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" " With thee she 'll hear the bleat of flocks, Where grapes depress the vines; The throstle's mellow lay;

Where, on the bank with roses gay, The rills that murmur o'er the rocks,

Love, Innocence, and Pleasure play, The whispers of the spray.'-

And Beauty's form reclines.

Now diff'rent tones and measures flow, “ So sung false Hope-deceiv'd I heard, And set my heart at ease ;

And, gravely deep, and sadly slow,

Involve the mind in gloom;
The future then so fair appear'd,
It made the present please.

I seem to join the mournful train,

Attendant round the couch of Pain, “ So sung false Hope-the approaching years,

Or leaning o'er the tomb: That distant look'd so gay,

To where the orphan'd infant sleeps, · With clouds of cares and storms of fears

To where the love-lorn damsel weeps, All fraught, have pass'd away.

I pitying seem to stray ;

Methinks I watch his cradle near; “ As glides yon Sun adown the sky,

Methinks her drooping thoughts I cheer, As rolls yon rapid stream;

And wipe her tears away.
So fast our joys and sorrows fly,
And, flown, appear a dream.

Now loud the tuneful thunders roll,

And rouse and elevate the soul “ Be then the events that Time has brought,

O'er Earth and all its care; To me not brought in vain;

I seem to hear from heavenly plains By painful disappointment taught,

Angelic choirs responsive strains, Let wisdom be my gain!"

And in their raptures share.

Thus Theron spoke, and earnest ey'd

The Sun's departing ray; Again he look’d, again he sigh’d, And homeward bent his way.





CHILDHOOD! happiest stage of life,
Free from care and free from strife,
Free from Memory's ruthless reign,
Fraught with scenes of former pain;
Free from Fancy's cruel skill,
Fabricating future ill;
Time, when all that meets the view,
All can charm, for all is new;
How thy long-lost hours I mourn,
Never, never, to return !

Then to toss the circling ball,
Caught rebounding from the wall;
Then the mimic ship to guide
Down the kennel's dirty tide;
Then the hoop's revolving pace
Through the dusty street to chase;
O what joy !-it once was mine,
Childhood, matchless boon of thine!-
How thy long-lost bours I mourn,
Never, never to return!

On the eastern hill's steep side
Spreads the rural hamlet wide;
Cross the vale, where willows rise,
Further still another lies;
And, beneath a steeper hill,
Lies another further still:
Near them many a field and grove-
Scenes where Health and Labour rore!

Northward swelling slopes are seen,
Clad with corn-fields neat and green ;
There, through grassy plains below,
Broad and smooth the waters flow;
While the town, their banks along,
Bids its clust'ring houses throng,
In the sunshine glitt'ring fair;
Haunts of business, haunts of care !

Westward o'er the yellow meads
Wind the rills through waving reeds;
From dark elms a shadow falls
On the abbey's whiten’d walls:
Wide the park's green lawns expand;
Thick its tufted lindens stand :
Fair retreat! that well might please
Wealth, and Elegance, and Ease.

Hark! amidst the distant shades
Murm’ring drop the deep cascades;
Hark! amidst the rustling trees
Softly sighs the gentle breeze;
And the Eolian harp, reclin'd
Obvious to the stream of wind,
Pours its wildly-warbled strain,
Rising now, now sunk again.

How the view detains the sight!
How the sounds the ear delight !-
Sweet the scene! but think not there
Happiness sincere to share :
Reason still regrets the day
Passing rapidly away;
Less'ning life's too little store;
Passing, to return no more!



Yon organ! hark!--how soft, how sweet,
The warbling notes in concert meet !

The sound my fancy leads
To climes where Phæbus' brightest beams
Gild jasmine groves and crystal streams,

And lily-mantled meads;

Where myrtle bowers their bloom unfold,
Where citrons bend with fruit of gold,

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From London's streets to solitude,
From brilliant shops to dirty fields,
From beaux and belles to rugged
The change I own is strange and rude:
Yet scarce a place so little yields,
But he who seeks amusement finds.

