When blooming spring adorns the verdant mead,
Zephyrs arise from every grove;
The notes of joy along the woodland spread,
And breathe the fragrant sweets of love.
O'er hill, o'er dale the nimble huntsmen bound,
And wake the morn to health's employ ;
With variegated flowers the mead is crowned;
Spring wantons in the bowers of joy.
But sultry summer wings the Sirian ray,
Whose heat subdues the blooming field;
The fair blown flowerets wither and decay;
The trees unripened fruitage yield.
Now the black tempest gathers from afar ;
With horror all the horizon's bound;
Now clashing clouds along the ether war,
's graces bid the pencil break
Through Nature's barriers, and the canvass speak;
Lo! stooping Time stands gazing at the form,
And e'en his frigid limbs with love grow warm.
But when her lofty muse commands the page
To soothe the passions, or inspire with rage,
Charmed with each line the hoary despot stands,
And ruin's uplift scythe drops from his hands.
HE splendid morn with flaming light had graced
The gold fringed clouds, the curtains of the east ;
Invited by the breeze to taste the sweets
Which breathe in Harvard's venerable seats,
Beneath her flowery groves and bowers I strayed;
Morpheus had just forsook the happy shade;
He saw me, rambling o'er the morning dew,
And in my face enraged his poppies threw ;
Pressed with the load, my heavy eyelids close,
And in the shade my drowsy limbs repose.
When to my eyes an aged dame appeared,
Gazed on the scene and treasured all she heard.
Upon her brow deep thought in furrows lies,
And wild anxiety distorts her eyes;
Me thus accosting in my cool resort;
"I come," says she, "from Wisdom's brilliant court,
"Where fair Maria, of immortal name,
"Holds the high sceptre with unbounded fame.
"My name's Investigation, fondly sought,
"Where Truth can please the mind, or warm the thought.
"Then follow in my steps to yonder shade;
"There stands a mirror to the eye displayed;
"In it each virtue of the deepest breast,
"And every vice and fault appear exprest.
"'Twas there Maria bade me lead your eyes,
"To amend each error, and to make you wise."
My willing hand then to the path she drew;
I fondly bade to vice a long adieu!
We lost the matin carol of the lark,
And entered in the grove ;-'twas still and dark.
A solemn silence sat on every scene,
And envious night veiled spring's delightful mien.
In mazy rout we rove the winding road,
And oft retrace the path we once have trod,
'Till through the transient gloom a ray of light,
From the broad mirror, beamed upon our sight.
Above a running brook, the mirror's gleam,
With bright reflection, tinged the glassy stream;
Hence light, emerging round, the grove displayed,
'Till faintly dim it mingled with the shade.
Cheered by the feeble ray through many a maze,
We turn our feet and reach the mirror's blaze.
Fair Truth, the spotless offspring of the sky,
Rayed in a robe of flowing white, stood by ;
With gentle voice she thus accosts my guide:
"Hail, honoured maid, fair Reason's noblest pride!
"Oft hast thou won the prize of bliss supreme,
"And these fond warbling groves chose thee their theme; "And oft have I, enticed by fond regard,
"The stainless laurel for your brow prepared.
"But say, fair nymph, whence come you thus again?
"What happy mortal follows in your train?"
To whom my guide, "Where fair Maria's court
"For exiled Wisdom opes a kind resort,
"Thence I return, at her command, once more
"These spotless groves and blest retreats to explore;
"To teach this youth thy undissembling lore;
"In thy pure mirror to display each stain
"Which blots his bosom, or what virtues reign"
Then heavenly Truth her magick sceptre moved,
And from the mirror all its gloss removed.
The undazzled eye could now unhurt behold
The inmost secrets of the breast unfold.
The following lines, I am inclined to think, make a part of the "Invention of Letters," as that poem was first designed by Mr. Paine-but, because my opinion is without other evidence, than such as arises from the subject, I place the fragment here, rather than in a note to the "Invention of Letters."
SAGE Cadmus, hail! to thee the Grecians owed
The art and science, that from letters flowed;
To thy great mind indebted ages stand,
And grateful Learning owns thy guardian hand.
Without the invention of a written tongue,
E'en Fame herself no lasting notes had sung;
Thy brow she crowns with tributary bays,
And sounds thy glory in immortal lays.
Hark! a swift whirlwind rushes through the heaven;
Before its wrath the stateliest oaks are riven.
Say! is the thunderbolt from Jove's right hand,
Launched on the earth to scourge a guilty land?
Say! have the embattled winds, in eddies whirled,
Joined their whole force to storm the shivering world?
Lo! bold Demosthenes advances forth,
His voice, like thunder bursting from the north;
Dread Philip hears, and trembles from afar ;
Greece springs from slumber to the field of war.
From his keen eyes the livid lightnings dart,
And freedom's flame from breast to breast impart:
This translation of the Tityrus was made by Mr. Paine in April 1790;-it gives the sense of Virgil with considerable fidelity and elegance.
TRANSLATION OF THE FIRST ECLOGUE OF VIRGIL.
WHILE you, O Tityrus, beneath the shade,
Which the broad branches of this beech display,
Devoid of care, recline your peaceful head,
And warble on your pipe the sylvan lay;
While vocal woods to your enchantment yield,
And Amaryllis' praise with joy resound,
We wander far from home, by fate compelled,
And leave our peaceful cot, our native ground.
These are the blessings, which a God bestowed;
His bounteous hand e'er proved a God to me;
The tender lamb oft stains his shrine with blood,
And by his leave my herds rove o'er the lea;
Beneath his smiles I live with joy and ease,
And carol on my pipe whate'er I please.
I envy not your fortune, but rejoice,
While raging tumults in the country reign,
While the inveterate sword each field destroys,
That happiness still smiles along your plains.
But, adverse fate still frowns where'er I go
My fleecy goats with pensive gait I lead,
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