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And can thy soft persuasive look,
Thy voice, that might with music vie, 30 Thy air, that every gazer took,
Thy matchless eloquence of eye; Thy spirits, frolicsome as good,
Thy courage, by no ills dismay'd, Thy patience, by no wrongs subdued,
Thy gay good-humour, can they fade ?
Cold turf, which I no more must view,
But redder yet that light shall glow
ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON. SHE came--she is gone-we have met
And meet perhaps never again; The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain ; Catharina has fled like a dream,
(So vanishes pleasure, alas !) But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.
The last evening ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I,
Our progress was often delay'd
By the nightingale warbling nigh. We paused under many a tree,
And much she was charm'd with a tone Less sweet to Maria and me,
Who so lately had witness'd her own.
My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine, As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I esteem'd
The work of my fancy the more, And c'en to myself never seem'd
So tuneful a poet before.
Though the pleasures of London exceed
In number the days of the year, Catharina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here; For the close-woven arches of limes,
On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times
Than aught that the city can show.
So it is, when the mind is endued
With a well-judging taste from above, Then, whether embellish'd or rude,
'T is nature alone that we love. The achievements of art may amuse,
May even our wonder excite;
A lasting, a sacred delight.
Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice, May it still be her lot to possess
The scene of her sensible choice ! To inhabit a mansion remote
From the clatter of street-pacing steeds,
To measure the life that she leade.
To wing all her moments at home, 50 And with scenes that new rapture inspire,
As oft as it suits her to roam.
With little to hope or to fear;
THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.
In every clime adored,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord !
Who all my sense confined
And that myself am blind;
To see the good from ill;
Let free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,
That, more than heaven pursue.
Let me not cast away;
To enjoy is to obey.
Thy goodness let me bound,
When thousand worlds are round:
Presume thy bolts to throw,
On each I judge thy foe.
Still in the right to stay ;
To find that better way!
Or impious discontent,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy show to me.
Since quicken'd by thy breath ;