Perchance thou 'lt not disdain to hear
The ploughman's history of the plain;
Thy sight the prospect's scenes may charm :
And sure fastidious is the ear,
That slights the milkmaid's simple strain,
At ev'ning echoing from the farm.

Yet there the lamp's perpetual blaze
Can pierce the gloom with cheering rays;
Yet there the heroic tale or song
Can urge the ling'ring hours along;
Yet there their hands with timely care
The kajak 3 and the dart prepare,

On summer seas to work their way, (prey. And wage the wat'ry war, and make the seals their

Too delicate! reproach no more
The seasons of thy native shore-
There soon shall Spring descend the sky,
With smiling brow and placid eye;
A primrose wreath surrounds her hair,
Her green robe floats upon the air;

And scatter'd from her lib'ral hand, [land. Pair blossoms deck the trees, fair flowers adorn the

The market lore of artful swains
The price of cattle and of corn,
The sportsman's feats of dogs and guns ;-
To practise that will cost thee pains ;
And these with patience must be borne,
For he will be dislik'd who shnns.



Courage, my friend ! whate'er our fate!
So versatile the human mind,
That oft, when novelty is o'er,
To objects of our former hate
Assimilated and resign'd,
We wonder they displeas'd before.

T was on the festive, social day, Where Beauty cast her smiles around, And Mirth the mind from care reliev'd; What time our hands in harmless play Thy brow with wreaths of myrtle bound, My thoughts this grateful lay conceiv'd.

WHERE Grove-hill 4 shows thy villa fair,
But late, my Lettsom, there with thee
'T was mine the tranquil hour to share-
The social hour of converse free;
To mark th' arrangement of thy ground,

And all the pleasing prospect round,
Where, while we gaz'd, new beauties still were found.

There, as th’impending cloud of smoke
Fled various from the varying gale,
Full on the view fresh objects broke
Along th' extensive peopled vale,

1 The author alludes to some trifling pieces of humour, written on his friend, for the amusement of a few intimate acquaintance.

» Layer Breton, a village in Essex, 3 A Greenland fishing boat. 4 At Camberwell, in Surry.

Beside Thamesis' bending stream,

But these suffic'd an humble cell, From ancient Lambeth's west extreme,

If they with Strength and Ease might dwell. To Limehouse glitt'ring in the ev'ning beam. Then Fashion call'd; his potent voice

Proud Wealth with ready step obey'd, And now and then the glancing eye

And Pleasure all her arts essay'd,
Caught glimpse of spots remoter still,

To fix with thee the Gckle choice.
On Hampstead's street-clad slope so high,
Or Harrow's fair conspicuous hill;

Precarious gift!--Thy mansions gay,
Or eastward wander'd to explore

Where peers and beauties lead the ball, All Peckham's pleasant level o'er,

Neglected, soon may feel decay; To busy Deptford's vessel-crowded shore:

Forsaken, moulder to their fall.

Palmyra, once like thee renown'd,
Or sought that southern landscape's bonnd, Now lies a ruin on the ground.-
Those swelling mounts--one smooth and green, But still thy environs so fair,
And one with oaken coverts crown'd,

Thy waters' salutary aid,
And one where scatt'ring trees are seen. Will surely always some persuade
'T was these, with Summer's radiance bright, To render thee their care.

That gave my earliest youth delight,
Of rural scenes the first that met my sight“.
That business, with fatiguing cares,

For this delightful seat of thine

Such scanty store of moments spares,
Say, friend, shall I for thee repine ?

Were it the commerce of the main,
Or culture of the teeming plain,

O FRIEND! to thee, whose lib'ral mind From blame or pity I should scarce refrain. Was form’d with taste for joys refin’d,

For all the extended country yields, But O! to alleviate human woes,

Of azure skies and verdant fields; To hanish sickness, banish pain,

For all that Genius' hand displays,To give the sleepless eye repose,

The painter's forms, the poet's lays:The nerveless arm its strength again;

To thee, restraint to that dull room, From parent eyes to dry the tear,

Where sunshire never breaks the gloom; The wife's distressful thought to cheer,

To thee, restraint to that dull lore And end the husband's and the lover's fear.

