That nameless spirit of ethereal joy, Inimitable happiness! which love Alone bestows, and on a _favor'd few_. Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow The bursting prospect spreads immense around; And snatch'd o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn, And verdant field, and darkening heath between, And villages embosom'd soft in trees, And spiry towns by surging columns mark'd Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams; Wide-stretching from the hall, in whose kind haunt The hospitable genius lingers still, To where the broken landscape, by degrees Ascending, roughens into rigid hills-- O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise. [Illustration: Through Hagley Park, thy British Tempè] Flush'd by the spirit of the genial year, Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round; Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youth: The shining moisture swells into her eyes In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves With palpitations wild; kind tumults seize Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love. From the keen gaze her lover turns away, Full of the dear ecstatic power, and sick With sighing languishment. Ah, then, ye fair! Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts: Dare not the infectious sigh; the pleading look, Downcast and low, in meek submission dress'd, But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue, Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth, Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bower, Where woodbines flaunt and roses shed a couch, While evening draws her crimson curtains round, Trust your soft minutes with betraying man. And let the aspiring youth beware of love, Of the smooth glance beware; for 'tis too late, When on his heart the torrent-softness pours. Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame Dissolves in air away; while the fond soul, Wrapp'd in gay visions of unreal bliss, Still paints the illusive form, the kindling grace, The enticing smile, the modest-seeming eye, Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death; And still, false warbling in his cheated ear, Her siren voice, enchanting, draws him on To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy. Even present, in the very lap of love Inglorious laid--while music flows around, Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours-- Amid the roses, fierce repentance rears Her snaky crest: a quick-returning pang Shoots through the conscious heart; where honor still, And great design, against the oppressive load Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave. But absent, what fantastic woes, arous'd, Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed, Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life!