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النشر الإلكتروني

М.

А

Thou doft innocently enjoy,
Nor does thy luxury destroy:
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year!
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy infect, happy, thou
Dost neither age nor winter know.
But when thou 'st drunk, and danced and sung,
Thy fill the flowery leaves among,
Sated with thy summer feast
Thou retir'ft to endless rest.

HARK Sweet Natur

COWLES

Anda

HYMN.

Yon Ofca

Has!

For

How cheerful along the gay mead
The daify and cowslip appear!
The flocks, as they carelessly feed,
Rejoice in the spring of the year.
The myrtles that deck the gay bowers,
The herbage that springs from the fod,
Trees, plants, cooling fruits, and sweet flowers. He
All rise to the praise of my God. .

Aid

Shah An

The Bulferich in Town.

Then let not what I cannot have

My cheer of mind destroy; While thus I sing, I am a king,

Although a poor blind boy.

CIBBER,

THE BULFINCH IN TOWN.

HARK to the blackbird's pleasing note :
Sweet usher of the vocal throng!
Nature directs his warbling throat,
And all that hear admire the fong.

Yon bulfinch, with unvary'd tone,
Of cadence harsh and accent shrill,
Has brighter plumage to atone
For want of harmony and skill.

And while to please fome courtly fair
He'one dull tune with labour learns,
A well-gilt cage, remote from air,
And faded plumes, is all he earns.

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Go, hapless captive ! still repeat
The sounds which Nature never taught;
Go, listening fair! and call them sweet,
Because you know them dearly bought.

Unenvied both, go hear and sing
Your studied music o'er and o'er!
Whilft I attend th' inviting spring
In fields where birds unfettered foar.

LADY LUXBOROUGH.

THE KID,

A TEAR bedews

my
Delia's

eye
To think yon playful kid muit die;
From crystal spring, and flowery mead,
Muit, in his prime of life, recede!

Erehile, in sportive circles, round
She faw him wheel, and frisk, and bound;
1.0. rock to rock pursue his way,
And on the fearful ingrgin play.

i Pleased

The First of April.

Pleased on his various freaks to dwell,
She saw him climb my rustic cell;
Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright,
And seem all ravished at the fight.

She tells with what delight he stood
To trace his features in the flood :
Then skipp'd aloof with quaint amaze;
And then drew near again to gaze.

She tells me how with eager speed
He flew to hear

my

vocal reed; And how with critic face profound, And steadfast ear, devour'd the found.

His every frolic, light as air,
Deserves the gentle Delia's care ;
And tears bedew her tender eye
To think the playful kid must die.

SHENSTONE

THE FIRST OF APRIL.

MINDFUL of disaster past,
And thrinking at the northern blast.....

The

12

The First of April.
The sleety storm returning still,
The morning hoar, the evening chill,
Reluctant comes the timid Spring.
Scarce a bee with airy ring
Murmurs the blossom’d boughs around
That clothe the garden's southern bound:
Scarce the hardy primrose peeps
From the dark dell's entangled steeps:
O’er the field of waving broom
Slowly shoots the golden bloom :
Scant, along the ridgy land
The beans their new-born ranks expand;
The fresh-turned foil with tender blades
Thinly the sprouting barley fhades:
The swallow, for a moment seen,
Skims in haste the village green:
Fraught with a trapsient frozen shower,
If a cloud should haply lower,
Sailing o'er the landscape dark,
Mute on a sudden is the lark;
But, when gleams the sun again
O'er the pearl-besprinkled plain,
And from behind his watery veil
Looks through the thin descending hail,

. She

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