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For when thy folding-star arising shows
Ilis paly cirelet, at his warning lamp

The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Ilho slept in buds the day,

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And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge,
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,

The pensive Pleasures sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car.

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene,
Or find some ruin ʼmidst its dreary dells,

Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams.

Or if chill blust'ring winds, or driving rain,
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut,

That, from the mountain's side,
Views wilds and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires,
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all

Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil.

ODES AND SONNETS.

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light:

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,
Or Winter, yellow through the troublous air,

Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes :

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,

Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favourite name!

COLLINS.

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ODE ON SOLITUDE.

IIappy the man whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcern’dly find

Hours, days, and years slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease,

Together mix’d; sweet recreation ; And innocence, which most does please

With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,

Thus 'unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

POPE.

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How darkly o'er yon far-off mountain frowns

The gathered tempest! from that lurid cloud

The deep-voiced thunders roll, awful and loud, Though distant; while upon the misty downs

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Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain.

I never saw so terrible a storm!
Perhaps some way-worn traveller in vain

Wraps his torn raiment round his shivering form,
Cold even as hope within him! I the while
Pause me in sadness, though the sunbeams smile

Cheerily round me. Ah, that thus my lot
Might be with peace and solitude assigned,

Where I might, from some little quiet cot,
Sigh for the crimes and miseries of mankind !

SOUTHEY.

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STATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide

To some far-distant land adventurous bound,
The sailors' busy cries, from side to side,

Pealing among the echoing rocks resound ;
A patient, thoughtless, much-enduring band,

Joyful they enter on their ocean way,
With shouts exulting leave their native land,

And know no care beyond the present day.
But is there no poor mourner left behind,

Who sorrows for a child or husband there?

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