While o'er my mind these glooms of thought are spread, And veil the light of life's meridian ray? Is there no Power this darkness to remove? Yes, those there are who know a Saviour's love These grateful share the gifts of Nature's hand-; And in the varied scenes that round them shine (Minute and beautiful, or rude and grand), Admire th' amazing workmanship divine. Blows not a floweret in th' enamel'd vale, But claims their wonder and excites their praise. For them ev'n vernal Nature looks more gay, To them more fair the fairest smile of Day, To them more sweet the sweetest breath of Morn. They feel the bliss that Hope and Faith supply; They pass serene th' appointed hours that bring The Day that wafts them to the realms on high, The Day that centres in Eternal Spring. THREE ELEGY, WRITTEN IN THE HOT WEATHER. JULY, 1757. [IBID.] HREE hours from noon the passing shadow shows, The dazzling ether fierce and fiercer glows, Now still and vacant is the dusty street, And still and vacant all yon fields extend, Save where those swains, oppress'd with toil and heat, The grassy harvest of the mead attend. Lost is the lively aspect of the ground, Low are the springs, the reedy ditches dry; No verdant spot in all the vale is found, Save what yon stream's unfailing stores supply. Where are the flowers, the garden's rich array? All but the natives of the torrid zone, What Afric's wilds or Peru's fields display, Pleas'd with a clime that imitates their own, They lovelier bloom beneath the parching ray. Where is wild Nature's heart-reviving song, Pine through this long, long course of sultry hours. Where is the dream of bliss by Summer brought? The weary soul Imagination cheers, Her pleasing colours paint the future gay: Time passes on, the truth itself appears, The pleasing colours instant fade away. In different seasons different joys we place, And these will Spring supply, and Summer these; Yet frequent storms the bloom of Spring deface, And Summer scarcely brings a day to please. O for some secret shady cool recess, Some Gothic dome o'erhung with darksome trees, Where thick damp walls this raging heat repress, Where the long aisle invites the lazy breeze! But why these plaints?-reflect, nor murmur more- Far worse, alas! the feeling mind sustains, The hopeless lover bound in Beauty's chains, He, who a father or a mother mourns, He, whom fell Febris', rapid Fury! burns, Or Phthisis slow leads lingering to the tomb Lest Man should sink beneath the present pain; Fierce and oppressive is the heat we bear, Thence shall our fruits a richer flavour share, Thence shall our plains with riper harvests smile. Reflect, nor murmur more-for, good in all, Ev'n now behold the grateful change at hand! Hark, in the East loud blustering gales arise; Wide and more wide the darkening clouds expand, And distant lightnings flash along the skies! O, in the awful concert of the storm, While hail and rain and wind and thunder join; May deep-felt gratitude my soul inform, May joyful songs of reverent praise be mine! |