Sweet Health, I seek thee! hither bring
Thy balm that softens human ills;
Come, on the long drawn clouds that fling
Their shadows o'er the Surry-Hills.
Yon green-topt hills, and far away
Where late as now I freedom stole,
And spent one dear delicious day
On thy wild banks, romantic Mole.
Aye, there's the scene![1] beyond the sweep
Of London's congregated cloud,
The dark-brow'd wood, the headlong steep,
And valley-paths without a crowd!
Here, Thames, I watch thy flowing tides,
Thy thousand sails am proud to see;
But where the Mole all silent glides
Dwells Peace—and Peace is wealth to me.
[Footnote 1: Box-Hill, and the beautiful neighbourhood of Dorking, in
Surry.]
Of Cambrian mountains still I dream,
And mouldering vestiges of war;
By time-worn cliff or classic stream
Would rove,—but prudence holds a bar.
Conic then, O Health, I'll strive to bound
My wishes to this airy stand;
'Tis not for me to trace around
The wonders of my native land.
Yet, the loud torrent's dark retreat,
Yet Grampian hills shall Fancy give,
And, towering in her giddy scat,
Amidst her own creation live,
Live, if thou'lt urge my climbing feet,
Give strength of nerve and vigorous breath,
If not, with dauntless soul I meet
The deep solemnity of death.
This far-seen monumental tower
Records th' achievements of the brave,
And Angria's subjugated power,
Who plunder'd on the eastern wave.
I would not that such turrets rise
To point out where my bones arc laid;
Save that some wandering bard might prize
The comforts of its broad cool shade.
O Vanity! since thou'rt decreed
Companion of our lives to be,
I'll seek the moral songster's meed,
An earthly immortality;
Most vain!—O let me, from the past
Remembering what to man is given,
Lay Virtue's broad foundations fast,
Whose glorious turrets reach to Heav'n:
A VISIT TO RENELAGH
To Ranelagh, once in my life,
By good-natur'd force I was driv'n;
The nations had ceas'd their long strife,
And PEACE[1] beam'd her radiance from Heav'n.
What wonders-were there to be found
That a clown might enjoy or disdain?
First we trac'd the gay ring all around,
Aye—and then we went round it again.
[Footnote 1: A grand Fete, in honour of the peace of 1802.]