ODE.

PACK clouds away, and welcome day,
With night we banish sorrow;
Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft,
To give my love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow;
Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing,
To give my love good-morrow!

To give my love good-morrow,

Notes from them both I'll borrow.

Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast,
Sing birds in every furrow;
And from each hill let music shrill

Give my fair love good-morrow!
Blackbird, and thrush, in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow!
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves,
Sing my fair love good-morrow!
To give my love good-morrow,
Sing birds in every furrow!

HEYWOOD.

WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou'st met me in an evil hour:

For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem;

To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
Thou bonnie gem!

Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
The bonnie Lark, companion meet!
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,
Wi' spreckled breast,

When upward-springing, blythe, to greet
The purpling East.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting North

Upon thy early, humble birth;

Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth

Amid the storm,

Scarce rear'd above the parent earth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield,
High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield

O' clod or stane,

Adorns the histie stibble-field,

Unscen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise :

But now the share uptcars thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade,
By love's simplicity betray'd,

And guileless trust,

Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid
Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple Bard,

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!

Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent Lore,

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is given,

Who long with wants and woes has striven,
By human pride or cunning driven,

To misery's brink,

Till, wrench'd of every stay but Heaven,
He, ruin'd, sink!

EARTH now is green, and heaven is blue;

Lively Spring, which makes all new,

Jolly Spring doth enter;

Sweet young sunbeams do subdue

Angry, aged Winter.

Winds are mild, and seas are calm,

Every meadow flows with balm,

The earth wears all her riches; Harmonious birds sing such a psalm

As car and heart bewitches.

SIR J. DAVIES.

RETIREMENT.

AN ODE.

ON beds of daisies idly laid,
The willow waving o'er my head,
Now morning, on the bending stem,
Hangs the round and glittering gem,
Lull'd by the lapse of yonder spring,
Of nature's various charms I sing:
Ambition, pride, and pomp, adieu,
For what has joy to do with you?
Joy, rose-lipt dryad, loves to dwell
In sunny field, or mossy cell;
Delights on echoing hills to hear
The reaper's song, or lowing steer;
Or view, with tenfold plenty spread,
The crowded corn-field, blooming mead ;
While beauty, health, and innocence,
Transport the eye, the soul, the sense.

WARTON, SEN.

SONNET.

THAT time of year thou mayest in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.