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The daily labours of the bee,
From nature, too, I take my rule
grave and formal pass for wise,
Thy fame is just the sage replies :
And those, without our schools, suffice
II.-Ode to Leven Water, ON Leven's banks while free to rove And tune the rural pipe to love, 1 envied not the happiest swain That ever trod th' Arcadian plain. Pure stream ! in whose transparent wave My youthful limbs I wont to lave; No torrents stain thy limped source; No rocks impede thy diinpling course, That sweetly warbles o’er its bed, With white, round polish'd pebbles spread; While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood, In myriads cleave thy chrystal flood; The springing trout, in speckl?d pride ;. The salınon monarch of the tide; The ruthless pike intent on war; The silver eel, and mottled par. Devolving from thy parent lake, A charming maze thy waters make, By bowers of birch and groves of pine, And hedges flower'd with eglantine..
Still on thy banks so gaily green, May nuin'rous herds and flocks be seen : And lasses, chanting o'er the pail; And shepherds, piping in the dale; And ancient faith, that knows no guile; And industry embrown'd with toil; And heart resolv'd and hands prepar'd, The blessings they enjoy to guard.
III.--Ode from the 19th Psalm.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
What though, in solemn silence, all,
IV.--Rural Charms. SWEET Auburn! loveliest Village of the plain! Where health and plenty cheer'd the lab’ring swain; Where smiling spring its earliest yisils paid, And parting summer's liag'ring blooms delay'd : Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease ! Seats of iny 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 paus'd on every charm ! The shelter'd cot the cultivated farm, The never failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church, that topp'd the neighb’ring hill; The hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made. How often have I bless'd 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 spreading tree! While many a pastime cirled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd : And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And slights of art and feats of strength went round And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd, Succeeding sports the inirthful band inspir'd :
The dancing pair that simply sought renown,
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close,
LEST men suspect your tale untrue,
So very like a painter drew,
each muscle all it:
He lost his friends; his practice faild,
Two busto's, fraught with every srace,
All things were set; the hour was come, His palette ready o'er his thumb; My lord appear'd, and seated right, In proper attitude and light, The painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece ; Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece, Of Titan's tints, of Guido's air, “ Those eyes, my lord, the spirit there, Might well a Raphael's hand require, To give them all the native fire ; The features, fraught with sense and wit, You'll grant, are very hard to hit : But yet, with patience, you shall view As much as paint or art can do: Observe the work."-My lord reply'd, « Till
thought my mouth was wide; Besides, my nose is somewhat long; Dear sir, for me 'tis far too young.” “ O pardon me," the artist cry'd, " In this, we painters must decide. The piece e'en common eyes must strike; I'll warrant it extremely like." My lord examin'd it anew, No lookingglass seem'd half so true.
A lady came, With borrow'd grace, He from his Venus forni'd her face, Her lover prais'd the painter's art, So like the picture in bis heart! To every age some charm he lent; E’en beauties were alınost content. Through all the town his art they prais'd, His custom grew, his price was rais'd.