Of books, with numbers cypherd o'er

How hard the lot! I see with pain, Where Want sits pining, faint, and ill,

And wish it oft exchang'd in vain. To lend thy kind, unpurchas'd aid,

Yet not for thee I ask the stores And hear the exertions of thy skill

Which Rapine rends from foreign shores, With many a grateful blessing paid

Nor those Oppression's pow'r procures 'T is luxury to the feeling heart,

From ills that Poverty endures.
Beyond what social hours impart, [Art! Far happier thou ! thy honest gain
Or Nature's beauteous scenes, or curious works of Can life with decency sustaio ;

For thee, Content, with thought serene,
Surveys the ent changeful scene;

And Piety her view sublime

Extends beyond the realm of time.

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Deem not that Time's oblivious hand 5 The Dulwich hills.

From Memory's page has ras'd the days, 6 The author was born in the environs of London, By Lee's green verge we wont to stand, on the Surry side.

And on his crystal current gaze.

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Take hence this tuneful trifler's lays !
I'll hear no more the unmeaning strain
Of Venus' doves, and Cupid's darts,
And killing eyes, and wounded hearts;
All Flattery's round of fulsome praise,
All Falsehood's cant of fabled pain.

"T was when Misfortune's stroke severe,
And Melancholy's presence drear,
Had made my Amwell's groves displease,
That thine my weary steps receiv'd,
And much the change my mind reliev'd,
And much thy kindness gave me ease;
For o'er the past as thought would stray,
That thought thy voice as oft retriev'd,
To scenes which fair before us lay.
And there, in happier hours, the walk
Has frequent pleas'd with friendly talk;
From theme to theme that wander'd still
The long detail of where we 'd been,
And what we'd heard, and what we'd seen ;
And what the poet's tuneful skill,
And what the painter's graphic art,
Or antiquarian's searches keen,
Of calm amusement could impart.

Bring me the Muse whose tongue has told
Love's genuine plaintive tender tale;
Bring me the Muse whose sounds of woe
Midst Death's dread scenes so sweetly flow,
When Friendship's faithful breast lies cold,
When Beauty's blooming cheek is pale:
Bring these-I like their grief sincere;
It sooths my sympathetic gloom:
For, oh! Love's genuine pains I've borne,
And Death's dread rage has made me mourn ;
I've wept o'er Friendship's early bier,
And dropt the tear on Beauty's tomb.



Then oft did Nature's works engage,
And oft we search'd Linnæus' page;
The Scanian sage, whose wondrous toil
Had class'd the vegetable race:
And, curious, oft from place to place
We rang'd, and sought each different soil,
Each different plant iutent to view,
And all the marks minute to trace,
Whence he his nice distinctions drew.

The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,
My soul the tuneful strain admires :
The poet's birth, I ask not where,
His place, his name, they 're not my care;
Nor Greece nor Rome delights me more
Than Tagus' bank', or Thames's shore ? :
From silver Avon's flowery side
Though Shakspeare's numbers sweetly glide,
As sweet, from Morven's desert hills,
My ear the voice of Ossian fills.

O moments these, not ill employ'd !
O moments, better far enjoy'd
Than those in crowded cities pass'd;
Where oft to Luxury's gaudy reign
Trade lends her feeble aid in vain,
Till pride, a bankrupt wretch at last,
Bids Fraud his specious wiles essay,
Youth's easy confidence to gain,
Or Industry's poor pittance rend away!


1 Alluding to Camoens, the epic poet of Portu. gal; of whose Lusiad we have a well-known masterly translation by Mr. Mickle. * Alluding to Milton, Pope, &c.


