The Poetry of Haller Versified

Ah! woods for ever dear! whose branches spread Their verdant arch o'er HASEL's breezy head, When shall I once again, supinely laid, Hear Philomela charm your list'ning shade? When shall I stretch my careless limbs again, Where, gently rising from the velvet plain, O'er the green hills, in easy curve that bend, The mossy carpet Nature's hands extend? Where all is silent! save the gales that move The leafy umbrage of the whisp'ring grove; Or the soft murmurs of the rivulet's wave, Whose chearing streams the lonely meadows lave.

O Heav'n! when shall once more these eyes be cast On scenes where all my spring of life was pass'd; Where, oft responsive to the falling rill, Sylvia and Love my artless lays would fill. While Zephyr's fragrant breeze, soft breathing, stole A pleasing sadness o'er my pensive soul. Care, and her ghastly train, were far away; While calm, beneath the sheltering woods, I lay Mid shades, impervious to the beams of day.

Here—sad reverse!—from scenes of pleasure far, I wage with Sorrow unremitting war: Oppress'd with grief, my ling'ring moments flow, Nor aught of joy, or aught of quiet, know. Far from the scenes that gave my being birth, From parents far, an outcast of the earth! In youth's warm hours, from each restriction free, Left to myself in dangerous liberty.

Now pale Disease shoots thro' my languid frame, And checks the zeal for wisdom and for same. Now droops fond Hope, by Disappointment cross'd; Chill'd by neglect, each sanguine wish is lost. O'er the weak mound stern Ocean's billows ride, And waft destruction in with every tide; While Mars, descending from his crimson car, Fans with fierce hands the kindling flames of war.

Her gentle aid let Consolation lend: All human evils hasten to their end. The storm abates at every gust it blows: Past ills enhance the comforts of repose. He who ne'er felt the pressure of distress, Ne'er felt returning pleasure's keen excess. Time, who Affliction bore on rapid wing, My panting heart to Happiness may bring: I, on my native hills, may yet enhale The purer influence of the ambient gale.

Ah! scenes of early joy! ah, much-lov'd shades! Soon may my footsteps tread your vernal glades. Ah! should kind Heav'n permit me to explore Your seats of still tranquillity once more! E'en now, to Fancy's visionary eye, Hope shews the flattering hour of transport nigh. Blue shines the aether, when the storm is pass'd; And calm Repose succeeds to Sorrow's blast. Flourish, ye scenes of ever new delight! Wave wide your branches to my raptur'd fight! While, ne'er to roam again, my wearied feet Seek the kind refuge of your calm retreat.