Henry James Pye Poems

O Happiness! thou wish of every mind,
Whose form, more subtle than the fleeting air,
Leaves all thy votaries wandering far behind,
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Now the brown woods their leafy load resign
And rage the tempests with resistless force?
Mantled with snow the silver mountains shine,
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The dewy morn her saffron mantle spreads
High o'er the brow of yonder eastern hill;
Each blooming shrub a roseate fragrance sheds,
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: 'Behold, with mild and matron mien,
'With sober eye, and brow serene,
'October sweep along;
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O Love, though Virgil's lays ascribe
Resistless power to thee,
Yet still I thought the happy tribe
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Luxuriant with perennial green
A Myrtle young and lovely stood,
Sole beauty of the wintry scene,
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But ye are Britons—are the sons of those,
Of that unconquer'd race, whose arms of yore,
In many a conflict from superior foes
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ON THE SITUATION OF THE BLEST.
While sable night o'er mortal' heads
Her gloomy mantle silent spreads,
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STROPHE I.
The Lay Archilochus prepar'd, the meed
Of every Victor on Olympia's sand,
Might have sufficed, thrice chanted, to proceed
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Of toil you say a moderate share
In each pursuit should rise,
Too much may make our hearts despair,
Too little we despise:
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