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Such as thick bottled-cream and spice-cake;

Your wine sours deliciously fine;
The sweetmeats they tell me you make,

Not to mention your gooseberry wine,
Which Sir Thomas, my intimate friend,

Protested again and again, (As he begg'd for some more I would send)

Was superior to any Champaigne. A pot of such raspberry jam

As yours, I have sought for in vain;
And sure such a nice little ham

I never shall meet with again,
As that which was sent by your ma-

Bless me! I had nearly forgot,
To beg you will thank your papa

For the couple of wild-ducks he shot.

I should like you to get me a dog

Perhaps you've a good one to spare : You can send it by some stupid log,

That will bring it scot-free; but take care That he does not expect a spare bed :

I will give him a dinner, or soI got nothing by harbouring Ned,

Some two or three winters ago. There's a man that makes nice walking-sticks,

It is not many miles from your farm; I wish you'd ride over, and fix

On one like my uncle's at Yarm. And get me a skin nicely dress'd

A sheep's, buck, or doe's, I don't care; For rugs they're decidedly best

What I purchase in London soon wear. For my time I have made you no charge,

Nor coach-hire for popping about; But I'll not on such trifles enlarge

You will pay me in some way, no doubt.

Your papa may look out for a horse,

And consult ma-I must not pay dear; He will think it no trouble, of course, Remembering for what you send here.


SWEET angel of my natal hour!
Thou, to whose tutelary power

My infant days were given!
My bosom friend! companion dear!
For ever kind, for ever near,

While such the will of Heaven!

By thee inspired, the livelong day
Rollid lightly on in peace and play,

Calni slumbers crown'd the night;
By thee and simple nature drawn,
Ere reason spread her glimmering dawn,

I sought and found delight.
'Twas thou, whene'er I ranged the mead,
That drew me from the poisonous weed

Of tempting purple dye;
That drew me from the fatal brake,
Where, coil'd in speckled pride, the snake

Allured my longing eye.
Ah, why so soon to reason's hand
Didst thou resign the imperial wand,

Why yield the ruling rein?
With thee are all my comforts fled,
And woes on endless woes succeed,

A dire and gloomy train !
Can Zephyr hush the surging seas,
Or whisper silence in a breeze,

When Boreas sweeps the flood ? Can the soft virgin's voice restrain The midnight howlings of the plain,

When lions roar for food ?

So weak is reason to control,
Or soothe the tempests of the soul,

When torn by passions wild;
Though soft the sound as zephyr's wing,
That whispers tidings of the spring,

As voice of virgin mild.

Come then, resume thy guardian power,
Sweet angel of my natal hour,

To whom the charge was given!
Once more receive me to thy care,
For ever kind, for ever near,
If such the will of Heaven!



Oh, my loved harp! companion dear!

Sweet soother of my secret grief,
No more thy sounds my soul must cheer,

No more afford a soft relief.

When anxious cares my heart oppressid,

When doubts distracting tore my soul, The pains which heaved my swelling breast

Thy gentle sway could oft control. Each well-remember'd practised strain,

The cheerful dance, the tender song, Recall'd, with pensive, pleasing pain,

Some image loved and cherish'd long.

When joy sat smiling o'er my fate,

And mark'd each bright and happy day,
When partial friends around me sate,

And taught my lips the simple lay:
And when, by disappointment grieved,

I saw some darling hope o'erthrown,
Thou hast my secret pain relieved;

O'er thee I wept, unseen, alone.
Oh! must I leave thee, must we part,

Dear partner of my happiest days?
I may forget thy much-loved art,

Unused thy melody to raise ;
But ne'er can memory cease to love

Those scenes where I thy charms have felt,
Though I no more thy power may prove,

Which taught my soften'd heart to melt.
Forced to forego with thee this spot,

Endear'd by many a tender tie,
When rosy pleasure bless'd my lot,
And sparkled in my


Yet still thy strings, in fancy's ear,

With soothing melody shall play;
Thy silver sounds I oft shall hear,
To pensive gloom a silent prey.


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O BEAUTIFUL the streams

That through our valleys run,
Singing and dancing in the gleams

Of summer's cloudless sun!

The sweetest of them all

From its fairy banks is gone; And the music of the waterfall

Hath left the silent stone!

Up among the mountains

In soft and mossy cell,
By the silent springs and fountains

The happy wild-flowers dwell.
The queen-rose of the wilderness

Hath wither'd in the wind,
And the shepherds see no loveliness

In the blossoms left behind.

Birds cheer our lonely groves

With many a beauteous wing; When happy in their harmless loves

How tenderly they sing! O'er all the rest was heard

One wild and mournful strain,
But hush'd is the voice of that hymning bird,

She ne'er must sing again!
Bright through the yew-tree's gloom

I saw a sleeping dove!
On the silence of her silvery plume

The sunlight lay in love:
The grove seem'd all her own

Round the beauty of that breast, But the startled dove afar is flown!

Forsaken is her nest!

In yonder forest wide

Å flock of wild deer lies,
Beauty breathes o'er each tender side,

And shades their peaceful eyes!
The hunter in the night

Hath singled out the doe, In whose light the mountain flock lay bright,

Whose hue was like the snow!

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