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Where smiling fpring its earliest visit paid,
And parting fummer's ling'ring blooms delay'd.
Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please,
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene !
How often have I pausid on ev'ry charm,
The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill, t.
The decent church that topt the neighb'ring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made !
How often have I bleft the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,

And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the fpreading tree,
While many a paltime circled in the shade,
The young contealing as the old survey'd;
And many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground,
And lights of art and feats of strength went round.
And ftill as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;
The dancing pair that simply fought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down ;
The swain miftruitless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place ;
The bashful virgin's fide-long looks of love,
The matro.i's glance, that would those looks reprove,
These were thy charms, sweet village, sports like these,
With sweet fucceffion, taught ev'n toil to please ;
These round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence thed,
These were thy charms--But all these charms are filed,

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fied, and all thy charms withdrawn ;
Amidit thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation sadjens all thy green:
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plaio ;
Nor more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, choak'd with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a folitary guest,
The hollow sounding bittern guards its neft ;
Amidst thy defart walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echocs with unvary'd cries.
Suuk are thy bow'rs in shapeless roin all,
And the long grass o'ertops the mould'ring wall,
And, trembling, Mrinking from the fpoiler's hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to halt'ning ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ;

Princes and lords may fourill', or may fade ;
A breach can make them as a breath has mace:
But a bold peafantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd, can never be supply'd.

A time there was, ere England's grief began, When ev'ry rood of ground inaintail'd its man ; For him light labour fpread her wholesome store, Juft gare

what life requir’d, but gave no more : His belt companions, innocence and health, And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But time's are altei'd ; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and difpoffefs the swain ; Along the lawn. where scatter'd hamlet's rose, Unweildy wealth, and cumb'rous pomp repose, , And ev'ry want to luxury ally'd, And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride, These gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful Scene, Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Pic Sweet AUBURN! parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's pow'r. Here, as I take my solitary rounds, Amidit thy tangling walks, and rnin'd grounds, And, many a year elaps'd, return to view Where once the cuitage food, the hawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all her husy train, Swells at my breast, and turps the past to pain.

In all my wand'rings round this world of care,
In all my griefs and God has giv’n my Bares
I fill had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these bumble bow'rs to lay me down ;.
To hufband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose :

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