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The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,

for the buds it had left with regret On the flouri:hing bush where it grew.

I haftily seiz'd it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd,

And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas !
I fnapp'd it-it fell to the ground.

And fuch, I exclaim'd, is the pitilefs part Some act by the delicate mind,

Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart Already to forrow refign'd.

This elegant rose, had I fhaken it lef, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile ;

And the tear that is wip'd with a liale address,
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.


MAria! I have ev'ry good

For thee with'd many a time,
Both sad, and in a cheerful mood,

But never yet in rhime.
To with thee fairer is no need,

More prudent, or more sprightly,
Or more ingenious, or more freed

From temper-flaws unfightly.
What favour, then, not yet poffefs'd,

Can I for thee require,
In wedded love already blest,

To thy whole heart's desire ?
None here is happy but in part;
Full bliss is bliss divine ;


There dwells some with in ev'ry heart,

And, doubtless, one in thine. That wish, on some fair future day,

Which fate shall brightly gild,
(Tis blameless, be it what it may).
Ii wish it all fulfill'd..


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Patron of all those luckless brains,

That, to the wrong side leading,
Indite much metre with much pains,

And little or no meaning;
Ah why, fince oceans, rivers, streams,

That water all the nations,.
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams,

In constant exhalations;
Why stooping from the noon of day,

Too covetous of drink.
Apollo, halt thou stol'n away

A poet's drop of ink!
Upborne into the viewless air.

It floats a vapour now,
Impell’d through regions den!e and rares,

By all the winds that blow.
Ordain'd, perhaps, ere summer dies,

Combin'd with millions more, To form an iris in the skies,

Though black and foul before
Illuftrious drop! and happy theo

Beyond the happiest, lot
Of all that ever pass'd my pen i

So foon to be forgot!


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Phoebus, if such be thy defign,

To place it in thy bow, Give wit, that what is left


shine With equal grace below.




ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON, She came--fhe is gone--we have met

And meet perhaps never again ; The sun of that moment is sera

And seems to have risen in vain, Catharina has Aed like a dream

(So vanishes pleasure, alas!) But has left a regret and esteem

That will not fo fuddenly pass.

The last ev’ning ramble we made,

Catharina, Maria, and I, Our progress was often delay'd

By the nightingale warbling nigh. We paus'd under many a tree,

And much she was charm'd with a tone Less sweet to Maria and me,

Who had witness'd fo lately her own.

My numbers that day she had fung,

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

Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I efteem'd

The work of my fancy the morey And ev'n to myself never seemd

So tuneful a poet before.

Thougla Though the pleasures of London exceed CHAP. XXXVII.

In number the days of the year, Catharina, did nothing impedo,

Would feel herself happier here; For the 'close-woven arches of limes,

On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her

Than all that the city can show,

nmany times

So it is, when the mind is endued

With a well judging taste from above, Then, whether embellish'd or rude,

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

May even our wonder excite,
But groves, hills, and valleys, diffuse

A lasting, a sacred delight.

Since then in the rural recess

Catharina alone can rejoice, May it still be her lot to posless

The scene of her sensible choice! To inhabit a mansion remote

From the clatter of ftreet-pacing fteeds, And by Philomel's annual note

To measure the life that she leads.

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 le 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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TRUCE to thought! and let us o'er the fields,
Across the down, or through the shelving wood,
Wind our uncertain'way. Let Fancy lead,
And he is ours to follow, and admire,
As well we may,


Of Nature. Lay aside the sweet resource
That winter needs, and may at will obtain,
Of authors chaste and good, and let us read
The living page, whose ev'ry character
Delights, and gives us wisdom. Not a tree,
A.plant, a leaf, a bloffom, but contains.
A folio volume. We may read, and read,
And read again, and will find something new,
Something to please, and something to instruct,
E’en in the noisome weed. See, ere we pass.
Alcanor's threshold, to the curious eye
A little monitor presents her page
Of choice instruction, with her snowy bells,
The lily of the vale. She nor affects
The public walk, nor gaze of mid-day fun :
She to no state or dignity aspires,
But filent and alone puis on her suit,
And sheds her lafting perfume, but for which
We had not known there was a thing so sweet:
Hid in the gloomy shade. So when the blast

Her sister tribes.confounds, and to the earth.
( Stoops the r high heads that vainly were expos'de

She feels it not, but flourishes anew,
Still Shelter'd and secure. And so the form .
That makes the high elm couch, and rends the oak,
The humble lily spares.. A thousand blows,

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