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Is it his grasp of empire to extend ?
To curb the fury of insulting foes?
'Tis but a kingdom thou canst win or lose.
(If life be all ;) why Desolation lour,
That thou may'st flame the meteor of an hour?
Crown with the mantling juice the goblet high ;
And live your moment, since the next ye die !
Who breath'd on man a portion of his fire,
To heav'n, to immortality aspire.
By vain philosophy be e'er destroy'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 :
Non, rien n'est plus certain, soyons-en convaincu.
THE S E A S O N s.
IN FOUR PASTORALS,
BY MR. BRERE WOOV.
HEN, approach'd by the fair dewy fingers of Spring,
Swelling buds open first, and look gay;
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;
Like rich gems beam a luftre around:
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,
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,
Then arise, and our cottage forsake.
When the sun shines so warm, that my charmer and I
May recline on the turf without fear,
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,
Thro' the vale strew'd with daisies below.
While the bee flies from blossom to blossom, and lips,
And the violets their sweetness impart,
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,
To endure such an absence as theirs.
May I listen to all her soft, tender, fweet notes,
When she sings, and no founds interfere,
Are at strife to be louder than her.
When the daisies, and cowslips, and primroses blow,
And chequer the meads and the lawns,
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,
Let us then be as frolick as they...
When I talk of my love, should I chance to espy
That she seems to mistruft what I say,
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;
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 ;
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 ;
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;
Upon all but the owl and the bat:
When foft rest is requir'd, and the stars lend their light,
And all nature lies quiet and still ;
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 ;
That are mus'd on by lovers alone.
II. S U M M E R.
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 :
fairest and I, on it's verge as we pass, (For 'tis she that must still be my theme) Our two shadows
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,
Just direct us, and chequer our way.
Let the nightingale warble it's notes in our walk,
As thus gently and flowly we move;
But of friendship improv'd into love.
Thus enchanted each day with these rural delights,
And secure from ambition's alarms,
And each morning shall rise with new charms,
III. A U.