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Ordain'd, perhaps, ere summer flies,
Combin'd, with millions more, To form an iris in the sktes,
Though black and foul before.
Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot,
So soon to be forgot!
Phcebus, if such be thy design,
To place it in thy bow,
With equal grace below. CoWPERt
ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON.
SHE came—she is gone—we have met—
And meet perhaps never again; The sun of that moment it set,
And seems to have risen in vain.' Catherina has fled like a dream—
(So vanishes pleasure, alas !) But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.
The last evening-ramble we made,
We paus'd under many a tree,
And much she wascharm'd with a tone Less sweet to Maria and me,
Who had witness'd so lately her own;
My numbers that day she had sung.
And gave them a grace so divine, As onlj' her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I esteem'd
The work of my fancy the more,, AnAev'n to myself never seem'd
So tuneful a poet before.
Though the pleasure* of London exceed'
In number the days of the year,. Catherina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here; For the close-woven arches of limes,.
On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times
Than all that the city can show..
So it is, when the mind is endued
With a well-judging taste from above, Then, whether embellish'd or rude
'Tis nature alone that we love.
May even our wonder excite,
A lasting, a sacred delight.
Since then in the rural recess
Catherina alone can rejbice, May it still be her lot to possess
The scene of her sensible choice!'
,To inhabit a mansion remote
. From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, And by Philomel's annual note, To measure the life that she leads.
With her book, and her voice, and her lyre,
To wiag all her moments at home,
As oft as it suits her to roam,
With little to wish or to fear,
Might we view her enjoying it here.
THE EVENING WALK.
A TKIJCE to thought! and let us o'er the fields,
A little monitor presents her page
Of choice instruction, with her snowy bells,
The lily of the vale. She nor affects
The public walk, nor gaze of mid-day sun:
She to no state or dignity aspires,
But silent and alone puts on her suit,
And sheds her lasting perfumes, but for which
We had not known there was a thing so sweet
Hid in the gloomy shade. So when the blast
Her sister tribes confounds, and to the earth
Stoops their high heads that vainly were expos'd,
She feels it not, but flourishes anew,
Still shelter'd and secure. And so the storm
That makes the high elm couch, and rends the oak,
The humble lily spares. A thousand blows
That shakes the lofty monarch on his throne,
We lesser folks feel not. Keen are the pains
Advancement often brings. To be secure,
Be humble; to be happy, be content.
But come, we loiter. Pass unnotic'd by
The melancholy hyacinth, that weeps
How gay this meado>\—Like a gamesome boy New-cloth'd, his locks fresh comb'd and powder'd, he
All health and spirits. Fcarce so many stars
See, the toiling swain
But mark with how peculiar grace, yon wood That clothes the weary steep, waves in the breeze £e