Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 82

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize; Nor all that glisters, gold.

William Collins. 1721-1759

457. Ode to Simplicity

O THOU, by Nature taught To breathe her genuine thought In numbers warmly pure and sweetly strong: Who first on mountains wild, In Fancy, loveliest child, Thy babe and Pleasure's, nursed the pow'rs of song!

Thou, who with hermit heart Disdain'st the wealth of art, And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall: But com'st a decent maid, In Attic robe array'd, O chaste, unboastful nymph, to thee I call!

By all the honey'd store On Hybla's thymy sh.o.r.e, By all her blooms and mingled murmurs dear, By her whose love-lorn woe, In evening musings slow, Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear:

By old Cephisus deep, Who spread his wavy sweep In warbled wand'rings round thy green retreat; On whose enamell'd side, When holy Freedom died, No equal haunt allured thy future feet!

O sister meek of Truth, To my admiring youth Thy sober aid and native charms infuse!

The flow'rs that sweetest breathe, Though beauty cull'd the wreath, Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues.

While Rome could none esteem, But virtue's patriot theme, You loved her hills, and led her laureate band; But stay'd to sing alone To one distinguish'd throne, And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land.

No more, in hall or bow'r, The pa.s.sions own thy pow'r.

Love, only Love her forceless numbers mean; For thou hast left her shrine, Nor olive more, nor vine, Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.

Though taste, though genius bless To some divine excess, Faint 's the cold work till thou inspire the whole; What each, what all supply, May court, may charm our eye, Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul!

Of these let others ask, To aid some mighty task, I only seek to find thy temperate vale; Where oft my reed might sound To maids and shepherds round, And all thy sons, O Nature, learn my tale.

William Collins. 1721-1759

458. How sleep the Brave

HOW sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest!

When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell, a weeping hermit, there!

William Collins. 1721-1759

459. Ode to Evening

IF aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs and dying gales;

O nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, With brede ethereal wove, O'erhang his wavy bed:

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn,

As oft he rises, 'midst the twilight path Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum: Now teach me, maid composed, To breathe some soften'd strain,

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit, As musing slow, I hail Thy genial loved return!

For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant hours, and elves Who slept in buds the day,

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, The pensive pleasures sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car:

Then lead, calm votaress, where some sheety lake Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd pile, Or upland fallows grey Reflect its last cool gleam.

Or if chill bl.u.s.tering winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut That from the mountain's side Views wilds and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires, And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil.

While Spring shall pour his show'rs, 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, Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes:

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friends.h.i.+p, Science, rose-lipp'd Health Thy gentlest influence own, And hymn thy favourite name!

William Collins. 1721-1759

460. Fidele

TO fair Fidele's gra.s.sy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; But shepherd lads a.s.semble here, And melting virgins own their love.

No wither'd witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew; The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew.

The redbreast oft at evening hours Shall kindly lend his little aid, With h.o.a.ry moss, and gather'd flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds, and beating rain, In tempests shake the sylvan cell; Or 'midst the chase, on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell;

Each lonely scene shall thee restore, For thee the tear be duly shed; Beloved, till life can charm no more; And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.

Mark Akenside. 1721-1770

461. Amoret

IF rightly tuneful bards decide, If it be fix'd in Love's decrees, That Beauty ought not to be tried But by its native power to please, Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell-- What fair can Amoret excel?

Behold that bright unsullied smile, And wisdom speaking in her mien: Yet--she so artless all the while, So little studious to be seen-- We naught but instant gladness know, Nor think to whom the gift we owe.

But neither music, nor the powers Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, Add half the suns.h.i.+ne to the hours, Or make life's prospect half so clear, As memory brings it to the eye From scenes where Amoret was by.

This, sure, is Beauty's happiest part; This gives the most unbounded sway; This shall enchant the subject heart When rose and lily fade away; And she be still, in spite of Time, Sweet Amoret in all her prime.