1 For when thy folding-star arising shows Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, The pensive Pleasures sweet Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene, By thy religious gleams. Or if chill blust'ring winds, or driving rain, Views wilds and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires, The gradual dusky veil. While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light: While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, And rudely rends thy robes: So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, ODE ON SOLITUDE. HAPPY the man whose wish and care In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away, Sound sleep by night; study and ease, Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Steal from the world, and not a stone. РОРЕ. How darkly o'er yon far-off mountain frowns The gathered tempest! from that lurid cloud The deep-voiced thunders roll, awful and loud, Though distant; while upon the misty downs Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain. Perhaps some way-worn traveller in vain Wraps his torn raiment round his shivering form, SOUTHEY. SONNET. STATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide To some far-distant land adventurous bound, Who sorrows for a child or husband there? |