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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,
Of all that ever pass'd my pen

So soon to be forgot!

Phcebus, if such be thy design,

To place it in thy bow,
Give wit that what is left may shine

With equal grace below. CoWPERt




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,
^ Catherina. Maria, and I,
Our progress was often delay'd
By the nightingale warbling nigh.

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.
The achievements of art may amuse,

May even our wonder excite,
But groves, hills, and vallies diffuse

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,
.And with scenes that new rapture inspire

As oft as it suits her to roam,
She will have just the life she prefers,

With little to wish or to fear,
And ours will be pleasant as hers,

Might we view her enjoying it here.




A TKIJCE to thought! and let us o'er the fields,
Across the down, or thro'the shelving wood,
Wind our uncertain way. Let fancy lead,
And be it ours to follow, and admire,
As well we may, the.graces infinite
Of nature. Lay aside the sweet resource
That winter needs, and may at will obtain,
Of authors chaste and good, and let us read
The living page, whose ev'ry character
Delights, and gives us wisdom. Not a tree,
A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains
A folio volume. We may'read and read
And read again, and still find something new,
Something to please and something to instruct,
E'en in the noisome weed. See4 ere we pass
Alcanor's threshold, to the curious eye

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 sleepy crocus, and the stairing daisy,
The courtier of the sun. What see we there?
The love-sick cowslip, that her head inclines
To hide a bleeding heart. And here's the meek
And soft-eyed primrose. Dandelion this,
A college youth that flashes for a day
All gold: anon ,he doffs his gaudy suit, .
Tauch'd by the magic hand of some grave Bishop,
And all at once, by commutation strange,
Becomes a Reverend Divine.

Then mark

The melancholy hyacinth, that weeps
All night, and never lifts an eye all day.

How gay this meado>\—Like a gamesome boy New-cloth'd, his locks fresh comb'd and powder'd, he

i i

All health and spirits. Fcarce so many stars
Shine in the azure canopy of heav'n,
As king cups here are scatter'd, interspers'd
With silver daisies.

See, the toiling swain
With many a sturdy stroke cuts up at last
The tough and sinewy furze. How hard he fought
To win the glory of the barren waste!
For what more noble than the vernal furze
With golden baskets hung? Approach it not,
For ev'ry blossom has a troop of swords
Drawn to defend it. 'Tis the treasury
Of Fays and Fairies. Here they nightly meet,
Each with a burnish'd king-cup in his hand,
And quaff the subtle ether. Here they dance
Or to the village chimes, or moody song
Of midnight Philomel. The ringlet see
Fantastically trod. There, Oberon
His gallant train leads out, the while his torch
The glow-worm lights and dusky night illumes.
And there they foot it featly round, and laugh.
Th£ sacred spot the superstitious ewe
Regards, and bites it not in reverence.
Anon the drowsy clock tolls One—the cock
His clarion sounds—the dance breaks off—the lights
Are quench'd—the music hush'd—they speed away
Swifter than thought, and still the break of day
Outrun, and chasing midnight as she flies
Pursue her round the globe. So Fancy weaves
Her flimsy web, while sober reason sits,
And smiling wonders at the puny work,
A net for her; then springs on eagle wing,
Constraint defies, and soars above the sun.

But mark with how peculiar grace, yon wood That clothes the weary steep, waves in the breeze £e

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