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النشر الإلكتروني

Is it his grasp of empire to extend ?

To curb the fury of insulting foes?
Ambition, cease; the idle contest end :

'Tis but a kingdom thou canst win or lose.
And why must murder'd myriads lose their all!

(If life be all ;) why Desolation lour,
With familh'd frown, on this affrighted ball,

That thou may'st flame the meteor of an hour?
Go, wiser ye, that flutter life away,

Crown with the mantling juice the goblet high ;
Weave the light dance, with festive freedom gay,

And live your moment, since the next ye die !
Yet know, vain scepticks, know, th’ Almighty mind,

Who breath'd on man a portion of his fire,
Bade his free foul, by earth nor time confin'd,

To heav'n, to immortality aspire.
Nor shall the pile of hope his mercy rear'd,

By vain philosophy be e'er destroy'd :
Eternity, by all or wish'd or fear'd,

Shall be, by all, or suffer'd or enjoy'd !

NOTE, In a book of French verses, intitled, Oeuvres du Pbilosophe de fans Souci, and lately reprinted at Berlin by authority, under the title of Poefes Diverses, may be found an Epistle to Marshal Keith, written profeffedly against the immortality of the soul. By way of specimen of the whole, take the following lines.

De l'avenir, cher Keith, jugcons par le passe :
Comme avant que je fusse il n'avoit point pensé ;
De meme, apres ma mort, quand toutes mes parties
Par la corruption seront aneanties,
Par un meme destin il ne pensera plus ! ,

Non, rien n'est plus certain, soyons-en convaincu.
It is to this Epistle, that the latter part of the Elegy alludes.

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THE S E A S O N s.

IN FOUR PASTORALS,

BY MR. BRERE WOOV.

1. SPRING.

W

HEN, approach'd by the fair dewy fingers of Spring,

Swelling buds open first, and look gay;
When the birds on the boughs by their mates fit and fing,

And are danc'd by the breeze on each spray:

When gently descending, the rain in soft Mowers,

With it's moisture refreshes the ground;
And the drops, as they hang on the plants and the flowers,

Like rich gems beam a luftre around:

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When the wood-pigeons fit on the branches and coo;

And the cuckoo proclaims with his voice, That Nature marks this for the season to woo,

And for all that can love to rejoice :

In a cottage at night may I spend all my time,

In the fields and the meadows all day,
With a maiden whose charms are as yet in their prime,

Young as April, and blooming as May!

When the lark with shrill notes fings aloft in the morn,

May my faireft and I sweetly wake,
View the far diftant hills, which the sun-beams adorn

Then arise, and our cottage forsake.

When

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When the sun shines so warm, that my charmer and I

May recline on the turf without fear,
Let us there all vain thoughts and ambition defy,

While we breathe the first sweets of the year.

Be this spot on a hill, and a spring from it's side

Bubble out, and transparently flow,
Creep gently along in meanders, and glide

Thro' the vale strew'd with daisies below.

While the bee flies from blossom to blossom, and lips,

And the violets their sweetness impart,
Let me hang on her neck, and fo taste from her lips

The rich cordial that thrills to the heart.

While the dove fits lamenting the loss of it's mate,

Which the fowler has caught in his snares,
May we think ourselves bless'd that it is not our fate

To endure such an absence as theirs.

May I listen to all her soft, tender, fweet notes,

When she sings, and no founds interfere,
But the warbling of birds, which in stretching their throats

Are at strife to be louder than her.

When the daisies, and cowslips, and primroses blow,

And chequer the meads and the lawns,
May we see bounding there the swift light-footed does

And pursue with our eye the young fawnsi

When the lapwings, just fledg'd; o'er the turf take their run,

And the firstlings are all at their play,
And the harmless young lambs skip about in the fun,

Let us then be as frolick as they...

When

When I talk of my love, should I chance to espy

That she seems to mistruft what I say,
By a tear that is ready to fall from her eye;

With my lips let me wipe it away,

If we fit, or we walk, may I caft round my eyes,

And let no single beauty escape;
But see none to create so much love and surprize,

As her eyes, and her face, and Her shape.

Thus each day let us pass, till the buds turn to leaves,

And the meadows around us are mowni ;
When the lass on the sweet-smelling haycock receives

What the afterwards blushes to own:

When evenings grow cool, and the flow'řs hang their heads

With the dew, then no longer we'll roam ;
With my arm round her waist, in a path thro' the meads;

Let us hasten to find our way home.

When the birds are at tooft, with their heads in their wings,

Each one by the fide of it's mate;
When a mift that arises; a drowsiness brings

Upon all but the owl and the bat:

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When foft rest is requir'd, and the stars lend their light,

And all nature lies quiet and still ;
When no sound breaks the facred repose of the night,

But, at distance, the clack of a mill:

With peace for our pillow, and free from all noise,

So that voices in whispers are known ;
Let us give and receive all the nameless soft joys

That are mus'd on by lovers alone.

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II. S U M M E R.

W!

HERE the light cannot pierce, in a grove of tall trees,

With my fair-one as blooming as May, Undisturb'd by all sound, but the fighs of the breeze,

Let me pass the hot noon of the day.

When the sun, less intense, to the westward inclines,

For the meadows the groves we'll forsake, And see the rays dance as inverted he shines,

On the face of some river or lake :

Where

my

fairest and I, on it's verge as we pass, (For 'tis she that must still be my theme) Our two shadows

may

view on the watery glass, While the fish are at play in the stream.

May the herds cease to low, and the lambkins to bleat,

When she sings me some amorous strain ; All be filent, and hufh'd, unless echo repeat

The kind words and sweet sounds back againa,

And when we return to our cottage at night,

Hand in hand as we fauntering stray,
Let the moon's silver beams thro' the leaves give us light,

Just direct us, and chequer our way.

Let the nightingale warble it's notes in our walk,

As thus gently and flowly we move;
And let no single thought be express'd in our talk,

But of friendship improv'd into love.

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Thus enchanted each day with these rural delights,

And secure from ambition's alarms,
Soft love and repose shall divide all our nights,

And each morning shall rise with new charms,

III. A U.

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