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We paused under many a tree,

And much she was charmed with a tone Less sweet to Marja and me,

Who had witnessed so lately her own. My numbers that day she had sung,

And gave them a grace so divine, As only her musical tongue.

Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I esteemed

The work of my fancy the more, And ev'n to myself never seemed

So tuneful a poet before.

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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 embellished or rude,

Tis nature alone that we love.
The achievements of art may amuse,

May even our wonder excite,
But groves, bills and vallies, diffuse

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.

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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,

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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 finished bis concise repast,
Stoppled his cruse, replaced his book
Within its customary nook,
And, staff in hand, set forth to share
The sober cordial of sweet air,
Like Isaac, with a mind applied ..
To serious thought at evening-tide.
Autumnal rains had made it chill,
And from the trees, that fringed his hill,

Shades slanting at the close of day
:: Chilled more his else delightful way:

Distant a little mile he spied
A western bank's still sunny side,
And right toward the favoured place
Proceeding with his nimblest pace,
In hope to bask a little yet,
Just reached it when the sun was set.

Your hermit, young and jovial sirs!
Learns something from whate'er occurs
And hence, he said, my mind computes
The real worth of man's pursạits.
His object closen, wealth or fame,
Or other sublunary game,
Imagination to his view
Presents it decked with every hue,
That can seduce him not to spare
His powers of best exertion there,
But youth, bealth, vigour to expend
On so desirable an end.

Ere long approach life's evening shades,
The glow that fancy gave it fades;
And, earned too late, it wants the grace,
Which first engaged him in the chase.

True, answered an angelic guide,
Attendant at the senior's side-
But whether all the time it cost
To urge the fruitless chase be lost,
Must be decided by the worth .
Of that which called his ardour forth.

Trifles pursued, whate'er the event,
Must cause him shame or discontent;
A vicious object still is worse,
Successful there be wins a curse;
But he, whom e'en in life's last stage
Endeavours laudable engage,
Is paid, at least in peace of mind,
And sense of having well designed; ,
And if, ere he attain his end, ,
His sun precipitate descend,
A brighter prize than that he meant
Shall recompense bis mere intent. ·
No virtuous wish can bear a date
Either too early or too late,

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The green-house is my summer seat; My shrubs, displae'd from that retreat,

Enjoyed the open air; .' Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song, Had been their mutual solace long,

Lived happy prisoners there.

They sang, as blithe as finches sing,
That flutter loose on golden wing, :)

And frolic where they list;
Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,
But that delight they never knew,

And therefore never missed.

But nature works in every breast;
Instinct is never quite suppressed;

And Dick felt some desires,
Which, after many an effort vain,
Instructed him at length to gain

A pass between his wires,

The open windows seemed to invite
The freeman to a farewell fight;

But Tom was still confined;
And Dick, although his way was clear,
Was much too generous and sincere

To leave bis friend behind.

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