The Complaint. a Pastoral Elegy

The sun, diffusing genial fires, With flowers bedecks the dale; With joy the herd and flock inspires, With music fills the gale:

Yet he renews his warmth in vain, And flowerets paint the ground; Or lambkins gambol o'er the plain, Or songsters chant around.

To me, in vain, doth nature smile, In vain her charms display; Whilst I, with never-ending toil, Consume the live-long day.

Time was, I've hail'd the vernal powers, Flush'd with the general joy; When tepid gleams, and gentle showers, Have brighten'd earth and sky.

Have trod with glee the velvet green That rob'd the laughing earth; And eyed the universal scene, Or mark'd each floweret's birth.

When snow-drops first, in silver drest, Shot forth their daring head; Or, when the violet's sapphire vest A fragrant incense shed.

Or starry pilewort's polish'd hue Besprig'd the fields with gold; Or daisies pied, or harebells blue, Or true-love's verdant fold.

Yet, not with dull, lethargic gaze, I view'd fair nature's face; The florid earth, the solar blaze, And vast etherial space:

(For who that sees this beauteous frame Replete with wonder shine; But must, with ready voice, proclaim A plastic Power divine?)

Or, in the deep sequester'd grove, From care and business freed, Have sought the sacred muse's love, And tun'd my rustic reed.

Or, by some fountain, laid along, That winds around the trees, With raptures heard the woodland song, Or breath'd the scented breeze.

Or, stretch'd upon the mountain's steep, In Phoebus' drowsy beams; Have pass'd the hours in gentle sleep, Or wild romantic dreams.

And oft, with sweet Benevolence, A heaven-descended fair! Have sacrific'd the sweets of sense, Sublimer joys to share:

With her to range the thorny shade, Or climb the steepy hill; Or search the field, or marshy glade, Or trace the mazy rill:

With care to cull each healing plant, And every balmy bloom; And where disease and pining want Combin'd their horrid gloom:

There to dispense their cheering aids, In each distressful cot; Where feeble swains, or pallid maids, Bemoan'd their dreary lot.

But ah! the herbs, the flowers, I seek With curious eye no more; No more they flush the haggard cheek, Or blooming health restore.

Nor healthful tincture they disclose, Nor cordial draught supply; But on the spot from whence they rose, They blossom, fade and die.

Ere-while, with Daphne in my arms, The time transported flew; When doating on her lovely charms, Which nature's pencil drew.

But now my scanty view's confin'd To Daphne's charms alone; Since Hymen's rites with Love combin'd, And made her all my own:

Save what my little babes afford, Whom I behold with glee, When smiling at my humble board, Or prattling on my knee.

Not that I Daphne's charms despise, Which still new pleasures bring; Her lovely presence never cloys, She's grateful as the spring.

The dew-drop sparkling on its bed, In Daphne's eyes exprest; Her cheeks outshine the campion's red, The daisy's white, her breast.

Her hair outvies the saffron morn, Her soft mellifluent note The thrush, that on the leafy thorn Distends his vocal throat.

Nor wish I, dear connubial state! To break thy silken bands; I only blame relentless fate, That every hour demands.

Nor mourn I much my task austere, Which endless wants impose; But—oh! it wounds my heart to hear My Daphne's melting woes.

Ixion-like her fate she moans, Whose wheel rolls ceaseless round, While hollow sighs, and doleful groans, Fill all the dark profound.

For oft she sighs, and oft she weeps, And hangs her pensive head; While blood her furrow'd fingers steeps, And stains the passing thread.

When orient hills the sun behold Our labours are begun; And when he streaks the west with gold, The task is still undone.

My harmless lambs, may ye ne'er feel Such dire oppressive need; While Poverty, with rod of steel, Still urges swifter speed.

How happy are the beasts and birds, Who find their food unsought! Kind nature all their wants affords, Without one anxious thought.

The beasts in freedom range the fields, Nor care nor sorrow know; Their meat the tender herbage yields, The fountains drink bestow.

Each hour the birds, with sprightly voice, In rival songs contend; Or o'er their bounteous meals rejoice, Or in fond dalliance spend:

But foresight warns me not to taste The bliss which heaven design'd; But joyless all my nights to waste, To shun more woes behind.

Oh heaven! why didst thou reason give To curb th' impassion'd soul? Why did I not by instinct live, And act without controul?

Or why, within this tortur'd heart, Must keen reflection dwell? To double every present smart, And future pains foretell.

But ah, vile wretch! no longer blame What gracious heaven decreed, Nor thus with petulance disclaim All-patient virtue's meed.

I'll rather now, with filial fear, Adore the present God; And his paternal stripes revere, And kiss his healing rod.

For his blest providence withstood, I counteract his will; And what his wisdom meant for good, My folly construes ill.

Who knows but liberty and wealth Might work a woeful change; With luxury might impair my health, Or virtuous thoughts estrange.

What I detest he gives in love; In love my suit denies; Or oft my wish my bane might prove, My bliss what I despise.

Then let not my presumptuous mind Oppose his love or might; For well has moral Pope defin'd, " Whatever is, is right."

But let me not from hence surmise, That human ills descend From him, who, only good and wise, Is man's eternal friend:

No; we, transgressing nature's laws, Nature's great God arraign; While man's himself the chiefest cause Of all his grief and pain.

Tho' now, with penury opprest, I give my sorrows vent; He soon may calm my troubled breast, Or sooth my discontent.

Come reason, then, bid murmuring cease, And intellectual strife! Come smiling hope, and dove-eyed peace, And still the storms of life.

My little skiff, kind pilots! steer Adown the stream of time; And teach me, melancholic fear, And dark distrust's, a crime.

For has not truth's unerring sire, Who all our wants must know; Proclaim'd, what nature can require His bounty shall bestow.

He feeds the birds that wing their flight Along the passive air; And lillies bloom in glossy white Beneath his fostering care.

Nor accident, nor fate, recalls The life that he has lent; For not a single sparrow falls Without his kind assent.

And should stern penury's murky train Still haunt my lowly cell; Yet faith shall smile away my pain, And all their threatenings quell.

For when thro' ether's boundless space, This terrene orb has run A few more times his annual race, Wide circling round the sun;

Or haply, ere the day be past, And evening shades descend; My wearied heart may pant its last, And all my sorrows end.

Then shall the disembodied soul Resign her dark domain, And range where countless systems roll, And springs eternal reign.

Yet not in solitude to soar, But with a kindred band, The power and wisdom to explore Of her Creator's hand.

Or with her tuneful powers compleat To chant the bliss above; Or in extatic notes repeat Her dear Redeemer's love!