The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,

Here once a self-sequester'd train My soul the tuneful strain admires :

Renounc'd life's tempting pomp and glare ; Nor bigot zeal, nor party rage

Rejected pow'r, relinquish'd gain, Prevail, to make me blame the page;

And shund the great, and shun'd the fair : I scorn not all that Dryden sings

The voluntary slaves of toil, Because he fatters courts and kings;

By day they till’d their little soil, And from the master lyre of Gray

By night they woke, and rose to prayer. When pomp of music breaks away, Not less the sound my notice draws,

Though Superstition mach we blame, For that 't is heard in Freedom's cause,

That bade them thus consume their years;

Their motive still our praise must claim, The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,

Their constancy our thought reveres : My soul the tuneful strain adıires:

And sure their solitary scheme Where Wealth's bright sun propitious shines, Must check each passion's wild extreme, No added lustre inarks the lives;

And save them cares, and save them fears. Where Want extends her chilling shades, No pleasing flower of Fancy fades;

Their convent's round contain:d their all; A scribbling peer's applauded lays

Their ininds no sad presage oppressid, Might claim, but claim in vain, my praise What fate might absent wealth befall, From that poor youth, whose tales relate

How absent friends might be distress'd: Sad Juga's fears and Bawdin's fate 3.

Domestic ills ne'er hurt their ease;

They nought of pain could feel from these, The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,

Who no domestic joys possess'd.
My soul the tuneful strain admires:
When Fame her wreaths well-earn'd bestows, But imperfection haimts each place:
My breast no latent envy knows;

Would this kind calm atone to thee
My Langhorne's verse I lov'd to hear,

For Fane's or Fortune's sprightly chase, And Beattie's song delights my ear;

Whose prize in prospect still we see ; And his, whom Athens' tragic maid

Or Hymen's happy moments bless'd, Now leads through Scarning's lonely glade ; With Beauty leaning on thy breast, While he for British nymphs bid flow

Or childhood prattling at thy knee? Her notes of terrour and of woe 4.


The Muse! whate'er the Muse inspires,
My soul the tuneful strain admires :
Or be the verse or blank or rhyme,

The theme or humble or sublime;
If Pastoral's hand my journey leads

Through harvest fields or new-mowo meads;
If Epic's voice sonorous calls

How custom steels the human breast
To ēta's cliffs 5 or Salemn's walls 6;

To deeds that Nature's thoughts detest! Enough-the Muse, the Muse inspires !

How custom consecrates to fame
My soul the tuneful strain admires.

What reason else would give to shame!
Fair Spring supplies the favouring gale,
The naval plunderer spreads his sail,

And ploughing wide the wat'ry way,

Explores with anxious eyes his prey.

The man he never saw before,
The man who him no quarrel bore,

He meets, and Avarice prompts the fight; How steep yon mountains rise around,

And Rage enjoys the dreadful sight How bold yon gloomy woods ascend !

Of decks with streaming crimson dy'd, How loud the rushing torrents sound

And wretches struggling in the tide, That midst these heaps of ruin bend,

Or, midst th' explosion's horrid glare,
Where one arch'd gateway yet remains,

Dispers'd with quivering limbs in air.
And one lone aisle its roof retains,
And one tall turret's walls impend !

The merchant now on foreign shores
His captur'd wealth in vain deplores ;

Quits his fair home, O mournful change! 3 See Rowley's poeins, supposed to have been For the dark prison's scanty range; written by Chatterton, an unhappy youth born at

By Plenty's hand so lately fed, Bristol.

Depends on casual alms for bread;

And, with a father's anguish torn, 4 See Mr. Potter's excellent translation of Es

Sees his poor offspring left forlorn. chylus and Euripides.

5 See Mr. Glover's Leonidas, alluded to as an And yet, such man's misjudging mind, example of classical dignity and simplicity. For all this injury to his kind,

6 See Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, alluded to as The prosperous robber's native plain an example of Gothic fancy and magnificence. Shall bid him welcome home again;

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