Hermitage, a Poem, Inscribed to Mr. Jacob Duché, Jun

Whilst other bards in happier lays The fair Amanda sing, Teach the sweet lyre her grateful praise To waft from ev'ry string:

Whilst you the softer theme prolong Of Seraphina's voice, And in description make your song Harmonious as your choice:

My muse delights in humble strains To sing of sylvan scenes, Of rural prospects, flow'ry plains, And wide extended greens.

Sweet Hermitage ! thy happy seat, The muse's choice and mine; Thy shady silent soft retreat Shall in description shine.

That secret walk of liveliest green, That breeze inviting shade, Appears a solemn silent scene For contemplation made

There will I range, and to the muse Address my ardent pray'r; In such a place she can't refuse, Nor would be backward there.

Oft did this happy grove resound Strains sweeter far than mine; Here sat the Bard , and here around Stood the indulgent Nine.

Poetic music from his tongue Harmonious roll'd away; The birds in dumb attention hung To hear his softer lay.

And thou my friend, in later days, Fill'd this resounding grove With songs of matchless Delia's praise, Soft as the breath of love.

Dear pensive youth, oft have you sought At eve, this pleasing shade; Your very soul wrapt up in thought, As lonely here you stray'd.

Or shall my fancy—restless power! Another scene display, And paint thee in yon jasmine bow'r, Joyful, alert, and gay.

With Delia's sprightly converse blest The hours unheeded glide, And Pyllades, friend of thy breast, Attending at thy side.

With joy I tread the flow'ry green Which thou hast trode before; Strive to repeat each happy scene, And count thy pleasures o'er.

Where'er my wond'ring eyes I bend, New beauties still I find; Here cooling vistas far extend, The gardens bloom behind.

To distant plains I stretch mine eye, And view th' enlarged scene; Above a vast extended sky, Below a boundless green .

Thence, swiftly borne in airy flight, The breezes of the spring, To these blest scenes of calm delight Both health and pleasure bring.

At early morn I love to tread The garden's gravelly walk, Catch Flora blushing in her bed, Whilst dew drops bend each stalk.

To see the lovely blooming rose Her choicest sweets display, And ev'ry radiant charm disclose To sol's inviting ray.

Her waving foliage glitt'ring bright, With drops of pearly dew: Like diamonds sparkling to the light, They strike the distant view.

The faithful matron thus to meet Her absent lord's return, Her hair, her neck, her waist, her feet, Doth with rich gems adorn.

And as she lonely spends each day His absence to bemoan, The minutes gliding slow away, Whilst he her lord is gone.

So in the dreary shades of night, The rose her beauty veils, 'Till with returning joy and light, The sun o'er all prevails.

But when the soft ey'd eve invites My steps from yonder glade, Then, then, my soften'd soul delights To seek the darksome shade.

Devotion fills my glowing breast, And all my powers combine To praise my God, to make me blest, In transports quite divine.

Behold to raise the solemn scene The silver moon arise; With mildest lustre gild the green, With radiance fill the skies.

Her feeble inoffensive ray Scarce glimmers thro' the trees, Whose leaves with trembling murmurs play, Shook by the passing breeze.

'Tis silence all—my soul arise, Arise to prayer and praise; Thy God looks down with friendly eyes, He listens to thy lays.

Oh thou, whose goodness knows no end, Whose mercies I enjoy, In praise to thee my breath I'll spend, My latest hours employ.

Let me oft thus thy influence know, Oh! be thus ever kind; The brightness of thy visage show; Enlighten thou my mind.

So shall my soul to heav'n ascend, And join'd with angels there, Before thy footstool lowly bend, In more refined pray'r.