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192
ANNUAL REGISTER 

POETRY.

Extracts from YOUTH, a Poem; by HALL HARTSON.

SWEET youth, sweet smiling nymph, divinely fair,
Source of all joy, and foe to every care;
With whom full many a summer's sunny morn,
While yet the dew-drop glittered on the thorn,
I've fought the cliff, or in the flowery vale
Imbibed the fragrance of the evening gale;
Fair fugitive, whose eye of heavenly blue,
And rosy cheek no longer bless my view,
Whose loved idea, which can never fly,
Wakes the fond wish, and heaves the fruitless sigh,
Thy sweet remembrance now the song inspire,
And touch the lover with a poet's fire.

What brighter genius, what distinguished name
Shall lend its lustre to the pleasing theme?
Lives there a man that with superior art
Sounds all the deep recesses of the heart;
Calls up the genial hopes, the chilling fears;
Now shakes with laughter, now dissolves to tears;
Who, Proteus like, at  pleasure shifts the scene, 
Or old, or young, impassioned, or serene?
Still faithful to his aim, if such there be,
Blest child of nature Garrick, thou art he.
Come then, a while forego the thronged applause, 
Which never-erring judgement justly draws,
And with the light, the gay descriptive muse,
While pleased her airy travel she pursues,
Recall the happy scene which once was ours,
The smiles, the graces, and the jocund hours,
With whom we frolicked in our early day,
When pleasure filled her cup without allay.

From every quarter of earth's peopled sphere,
See, at the Muse's call, what crowds appear,
Eager alike to run life's little span,
The gay, the reckless progeny of man.
Ah,

For the YEAR 1772. 193

Ah, happy race! far happier than they know,
Light as the summer breeze, first bid to blow,
Unceasing as the busy tribes on wing, 
That roam the blossoms, and despoil the spring, 
Along the verge of that fair seeming hill,
Where life ascends, and Hebe sports at will,
They move, nor mark upon the neighbouring heights
What envious eyes o'erlook their young delights,
Suspicion, Rumour with uncertain stare,
And farther up the fiend sharp visaged Care;
Blest ignorance! to partial views confined;
Where fight wou'd injure, who wou'd not be blind?
Young is the sense, enjoyment in it's spring, 
Hope yet unbroken, fancy on the wing;
The jest, the easy laugh, the wanton wile, 
And antick trick which mocks with harmless guile,
These are the sweets their youthful morn bestows,
The bloomy flush of health, and found repose:
Thrice happy, whom no greater cares employ
Than for to-morrow's sure returning joy.

Still as the eye wide wanders o'er the green, 
New aims, new objects, crowd the changeful scene.
Here rise the mimick works of warlike hands, 
There in mock fight engage the marshaled bands;
Here too the painted gallery meets the view,
Along the shores exult the admiring crew,
While o'er the lake it spreads its silken sails,
And all it's streamers feel the rising gales.
Nor frown ye wife, if wisdom deign to hear,
Because such artless trifles meet the ear;
The rose so loved must bud before it bloom,
And yonder oak, that spreads so wide a gloom, 
Beneath whose arms the flocks and herds repose,
His full-grown honours to an acorn owes.
In this fair field are sown the seeds of fame,
In each young bosom lives it's native flame,
Which through these trifles breaks with early ray,
These but the dawnings of their brighter day.
In peaceful councils this shall gain renown,
For that Bellona wreaths the warlike crown;
He too, who gave his gallery to the breeze,
One day may hold the empire of the seas;
And now, even now elate with fancied power,
Enjoys the glories of the future hour.

Passed is the dawn, the boyish hours are fled,
And lo the stripling rears his radiant head,
VOL. XV.     O     With

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-05-11 08:03:31 F to be transcribed as s where it stands for it dividing lines are not to be transcribed ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-05-13 12:50:03