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When I talk of my love, should I chance to espy
That she seems to mistiuft 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 ús pass, till the buds túrn 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 rooft, with their heads in their wings,
Each one by the fide of it's mate;
Upon all but the owl and the bat:
When soft 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.
WHERE 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 sighs of the breeze,
Let me pass the hot noon of the day.
When the fun, 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 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 again
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 slowly we move;
But of friendship improv'd into love.
Thus enchanted each day with these rural delights,
And secure from ambition's alarms,
III. A V.
III. A U T U MN.
T HO' the seasons mut alter, ah! yet let me find,
What all must confess to be rare,
The blessings of Autumn to share.
Let one side of our cottage, a flourishing vine
Overspread with it's branches and shade ; Whose clusters appear more transparent and fine,
As it's leaves are beginning to fade.
When the fruit makes the branches bend down with it's load,
In our orchard surrounded with pales;
For a tart that in winter regales.
When the vapours that rise from the earth in the morn
Seem to hang on it's surface like smoke,
Within doors let us prattle and joke.
But when we see clear all the hues of the leaves,
And at work in the fields are all hands,
Let us carelessly stroll o'er the lands.
How pleasing the fight of the toiling they make,
To collect what kind Nature has sent !
But, oh! give us their happy content.
And sometimes on a bank, under shade, by a brook,
Let us filently fit at our ease,
D d 2.
And now, when the husbandman fings harveft-home,
And the corn's all got into the house;
To frolick, and feast, and carouse
When the leaves from the trees are begun to be shed,
And are leaving the branches all bare,
Or elfe blown to and fro in the air :
When the ways are fo miry, that bogs they might seem,
And the axle-tree's ready to break,
And then claps the poor jades on the neck:
In the morning let's follow the cry of the hounds,
Or the fearful young covey beset;
Are becoming a prey to the net.
Let's enjoy all the pleasure retirement affords,
Still amus?d with these innocent sports,
With their grand entertainments in courts.
In the ev'ning, when lovers are leaning on styles,
Deep engag'd in some amorous chat,
To our dwelling, tho? homely, well-pleas?d to repair,
Let our mutual endearments revive ;
How contented and happy we live..
Should ideas arise that may ruffle the soul,
Let soft mufick the phantoms remove; For 'tis harmony only has force to controul,
And unite all the paffions in love.
. ܐ ܙ.
With her eyes but half opeş, her cap all'awry,
When the lass is preparing for bed,
Sometimes rouses and scratches his head :
In the night when 'tis cloudy, and rainy, and dark,
And the labourers snore as they lie,
In the farm, or the village hard by:
At the time of fweet reft, and of quiet like this,
in their lids, Let us welcome the season, and taste of that bliss
Which the sun-line and day-light forbids !
WHEN the trees are all bare, not a leaf to be seen,
And the meadows their beauty have loft ; When Nature's difrob'd of her mantle of green,
And the streams are faft bound with the frost :
While the peafant inactive stands shivering with cold,
As bleak the winds northernly blow;
With their feeçes besprinkled with fnow :
In the yard, when the cattle are fodder'd with straw,
And they send forth their breath in a steam ;
Flakes of ice that she finds in the cream :