Collected English Verse — Mark Akenside. b. 1721, d. 1770 (Part 2 of 2)

Hark! how through many a melting note
   She now prolongs her lays:
How sweetly down the void they float!
The breeze their magic path attends;
The stars shine out; the forest bends;
   The wakeful heifers graze.

Whoe’er thou art whom chance may bring
   To this sequester’d spot,
If then the plaintive Siren sing,
O softly tread beneath her bower
And think of Heaven’s disposing power,
   Of man’s uncertain lot.

O think, o’er all this mortal stage
   What mournful scenes arise:
What ruin waits on kingly rage;
How often virtue dwells with woe;
How many griefs from knowledge flow;
   How swiftly pleasure flies!

O sacred bird! let me at eve,
   Thus wandering all alone,
Thy tender counsel oft receive,
Bear witness to thy pensive airs,
And pity Nature’s common cares,
   Till I forget my own.