Thomas Park (1759-1834)
Written in the Spring
Fair was the face of this illumined dawn,
With vernal brightness, vernal softness fair,
The sun incessant wooed the blushing morn
And all the youthful hours laughed round the pair:
But ere the evening, what a change was there!
Harsh thunders roll and fork~ lightnings fly;
Hiemal tempests brood along the air
Or fall in torrents from an angry sky.
Ah! scarce less mutable is man's brief day;
Soon are his early prospects clouded o'er,
And those soft suns that shot their April ray
Across his primrose pathway shine no more:
Grief on the present drops her tearful showers,
And apprehension over the future lours.
An Evening Address to the Rocks near Tunbridge Wells
Romantic guardians of this peaceful vale,
That over yon raftered shed raise high your brow:
Say, does some wizard up your cleft side scale
And like a blighted pollard seem to grow?
Wrapped in the mazy windings of the dale,
Do elfin monarchs hold their court below,
Or down the devious rill by moonlight sail,
Their bark a shell, a grassy blade their prow?
Whate'er your residents, whate'er their task,
To shield the sounding cliff or springs unlock,
Whether they now in sloping sunbeams bask,
Or doze till midnight in the rifted rock;
Still let a stranger mark their hallowed reign
And hear in rising winds their mystic strain.
Laudari a Laudato Viro
If to be praised by those who merit praise
Gives honour, as some sapient sages deemed;
If by the bland in heart to be esteemed
Gives comfort, and the drooping thought can raise;
If, where the dignity of elder days
And high nobility of souls have beamed
An inborn radiance, sympathy hath gleamed
With kindred warmth, and shot some roseate rays,
And with benignant tenderness hath cheered
My lonesome hours, whom widowed anguish led
Through sorrow's sablest gloom; how much endeared
Is Brydges! by each muse and grace bestead;
For he, my lettered friend, my social pride,
Hath honour, comfort, solace, joy supplied.