Imagination scatt'ring round
Wild roses over furrow'd ground,
Which Labour of his frown beguile,
And teach Philosophy a smile—
Wit flashing on Religion's side,
Whose fires to sacred Truth applied,
The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrudes on human notice more,
Like sunbeams on the golden height
Of some tall temple playing bright-
Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks
Their order on his shelves exact,
Not more harmonious or compact
Than that to which he keeps confin'd
The various treasures of his mind-
All these to Montagu's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there:
There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffled plumage calm refit,
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar,)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.
She thus maintains divided sway
With yon bright regent of the day
The plume and poet both, we know,
Their lustre to his influence owe;
And she the works of Phœbus aiding,
Both poet saves and plume from fading.
Supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, during his solitary abode on the island of Juan Fernandez.
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.
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.
II.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet musick 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.
III.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
O 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 bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Never 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.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How flect is a glance of the mind! Compar d with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot
To the Lord High Chancellorship of England.
ROUND Thurlow's head, in early youth,
And in his sportive days,
Fair Science pour'd the light of truth
And Genius shed his rays
Discernment, eloquence, and grace,
Proclaim him born to sway
The balance in the highest place,
And bear the palm away.
The praise bestow'd was just and wise,
He sprang impetuous forth,
Secure of conquest, where the prize
Attends superiour worth.
So the best courser on the plain
Ere yet he starts is known,
And docs but at the goal obtain
What all had deem'd his own.
COME, peace of mind, delightful guest!
Return and make thy downy nest
Once more in this sad heart:
Nor riches I nor pow'r pursue,
Nor hold forbidden joys in view;
We therefore need not part.
II.
Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,
From av'rice and ambition free,
And pleasure's fatal wiles?
For whom, alas! dost thou prepare
The sweets that I was wont to share,
The banquet of thy smiles?
III.
The great, the gay, shall they partake,
The Heav'n that thou alone canst make?
And wilt thou quit the stream
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The grove and the sequester'd shed
To be a guest with them?
For thee I panted, theo I priz'd,
For thee I gladly sacrific'd
Whate'er I lov'd before;
And shall I see thee start away,
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee sayFarewell! we meet no more?
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