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HARK! how it floats upon the dewy air!
O what a dying, dying close was there!
"T'is harmony from yon sequester’d bow'r,
Sweet harmony, that sooths the midnight hour!
Long ere the charioteer of day had run
His morning course, th' enchantment was begun;
And he shall gild yon mountain's height again,
Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain.

CARDS.

OH the dear pleasure of the velvet plain,
The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again.
Cards, with what rapture, and the polish'd die,
The yawning chasm of indolence supply!
Then to the dance, and make the sober moon
Witness of joys that shun the sight of noon.
Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball,
The snug close party, or the splendid hall,
Where night, down-stooping from her ebon throne,
Views constellations brighter than her own.
"Tis innocent, and harmless, and refin'd;
The balm of care, elysium of the mind.
Innocent! Oh, if venerable time
Slain at the foot of pleasure be no crime,
Then, with his silver beard and magic wand,
Let Comus rise archbishop of the land;
Let him your rubric and your feasts prescribe,
Grand metropolitan of all the tribe.

HOPE.

SEE nature, gay as when she first began,
With smiles alluring her admirer man;
She spreads the morning over eastern hills;
Earth glitters with the drops the night distils;
The sun, obedient, at her call appears,
To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears;
Banks cloth'd with fow’rs, groves filld with

sprightly sounds,
The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds,
Streams edg'd with osiers, fatt’ning ev'ry field
Where'er they flow, now seen and now conceald;
From the blue rim where skies and mountains

meet, Down to the very turf beneath thy feet, Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise, Or pride can look at with indiff'rent eyes, All speak one language, all with one sweet voice Cry to her universal realm, Rejoice!

Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all That men have deem'd substantial since the fall, Yet has the wond'rous virtue to educe From emptiness itself, a real use ; And, while she takes, as at a father's hand, What health and sober appetite demand, From fading good derives, with chymic art, That lasting happiness, a thankful heart. Hope, with uplifted foot set free from earth, Pants for the place of her ethereal birth, On steady wings sails through th' immense abyss, Plucks amaranthine joys from bow'rs of bliss, And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear.

GREENLAND.

OH, blest within th' enclosure of your rock,
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks;
No fertilizing streams your fields divide,
That show, revers'd, the villas on their side;
No
groves

have ye; no cheerful sound of bird,
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of those that walk at ev’ning where ye

dwell: But winter, arm’d with terrours here unknown, Sits absolute on his unshaken throne; Piles

up

his stores amidst the frozen waste, And bids the mountains he has built stand fast; Beckons the legions of his storms away From happier scenes, to make your land a prey; Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, And scorns to share it with the distant sun. -Yet truth is your's, remote, unenvied isle! And peace, the genuine offspring of her smile; ,

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