(I NSCRIBED TO A Friend )
Written on leaving Stoke, and Caister, in Norfolk, in the year 1778.
Y E nymphs of Aganippe's spring
Who teach the youthful bard, to sing
And form the varied dream,
When 'fore his glad enraptured eyes —
Poetic images arise,
To gild his future theme;
'Tis yours to aid the tow'ring thought;
By you the sons of Graecia taught
To loftiest themes aspired:
Bold Pindar wing'd superior flight,
And round Parnassus' airy height
Pursued his course untired.
I ask not Pindar's god-like force;
Nor his who charm'd Ilissus' course
With eloquence divine!
The simplest sounds, devoid of art,
That melting, mingle with the heart —
That eloquence be mine.
How oft, when youth and fortune smile'd,
Have you my errant thoughts beguil'd
In fancy's bright domain;
As rapt in all the charms of song —
I warbled wild, the path along,
And pleas'd the rustic swain.
Nor bid the sweet delusion cease,
Tho' years, and bustling cares increase,
And youth has ta'en its flight:
Still deign to bless my rural hours,
With all your soft enchanting pow'rs,
Your visions of delight!
Teach me to weave the tale of woe
In measure full, and soft, and low,
With melancholy fraught;
That when it meet Anselmo's eye,
Distinct from ev'ry borrow'd dye
He trace the genuine thought.
'Tis his, with e'en paternal care,
The busy ills of life, to share,
That pain my anxious mind:
And, when the gloomy prospect clears, —
He points beyond this vale of tears —
To happiness refined.
When transient gleams from western skies,
Tinge humid vapours, as they rise,
With variegated beams;
'Tis then, with keen enqui'ring sight,
I pierce the floating mass of light,
That hovers o'er the streams:
Thrice happy! if on neighb'ring hill,
Or, by the brook that turns the mill,
Anselmo greet my view!
Descending quick, the banks between,
Or nimbly tripping cross the green,
To shun the ev'ning dew.
O! must I quit thee, dear retreat!
Of friendship long, the favor'd seat,
Where too, the voice of love,
Hath waked — with purest strokes of art,
The finer feelings of the heart,
Soft warbling from the grove?
Farewel ye groves! ye mural cells!
Yon vaulted tower, where echo dwells,
Responsive to my song!
Who joys to catch the parting sound
As thro' the vale, or o'er the mound
It murm'ring floats along.
Nymph of the marry-figured voice,
Still mourn with me, with me rejoice
In imitative strain,
When, far from Caister's gentle tide,
I sing, on ocean's craggy side,
Or to the waves complain.
Attentive to my present tale,
Thou mak'st the rampire and the dale
Companions of my woes;
The sympathetic sorrow spreads!
The zephyrs sigh along the meads —
The stream repining flows!
Flow on thou soft repining stream!
And, aid some abler poet's dream,
When I am far away;
Enough for me, that clear, and strong,
Thy present cadence rolls along,
Accordant to the lay:
But tell him — prattling Naiads, tell —
How, Laura sung her sad farewel,
And dropp'd — a parting tear!
While, on the trembling branch she hung
The little ditty that she sung,
To melancholy dear.
Written on leaving Stoke, and Caister, in Norfolk, in the year 1778.
Y E nymphs of Aganippe's spring
Who teach the youthful bard, to sing
And form the varied dream,
When 'fore his glad enraptured eyes —
Poetic images arise,
To gild his future theme;
'Tis yours to aid the tow'ring thought;
By you the sons of Graecia taught
To loftiest themes aspired:
Bold Pindar wing'd superior flight,
And round Parnassus' airy height
Pursued his course untired.
I ask not Pindar's god-like force;
Nor his who charm'd Ilissus' course
With eloquence divine!
The simplest sounds, devoid of art,
That melting, mingle with the heart —
That eloquence be mine.
How oft, when youth and fortune smile'd,
Have you my errant thoughts beguil'd
In fancy's bright domain;
As rapt in all the charms of song —
I warbled wild, the path along,
And pleas'd the rustic swain.
Nor bid the sweet delusion cease,
Tho' years, and bustling cares increase,
And youth has ta'en its flight:
Still deign to bless my rural hours,
With all your soft enchanting pow'rs,
Your visions of delight!
Teach me to weave the tale of woe
In measure full, and soft, and low,
With melancholy fraught;
That when it meet Anselmo's eye,
Distinct from ev'ry borrow'd dye
He trace the genuine thought.
'Tis his, with e'en paternal care,
The busy ills of life, to share,
That pain my anxious mind:
And, when the gloomy prospect clears, —
He points beyond this vale of tears —
To happiness refined.
When transient gleams from western skies,
Tinge humid vapours, as they rise,
With variegated beams;
'Tis then, with keen enqui'ring sight,
I pierce the floating mass of light,
That hovers o'er the streams:
Thrice happy! if on neighb'ring hill,
Or, by the brook that turns the mill,
Anselmo greet my view!
Descending quick, the banks between,
Or nimbly tripping cross the green,
To shun the ev'ning dew.
O! must I quit thee, dear retreat!
Of friendship long, the favor'd seat,
Where too, the voice of love,
Hath waked — with purest strokes of art,
The finer feelings of the heart,
Soft warbling from the grove?
Farewel ye groves! ye mural cells!
Yon vaulted tower, where echo dwells,
Responsive to my song!
Who joys to catch the parting sound
As thro' the vale, or o'er the mound
It murm'ring floats along.
Nymph of the marry-figured voice,
Still mourn with me, with me rejoice
In imitative strain,
When, far from Caister's gentle tide,
I sing, on ocean's craggy side,
Or to the waves complain.
Attentive to my present tale,
Thou mak'st the rampire and the dale
Companions of my woes;
The sympathetic sorrow spreads!
The zephyrs sigh along the meads —
The stream repining flows!
Flow on thou soft repining stream!
And, aid some abler poet's dream,
When I am far away;
Enough for me, that clear, and strong,
Thy present cadence rolls along,
Accordant to the lay:
But tell him — prattling Naiads, tell —
How, Laura sung her sad farewel,
And dropp'd — a parting tear!
While, on the trembling branch she hung
The little ditty that she sung,
To melancholy dear.