English

And now, to Life Rais'd by the Heav'nly Call,
Henceforth Vain Idols , I Renounce you all.
Vile Flesh , Thy raging Lust, and sordid Ease,
My winged Soul now shall not serve and please.
False World, Thy Laws shall be no longer mine,
Nor to thy Wayes my New-born Soul incline.
Satan, Thou wilt, I know, my Tempter be;
But thy Temptation shall not Govern me.
Foolish I've been; O Lord , I blush, I grieve;
And gladly would my Woful Folly leave.
Fain would I Turn to God; but can't alone:

Aurora was drest in her purple array,
And sol had just mounted the chariot of day;
The swift winged hours came dancing along,
And the lark to the morn galy warbled her song;
When struck with the spring and the beauties of May,
Thus Damon began to his fair one the lay.

How sweet is the prospect around,
How beautiful nature is seen;
Each hedge with May blossom is crown'd,
Each mead with a delicate green;
What odours came forth from each grove,
How blithe the wild choristers sing,

Come back — come back — thou youthful Time
When joy and innocence were ours,
When life was in its vernal prime,
And redolent of sweets and flowers.
Come back — and let us roam once more
Free-hearted through Life's pleasant ways,
And gather garlands as of yore —
Come back — come back — ye happy days.

Come back — come back — 't was pleasant then
To cherish faith in Love and Truth,
For nothing in dispraise of men
Had sour'd the temper of our youth.
Come back — and let us still believe

" I love my Love in the days of Spring,
With her I'll go a-garlanding,
A-garlanding in the merry May,
Laughing and singing all the day.
We roam the woods, we trace the streams,
Our waking thoughts are bright as dreams;
No bee on the blossom, no lark in the sky,
Is happier than my love and I."

I love to swing in the garden-bowers,
Under the branches all alone; —
I've heard your speeches, full of flowers,
Till I am weary of the hours —
So, prithee, babbler, get you gone.
Can you not leave me to myself?

Young Damon, and Chloe were mutually fond,
They kiss'd and they toy'd all the day;
Kind Hymen consented to finish the rest,
And join them for ever and aye.
Some fiend interfer'd, and the rites were delay'd,
By a circumstance few would suppose;
For thoughtless young Damon one day as he play'd,
Presented to Kitty — — a rose.

Alarm'd at the gift, Chloe rated the youth,
Fill'd with jealousy, rage, and disdain;
She call'd him false hearted, persidious and base,
And instantly quitted the plain.

Corinna was lovely, was witty, and young,
And all o'er the town had her praises been sung;
The beaux and the fops, paid their court to her eyes,
And the belles, tho' her rivals, beheld with surprise;
Yet, to all who in praising her charms did excel,
Her answer was only, indeed very well.

Lysander amidst her admirers prest,
And the true flame of love found to glow in his breast;
With awe he approach'd, and with modesty spoke,
Yet his passion she treated as only a joke;
Tho' the pangs he endur'd, no tongue could e'er tell,

Before my tale of days is told,
O may I watch, on reverent knees,
The Unknown Beauty once unfold
The magic of her mysteries!

Before I die, O may I see,
Clasp'd in her violet girdle, Spring;
May April breezes blow to me
Songs that the youngest poets sing!

Old eyes are dull to sights unseen,
Old ears are dull to songs unsung,
But if the heart stay warm and green,
Perchance the senses may keep young.

Howe'er it be, I will not quail
To tell the lapse of years like sand;

What graven words shall mark as mine
This milestone of a year?
What prayer shall be the worthy sign
Of all I hope and fear?
Not greed for gold —
I'm growing old;
Burdens I dare no more uphold;
Nor deem I meet for weary feet
The dust and struggle of the street.

Then shall I wish for utter peace?
For light with calm around?
For all the stir of life to cease
In apathy profound?
Ah! no, too long
I've warred with wrong;
I've loved the clash of battle-song;

Here, where below the bastion of the hills
Immortal song still gushes like a fountain,
And with its delicate enchantment fills
The granite goblet of the hollow mountain,
I come, the pilgrim of an alien clime,
And croon a stave with these my Northland brothers,
Since more than blood-kin is the bond of rhyme,
And sisters were our ancient Muses mothers.

Nevermore sail or oar
Hears the chorus that once bore us
To the shore,
Where the birches shake their tresses
From the outmost sandy nesses.

Fare ye well, brae and dell,
And our meadow, deep in shadow!
Never tell
How we loved your pleasant reaches
And the shade of your sleek beeches.

Hours and hours, sun and showers,
Quiet-breasted, here we rested
By your flowers,
Flowers will fade and life is tragic;
Keep, sweet lake, your breathless magic.

To your shore nevermore