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III. A U T U MN.
THO the seasons mut alter, ah! yet let me find,
What all must confess ,
The blessings of Autumn to fare.
Let one side of our cottage, a fourishing 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 fent !
But, oh! give us their happy content.
And sometimes on a bank, under shade, by a brook,
Let us filently fit at our ease,
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,
What they both have a mind to be at:
To our dwelling, tho' homely, well-pleas?d to repair,
Let our mutual endearments revive ;
How contented and happy wę live...
Should ideas arise that may ruffle the soul,
Let soft mufick the phantoms remove; For ’tis harmony enly has force to controul,
And unite all the paffions in love.
With her eyes but half open, her cap all awry,
When the lafs is preparing for bed,
Sometimes rouses and scratches his head :
In the night when 'eis 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 rett, and of quiet like this,
in their lids, Let us welcome the season, and taste of that bliss
Which the sun-fhine and day-light forbids!
IV. W. I N T E R.
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 ftreams are faft bound with the frost :
While the peasant iņactive ftands shivering with cold,
As bleak the winds northernly blow;
With their feeçes besprinkled with snow :
In the yard, when the cattle are fodder'd with straw,
And they send forth their breath in a steam ;
Flakes of ice that the finds in the cream :
When the sweet country-maiden, as fresh as a roses
As she carelessly trips often slides, And the rufticks laugh loud, if by falling the shows
All the charms that her modesty hides:
When the lads and the lasses for company join'd,
In a crowd round the embers are met,
And of ghosts, till they're all in a sweat :
Heav'n grant, in this season, it may be my lot,
With the nymph whom I love and admire; While the icicles hang from the eaves of my cot,
I may thither in safety retire !
Where in neatness and quiet--and free from surprize,
We may live, and no hardships endure ; Nor feel any turbulent paffions arise,
But such as each other may, cure !
N vain, dear Flavilla, in vain still you try,
Inconftant, each feminine art :
But they ne'er will entangle the heart.
The fetters too slender affection to bind
Our reason will break with disdain :
From caprice fhall receive it again.
While down the light dance, in Pleasure's gay court,
Fantastick you trip it along;
The gayest of all the gay throng ;
O why in that face, where each beauty is seen,
Should Folly her standard display? Or wild Affectation disfigure that mien,
Where the Graces confpicuously play?
Ah, no! to your greater perfections be just;
By these you may charm at your will :
Which levity only can kill.
For pleasure in vain the inconstant máy rove
Thro' all the wide regions of art:
Whose transports arise from the heart.
HOOK from the purple wings of even
When dews impearl the grove,
Beams the sweet star of Love ;
Beside a plaintive stream,
Indulg'd this folemn theme.