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"If in such a night," following philomel's voice,
As she sings such a song to the listening air, Sequester'd from crowds, or by chance or by choice, To this bower should two gentle spirits repair:
Whilst tenderness breathes in the nightingale's strain,
To tenderness tun'd, as delighted they stray,
This verse may they see, if this verse should remain,
Nor heedlessly turn from a wanderer's lay.
Perhaps they will deem him neglected, forlorn,
As they mark how unequal his numbers all flow, Of fortune the sport, or of beauty the scorn, Conjecture his sorrows, and pity his woe.
Ah, no, let them envy his happier fate,
Let them envy the youth that to Stella is dear; Nor wish he was wealthy, nor wish he was great, Whose poverty proves that her love was sincere! General Evening Post.
Written under a Busto of Comus.
WHILE rosy wreaths the goblet deck,
Thus Comus spoke, or seem'd to speak;
This place, for social hours design'd,
May care and business never find.
"Come every muse without restraint,
"Let genius prompt, and fancy paint ;
"Let wit and mirth, with friendly strife,
"Chase the dull gloom that saddens life.
"True wit, that firm to virtue's cause,
"Respects religion and the laws;
"True mirth, that cheerfulness supplies
"To modest ears and decent eyes;
"Let these indulge the liveliest sallies,
"Both scorn the canker'd help of malice;
"True to their country and their friend,
"Both scorn to flatter or offend."
"THEE, Mary, with this ring I wed,"
So sixteen years ago, I said,-
Behold another ring!" For what?"
"To wed thee o'er again-why not?"
With that first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth;
Taste long admired; sense long rever';
And all my Molly then appear'd.
If she by merit since disclos'd,
Prove twice the woman I suppos'd,
I plead that doubled merit now,
To justify a double vow.
Here then, to day, (with faith as sure
With ardour as intense and pure,
As when amidst the rites divine,
I took thy troth and plighted aue.)
To thee, sweet girl, my second ring
A token and a pledge I bring;
With this I wed, till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart;
Those virtues, which before untry'd,
The wife has added to the bride;
Those virtues, whose progressive claim
Endearing wedlock's very name;
My soul enjoys, my song approves
For conscience sake, as well as love's.
For why?-they shew me hour by hour
Honour's high thought, affection's power,
Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sentence ;→
And teach me all things-but repentance!
INGREDIENTS OF CONTENTMENT.
SEEK ye to know what keeps the mind
In every scene of life resign d?
These are the things a little wealth,
A little business, just for health;
A small neat house two stories high;
One spare bed where a friend may lie;
A friend, to whom one may impart
The inmost secrets of the heart;
At morning, store of cream and tea, (Either imperial, or bohea);
At noon, one dish well drest, but plain, With fresh small-beer, and linen clean; At leisure hours a book, or song,
To cheer the grave, or please the young;
At night a sober glass-then bed,
There ease the troubles of the head,
And banish cares, to spleen give vent-
These make the balm we call content.
THE FIRST OF NOVEMBER: OR, THE WINTER'S WALK.
BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove,
What dreary prospects round us rise! The naked hill, the leafless greve,
The hoary ground, the frowning skies!
Nor only thro' the wasted plain,
Stern winter, is thy force confess'd;
Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,
I feel thy power usurp my breast.
Enliv'ning hope and fond desire,
Resign the heart to spleen and care; Scarce frighted love maintains its fire, And rapture saddens to despair.
In groundless hope, and causeless fear,
Unhappy man! behold thy doom
Still changing with the changeful year,
The slave of sunshine and of gloom.
Tir'd with vain joys and false alarms,
With mental and corporeal strife,
O snatch me, Stella, to thy arms,
And screen me from the ills of life.
** INVOCATION TO THE ROSE.
CHILD of the summer,-charming rose!
No longer in confinement lie,
Arise to light, thy form disclose,
Rival the splendour of the sky!
The rains are gone, the storms are o'er,
Winter retires to make thee way;
Come then, thou sweetly blushing flow'r,
Oh! lovely stranger, come away!
The sun is dress'd in beamy smiles,
To give thy beauties to the day,
Young zephyrs wait with gentle gales,
To fan thy bosom as they play!