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ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON.
She came—she is gone-we have met
And meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is 'set,
And seems to have risen in vain.
Catharina 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,
Catharina, Maria, and I, Our progress was often delay'd
By the nightingale warbling nigh. We paus’d under many a tree,
And much she was charm'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,
them a grace so divine, As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I esteem'd
The work of my fancy the more, And e’en to myself never seem'd
So tuneful a poet before.
Though the pleasures of London exceed
In number the days of the year, Catharina, 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,
A lasting, a sacred delight.
Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice, 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 wing 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 TA LE.
A hermit (or if 'chance you
hold That title now too trite and old) A man, once young, who lived retired As hermit could have well desired,
His hours of study closed at last,
And, staff in hand, set forth to share
The sober cordial of sweet air,
Like Isaac, with a mind applied
Your hermit, young and jovial sirs! Learns something from whate'er occursAnd hence, he said, my mind computes The real worth of man's pursuits. His object chosen, wealth or fame, Or other sublunary game,