Robert Anderson (Роберт Андерсон)

Ode to Sleep

Hail, gentle soother of the human breast,
Foe to the busy canker Care,
Whose balm can lull to rest
The fiend Despair.

Sweet is thy draught to Mis'ry's sons, who live
Unpitied by unfeeling Wealth;
For thou content dost give,
And rose--cheek'd Health.

Methinks 'tis sweet, when from the sun's warm beam
The flocks to friendly thickets fly,
By some flow'r--margin'd stream
In peace to lie,

On thy down pillow, 'neath an old oak's shade,
By minstrels lull'd to soft repose:
Then Memory, faithful maid,
Forgets her woes,

And Love, with sportive Fancy, brings to view
The faery age of gay delight,
When pleasures ever new
Stole on the sight.

Mirth--loving Innocence enjoys thee most,
That wanders free the brambl'd dell;
Nor can vain Grandeur boast
Thy magic spell.

E'en now doth Fancy mark yon stately pile,
Where high--born Pride, on ruin bent,
Enjoys frail Fortune's smile
Without content.

How cheerless are his long enanguish'd nights,
Stung by Reflection's keenest dart!
He knows not those delights
That feast the heart.

Sleepless, and numb'ring the slow hours of time,
Vain wishing for th'approach of morn,
Grief--wrung--by many a crime
His bosom torn.

Not so the humble cottager, retir'd
From vice--engend'ring scenes of strife;
Nought envying, still admir'd,
He glides thro' life.

Methinks I see him, at the op'ning dawn,
Haste cheerful to the toil of day,
Whistling across the lawn
His cares away.

Unstain'd by crimes that haunt the seat of Pride,
Fell Discord ne'er disturbs his cot;
In peace his moments glide,
Pleas'd with his lot.

All nature owns thy animating pow'r,
That Sorrow of her sting beguiles:
Sweetner of life's sad hour,
Dear are thy smiles,

That steal from brooding Care his keenest sting,
And check the rending pangs of love!
To thy grief--shelt'ring wing
Oft let me rove,

When, joy--deserted, on life's dreary road,
I sigh and think of what is past;
For thou canst ease the load
That's on me cast.

Oft have I woo'd thee on sad Sorrow's bed,
When, pierc'd by man's ingratitude,
Despair, by Sadness led,
Would fain intrude,

Telling me life was but a vale of tears,
And happiness a fancied toy--
A scene of hopes and fears
That knew no joy.

But, half recov'ring by thy fostering aid,
That soothes awhile heart--probing grief,
Religion, heav'n--born maid!
Soon gave relief.

When riot--loving Noise her levee keeps,
Blasting what Virtue bids to bloom,
And silent Sorrow weeps
Mid' Night's dark gloom,

O let me taste thy spirit--cheering bowl,
Whose pow'r Lethean, grief dispels,
And charms the drooping soul
Where Sadness dwells! 

1. Epitaph on Maria of the Cottage
2. Feckless Wully
3. Song 1. A Lassie and a Gill
4. Epistle the First
5. Britannia’s Call

Thomas Warton (Томас Уортон) Ode to Sleep ("On this my pensive pillow, gentle Sleep!")

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