Address to Maria

COME, my MARIA, let us onward go,
Nor dread the paths of this romantic ground,
Tho' the full stream beside sonorous flow,
And dreary rocks and caves beset us round.

So may we hand in hand through years to come
Pursue the course prescrib'd by Heav'n's behest!
Patient abide his wise-ordaining doom,
Enjoy the good, nor murmur at the rest!

What tho' these paths, remote from public eye,
Exhibit but a drear and desart waste,
Some wonders of the ruling Pow'r on high
May in this awful solitude be trac'd.

Bright issuing from the fissures, on the side
Of the rude stone, what lucid rills we see!
So Health's pure sources unimpeded glide
Through the clear veins of rugged Industry.

Behold! beneath yon cliff's o'er-arching brow,
Spontaneous sweets of Nature shoot around,
The modest orchard spreads its pregnant bough,
And the ripe apple bends it to the ground;

Rich bev'rage yielding to the needy hind,
That holds his dwelling in yon clay-built cot,
Who with the treasure of a blameless mind,
Adoring GOD, abides his lowly lot.

The soaming flood, which some few minutes past.
Roll'd with impetuous course its tide along,
Now, narrow'd to a streamlet, checks its haste,
And hides its course yon ozier-sprays among.

Say, might not Contemplation wander here,
With quaint Surmise and Fancy in her train,
Make yon scoop'd rock a giant's cave appear,
Or yon deep cell a Druid-temple feign?

How high the clifts ascend on either hand,
While on their shrubby sides the wooly flocks
In quest of herbage, take their dang'rous stand,
And bleat responsive from the echoing rocks!

Here view the shatter'd carcass of a hare,
And list the hoary-headed peasant's tale,
How from the summit's ridge, impell'd by fear
Of the fell hounds, she plung'd into the vale.

And with compassion view the various scars,
Which deep indent the honest rustic's face,
Nor wonder that with recollected fears
He trembling points to yon tremendous place,

Yon rugged brow, whence once returning home,
'Mid the thick-rising vapours of the night,
He miss'd his foot-path in the treach'rous gloom,
And headlong fell from the stupendous height;

Fell, yet survives, you see; and often pours
His marvellous escape in strangers' ears:
Then with uplifted eyes the skies adores,
While down his scars distil his grateful tears.

This cave survey, which witches haunt by night,
(For so the superstitious Eld relate)
Where, scatter'd round, worn crutches meet the sight,
Conjectur'd to support their tott'ring weight.

Lo! for some furlongs, how confin'd our walk,
How thick, beneath, the craggy flints abound!
How from the mountain-side loud echoes talk,
Reverberated from the trodden ground!

And now the op'ning path, which wide expands
To circular extent, and verdant sod,
A spacious amphitheatre commands,
Where knighthood whilom might have made abode.

Behold those central piles of massy stone,
That o'er the scene an awful horror shed—
Seems not the whole, from times long past and gone,
A mausoleum for some honour'd dead?

Soft! soft!—retire within this shelt'ring gloom;
Behold, where yonder rushes from his cave
Distracted RAYMOND! there he seeks a tomb,
And daily delves some portion of his grave.

Impetuous, hapless man! one hasty deed,
In youth's mad season, damn'd his riper years;
Nightly he makes the rugged flint his bed,
A prey to contrite grief, and ceaseless tears.

Make we this nook our seat, nor wound the heart
Of wretched RAYMOND with a searching eye!
Who seems at sight of human form to start,
And in himself in gulph his misery.

Attend with patience to the painful tale,
Which HENRY pour'd into my list'ning ear,
What time we stray'd thro' Twick'nham's flow'ry vale—
HENRY lamented ever, ever dear!

HENRY, whose friendship I in youth obtain'd,
When Fortune led me to Hibernia's shore,
From whom full many a moral truth I glean'd
In sweet excursions on the banks of Nore.