THE POPLAR FIELD. THE poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade, Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view The blackbird has fled to another retreat, Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, And the scene where his melody charm'd me before, Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. My fugitive years are all hasting away, With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, The change both my heart and my fancy employs, THE SHRUBBERY. WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION. Он, happy shades-to me unbless'd! This glassy stream, that spreading pine, But fix'd unalterable Care Foregoes not what she feels within, For all that pleased in wood or lawn, Has lost its beauties and its powers. The saint or moralist should tread Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste HUMAN FRAILTY. WEAK and irresolute is man; The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan, To-morrow rends away. The bow well bent, and smart the spring, Vice seems already slain; But Passion rudely snaps the string, And it revives again. Some foe to his upright intent Virtue engages his assent, But Pleasure wins his heart. "Tis here the folly of the wise Through all his art we view; And, while his tongue the charge denies, His conscience owns it true. Bound on a voyage of awful length And dangers little known, A stranger to superior strength, But oars alone can ne'er prevail, The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, A COMPARISON. THE lapse of time and rivers is the same, And a wide ocean swallows both at last. A difference strikes at length the musing heart; ANOTHER. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng; With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course: Graceful and useful all she does, SONG ON PEACE. Air-" My fond shepherds of late," &c. No longer I follow a sound; No longer a dream I pursue; 0 Happiness ! not to be found, Unattainable treasure, adieu! I have sought thee in splendour and dress, An humble ambition and hope The voice of true Wisdom inspires; 'Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope And the summit of all our desires. Peace may be the lot of the mind That seeks it in meekness and love: But rapture and bliss are confined To the glorified spirits above. |