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When the pure soul is from the body flown,
CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.-Canto ïi. Stanza 3.
-I CARE not, Fortune, what you me deny:
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace; You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shews her brightening
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve; Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave;
THE SEASONS.-Summer, 1. 67.
FALSELY luxurious, will not man awake,
For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise ?
WINTER, I. 1024.
"Tis done ! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,
thoughts Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life? All now are vanish'd ! Virtue sole survives,
Immortal never-failing friend of man, His guide to happiness on high. And see! 'Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth Of heaven and earth! awakening Nature hears The new creating word, and starts to life, In every heightened form, from pain and death For ever free. The great eternal scheme, Involving all, and in a perfect whole Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads, To Reason's eye refin'd clears up apace. Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, Coufounded in the dust, adore that Power And Wisdom oft arraign'd: see now the cause, Why unassuming Worth in secret liv'd, And died neglected; why the good man's share In life was gall and bitterness of soul; Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd In starving solitude, while Luxury In palaces lay straining her low thought, To form unreal wants ; why heaven-born Truth And Moderation fair wore the red marks Of Superstition's scourge; why licens'd Pain, That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe, Imbittered all our bliss. Ye good distrest ! Ye noble few! who here unbending stand Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while; And what your bounded view, which only saw A little part, deem'd evil, is no more : The storms of wint'ry time will quickly pass, And one unbounded spring encircle all.
Hymy, l. 37.
NATURE, attend ! join, every living soul,
. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills, And let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound His stupendous praise : whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. -For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the summer-ray Russets the plain, inspiring autumn gleams, Or winter rises in the blackening east ; Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
FROM THE Ruins of Rome.--Beginning and
Enough of Grongar, and the shady dales