John Codrington Bampfylde

AROUND my porch and lowly casement spread;
The myrtle never-sear, and gadding vine,
With fragrant sweet-briar love to intertwine;
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All ye who far from town in rural hall,
Like me, were wont to dwell near pleasant field,
Enjoying all the sunny day did yield,
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WITH footstep slow, in furry pall clad,
His brows enwreath'd with holly never-sear,
Old Christmas comes, to close the waned year;
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WHEN that the fields put on their gay attire,
Thou silent sitt'st near brake or river's brim,
Whilst the gay thrush sings loud from covert dim;
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Slow sinks the glimmering beam from western sky,
The woods and hills obscur'd by Evening grey
Vanish from mortal sight, and fade away.
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How fearful 'tis to walk the sounding shore,
When low'rs the sky, and winds are piping loud!
And round the beech the tearful maidens croud,
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How pleasant 'tis to walk the silent shore,
When scarce the humming tide can reach mine ear!
Of scatter'd mist the Sun dispels the rear,
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Friend to the wretch, great Patron of Mankind,
Born to enlighten and reform the age;
Whose energetic and immortal page,
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'Tis not for Muse like mine, in rude essay,
To paint the beauties of thy Classic Page;
Which ay deserve far other patronage
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Tho' Winter's storms embrown the dusky vale,
And dark and wistful wains the low'ring year;
Tho' bleak the Moor, forlorn the Cots appear,
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What numerous votaries 'neath thy shadowy wing,
O mild and modest Evening, find delight!
First to the Grove, his lingering Fair to bring,
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Hail to the sage divine of Milan's plains!
Whose labours reach'd the horrors of the cell,
Brought mercy down from Heav'n with man to dwell,
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Cold is the senseless heart, that never strove
With the mild tumult of a real flame,
Rugged the breast that beauty cannot tame
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THIS morn ere yet had rung the matin peal,
The cursed Merlin, with his potent spell,
Aggrieved me sore, and from his wizard cell,
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October's flood had all deform'd the lea,
And wintry blasts the forest wide had rent,
When to the Muses Bower I blithsome went:
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Rings the shrill peal of dawn, gay Chanticleer
Thrice warning that the Day--star climbs on high,
And pales his beam as Phebus' car draws nigh.
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