And fix th' ETERNAL's ftamp, His image on my foul! Teach me to look with candour's modelt eye, Da non THE VIOLET. < MAVOR SHELTER D from the blight ambition, On my robes (for emulation) Mine's an unembroider'd vest. Modeft tho' the maids declare me, When Paftora deigns to wear me, Has no flow'ret half to vain. CUNNINGHAM. TO A LITTLE GIRL, " FAIREST flower, all flowers excelling, Mark, my Polly, how the rofes How the bud its fweets difclofes- Lilies are by plain direction Emblems of a double kind; But, dear girl, both flowers and beauty Then purfue good sense and duty, Соттом, ODE TO THE CUCKOW. HAIL, beautecus ftranger of the grove! Thou meffenger of fpring! Now Heaven repairs thy rural feat, And woods thy welcome fing. What time the daify decks the green, Delightful vifitant! with thee And hear the found of mufic fweet The school-boy wand'ring thro' the wood Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, What time the pea puts on the bloom Thon flieft thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy fky is ever clear; Thou hast no forrow in thy fong, O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! 1 Our annual vifit o'er the globe, Companions of the spring. LOGAN, THE ANT, OR EMMET. THESE emmets, how little they are in our eyes? Yet, as wife as we are, if we went to their school They don't wear their time out in fleeping or play, And for winter they lay up their stores: They manage their work in fuch regular forms, One would think they forefaw all the frosts and the ftorms, And fo brought their food within doors. But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant, When death or old age fhall ftare in my face, If I trifle away all their prime! Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom, Let me think what will ferve me when fickness shall come, And pray that my fins be forgiven. Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey, That when death turns me out of this cottage of clay, I may dwell in a palace in Heaven. WATTS. HYMN ON SOLITUDE. HAIL, mildly pleafing Solitude, Oh how I love with thee to walk, And liften to thy whisper'd talk, Which innocence and truth imparts, And melts the noft obdurate hearts. A thousand fhapes you wear with ease, And still in every shape you please. |