Ode III. the Landscape

From off his gay embroidered bed. The Majesty of Day Rearing aloft his golden head Ensued his radiant way. As on he drove his flaming wain, Young Smiles and Pleasures graced his train, While, drizzling balmy dew, The clouds along the sapphire plain In wandering fleeces flew.

The hoary turret's ivy'd cell The guest of June resigned, Mazing along the sunny dell Her fleeting prey to find; Skimming the lake with jetty wing, Spangled with many a lucid ring Amid the watery sky, As oft its sportive race would spring To snatch the falling fly.

The love lorn linnet left the spray To sip the dewey flower, But feeling soon the fervid ray, Regain'd her bosky bower. O'er every mountain, grove, and mead Summer's luxuriant hand had spread Her richest, gayest pride; Each happy stream in cadence led His music murmuring tide.

When lo! dim shades the west gan rove With sable march and still; Dark grows the mead, and dark the grove, And dark the frowning hill. Where'er the wanton Breezes bright On musky pinion fluttered light, Now steers his grizzly form, By Ruin traced and wild Affright, The Anarch of the storm.

In sweepy showers the clouds descend; Sore sighs the afflicted air, As thro' the night red thunders rend, And sheety lightnings glare. With fires embattled blasts engage; The kingly tower, whose awful age Governed the subject plain, Now vanquished by their ruthless rage, Deforms his dreary reign.

O why withstand the waste of Time, Why scorn his sovereign sway? To sink beneath the ruder clime, The ruin of a day! Ye drooping flowers why did ye bloom? Ye hills, ye groves, O why assume Your verdant royalty? Ye meads why breathed ye fragrant fume Before a blast to fly!

Yet cease, the vain complaint refrain, See smiling Noon relume With purple glance the painted plain, And gild the mountain's gloom. Such is the day man's line enjoy. Oft silent Sorrows them decoy Fair Pleasure's veil below; And oft a sweetly tranquil Joy Assumes the guise of Woe.

The sun that sets in gold arrayed May spring in gloom forlorn; The sun whose fires in tempest fade With smiles may wake the morn. 'Tis heaven's to read the fated sky; 'Tis ours the present good to ply, Nor dread the approaching shower: Since Pleasures while they frolic fly, Ah seize the sunshine hour!