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Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets,
Our dear delights are often such,
WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION.
Oh happy shades! to me unblest,
Friendly to peace, but not to me, How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree! This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quivering to the breeze, Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please. But fixt unalterable care
Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness every where,
And slights the season and the scene, For all that pleased in wood or lawn,
While peace possess’d these silent bowers, Her animating smile withdrawn,
Has lost its beauties and its powers. The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley, musing slow;
But not like me, to nourish woe.
Alike admonish not to roam ;
These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come.
THE WINTER NOSEGAY.
WHAT Nature, alas ! has denied
To the delicate growth of our isle,
And winter is deck'd with a smile.
From the shelter of that sunny shed,
Though abroad they are frozen and dead.
Where Flora is still in her prime;
From the cruel assaults of the clime.
These pinks are as fresh and as gay,
On the beautiful bosom of May.
The frowns of a sky so severe !
Through many a turbulent year.
Seem graced with a livelier hue,
The truth of a friend, such as you.
NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE.
The lady thus address'd her spouse :-
Those hangings with their worn-out graces,
-Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark,
“ You are so deaf,” the lady cried, (And raised her voice and frown'd beside,) " You are so sadly deaf, my dear, What shall I do to make you hear ?” . Dismiss poor Harry ?' he replies, • Some people are more nice than wise ; For one slight trespass all this stir ! What if he did ride, whip, and spur ? ’T was but a mile,-your favourite horse Will never look one hair the worse.' “ Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing !”. • Child! I am rather hard of hearing.'“ Yes, truly-one must scream and bawl, I tell you you can't hear at all.” Then with a voice exceeding low“ No matter if you hear or no.”
Alas! and is domestic strife,
Then farewell all that must create
The love that cheers life's latest stage,
TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.
AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY.
The swallows in their torpid state
Compose their useless wing, And bees in hives as idly wait
The call of early spring.
The wildest wind that blows,
Secure of their repose :
The gloomy scene surveys,
And pant for brighter days.
Bids me and Mary mourn;
And whispers your return.
Then April with her sister May
Shall chase him from the bowers, And weave fresh garlands every day,
To crown the smiling hours.
Of happier times appear,
Shall shine, and dry the tear.
When the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods, Sage beneath a spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief, Every burning word he spoke
Full of rage and full of grief. “ Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues. “Rome shall perish,—write that word
In the blood that she has spilt; Perish hopeless and abhorr'd,
Deep in ruin as in guilt. “Rome for empire far renown'd,
Tramples on a thousand states, Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates. “ Other Romans shall arise,
Heedless of a soldier's name, Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame. “ Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land,