful light appear,
Betok’ning Phœbus’s chariot near,
The mountains in the spreading light,
Gleam from their dark and cloudy height;
Stretch shadowy, o’er the landscape wide,
And tremble on the ebbing tide.
From the low dewy vale’s retreat,
Light clouds of mist the morning greet;
Now, stronger from the orient streaming,
O’er nature’s breast the sun is beaming;
The glittering woods enliven’d smile,
The fields resound the voice of toil,
Light songsters flutter in the groves,
And pleasure o’er the woodland roves:
Hark! o’er the valley, soft and clear
The rustic song swells on the ear;
The song by health and joy inspired,
In hearts with nature’s beauties fired.
XXVIII
Is there, among the giddy throng
Who heedless sweep time’s course along,—
One, who such scenes unmoved has view’d,
Nor felt his childhood’s joys renew’d,
Whose eye has on such beauties dwelt,
And his cold bosom never felt
Its thoughts with solemn power refined,
And rapture steal upon his mind?
No pure emotions fill his soul;
No bright reflections o’er it roll;
’Tis form’d in dark, and savage mould,
No genial virtues there unfold.
But sombre, as the glooms of night,
The forms that please its callous sight;
Cold to each virtue’s hallowed feeling,
The heart that nature cannot warm,
That owns not, round each fibre stealing,
In lonely wilds, her secret charm,
Chaseing every cloud of sadness!
Yielding calm and placid gladness.
’Tis nature prompts each noble aim,
Each softer grace is nature’s claim,
Each trait, from varied nature caught,
Fix’d in the mind, with her is fraught:
The hardy Swiss, from mountain rock,
As hardy stems the battle shock;
Italia’s soft and verdant plains
Repeat the lute’s melodious strains;
Each nation, wheresoe’er you range,
Change as the scenes of nature change.
XXIX
And thou, my country, lov’d so dear,
Land of free hearts, and faith sincere,
Fair freedom’s blest, congenial home,
Thou landmark in an age of gloom;
Claim’st, from the gales that round thee sweep,
Thy forests wild, thy summits steep,
Thy rushing torents rudely swelling,
The rocks, thy mighty eagle’s dwelling;—
A hardy, independant band,
The bulwark of thy favor’d land.