I. Adieu, New-England's smiling meads, Adieu, th' flow'ry plain: I leave thine op'ning charms, O spring, And tempt the roaring main. II. In vain for me the flow'rets rise, And boast their gaudy pride, While here beneath the northern skies I mourn for health deny'd. III. Celestial maid of rosy hue, Oh let me feel thy reign! I languish till thy face I view, Thy vanish'd joys regain. IV. Susannah mourns, nor can I bear To see the crystal shower Or mark the tender falling tear At sad departure's hour; V. Not regarding can I see Her soul with grief opprest But let no sighs, no groans for me Steal from her pensive breast. VI. In vain the feather'd warblers sing In vain the garden blooms And on the bosom of the spring Breathes out her sweet perfumes. VII. While for Britannia's distant shore We weep the liquid plain, And with astonish'd eyes explore The wide-extended main. VIII. Lo! Health appears! celestial dame! Complacent and serene, With Hebe's mantle oe'r her frame, With soul-delighting mien. IX. To mark the vale where London lies With misty vapors crown'd Which cloud Aurora's thousand dyes, And veil her charms around. X. Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow? So slow thy rising ray? Give us the famous town to view, Thou glorious King of day! XI. For thee, Britannia, I resign New-England's smiling fields; To view again her charms divine, What joy the prospect yields! XII. But thou! Temptation hence away, With all thy fatal train, Nor once seduce my soul away, By thine enchanting strain. XIII. Thrice happy they, whose heavenly shield Secures their souls from harm, And fell Temptation on the field Of all its pow'r disarms.
An Hymn to the Evening
Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring,
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats.
Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are spread!
But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with every virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below!
Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers soothe each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d;
So shall the labors of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,
Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.