1792
ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION

Verses written in Midsummer.

Walker's Hibernian Magazine (August 1792) 183.

Albert


An imitation of Milton's Il Penseroso in octosyllabic couplets, signed "Albert." The summer season lead the poet to the groves, the groves to slumber, slumber to meditation, meditation to amorous thoughts, and amorous thoughts to some unfortunate figures of speech: "The tide of tenderness shall rise, | And the full breast o'erflow the eyes."

Walter Graham: "In Ireland the Hibernian Magazine; or, Compendium of Entertaining Knowledge (1771-1810) carried on the good old tradition of the miscellany proper. Like most 'magazines' of the forty years preceding, it carried in its columns everything from stocks to poetry, from news to sentimental fiction, dull biographies, and sheet music" English Literary Periodicals (1930) 182.



O hide me from the solar ray
Which flames intolerable day;
Lead me to cool and quiet groves,
To haunts, which Meditation loves;
Where trees, with foliage thick array'd,
Combine to form a sheltered shade;
And spread profusely 'round is seen
Nature's most beauteous mantle, green:
Where all is silence, save the breeze
That softly whispers through the trees;
Save tinkling streams that slowly creep
And bees, whose murmurs lull to sleep.
And while at careless ease I'm laid,
There let me court the cooling shade,
Gaze on the scene with heedless eye,
And half dissolved in slumber lie.
Nor then shall the indulgent Muse
To crown the vacant hour refuse;
Ideas swift shall croud the mind,
And Fancy gaily unconfin'd
To the half extinguish'd eyes
Shall sport her thousand varied dyes.
Then too the breast with passion fraught,
Shall chuse the hour of tender thought;
Then ever charming, ever dear,
Shall Delia's well known form appear;
Mem'ry each softer scene restore,
And raptur'd Fancy act it o'er;
The tide of tenderness shall rise,
And the full breast o'erflow the eyes.
O, should my steps by chance invade
The haunt that hides the sleeping maid;
Where loose her modest tresses flow,
And veil the fair cheeks' ardent glow,
In the soft arms of downy rest,
Where heaves her bosom to be prest,
And slumber finds peculiar grace
On her bright form and beauteous face;
Be mine the task, from rude alarms
To guard that heav'n of sleeping charms;
And from her slumbers far detain
The roving step and eye profane.

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