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How soon obedient Flora brought her store,
And o'er thy breast a shower of fragrance flung: Vertumnus came; his earliest blooms he bore,
And thy rich fides with waving purple hung:
Then to the fight he call’d yon itately spire,
He pierc'd th’opposing oak’s luxuriant shade. Bad yonder crowding hawthorns low retire,
Nor veil the glories of the golden mead.
Hail, fylvan wonders, hail! and hail the hand
Whose native taste thy native charms display'd, And taught one little acre to command
Each envied happiness of scene and Miade.
Is there a hill whose diftant azure bounds
The ample range of Scarsdale's proud domain, A mountain hoar, that yon' wild peak surrounds,
But lends a willing beauty to thy plain?
And, lo! in yooder path, I spy my friend ;
He looks the guardian genius of the grove, Mild as the fabled forin that whilom deign’d,
At Milton's call, in Hartfield's launts to rove.
Bless'd spirit, come! tho' pent in mortal mould,
I'll invoke thee by that purer name ; O come, a portion of thy bliss unfold,
From folly's maze my wayward steps reclaim.
* See the description of the Genius of the Wood in Milton's Arcades,
For know by lot, from Jove I am the power
Too long alas my inexperienc'd youth,
Milled by Aatt'ring fortune's specious tale, Has left the rural reign of peace and truth,
The huddling brook, and cave, and whisp’ring vale.
Won to the world, a candidate for praise,
Yet, let me boast, by no ignoble art. Too oft the public ear has heard my lays,
Too much its vain applause has touchd my heart :
While yet my
But now 'ere custom binds his powerful chains,
foul its first beft taste retains, Recall.that fuul lo reason, peace, and thee.
Teach me, like thee, to muse on nature's page,
To mark each wonder in creation's plan, Each mode of being trace, and humbly sage,
Deiluce from these the genuine powers of man.
while warm'd with reason's purer ray, No tool of policy, no dupe to pride ; Before vain fcicnee lid his talle astray ;
When conscience was his law, and Gud his guide.
This let me learn, and learning let me live
The leffon o'er. From that great guide of truth O may my suppliant foul the boun receive
To tread thro' age the footlteps of thy youth.
Written in 1758.
E L EGY
Written in a COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.
By Mr. GAA Y.
HE curfew tells the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
The breezy call of incenfe-breathing Morn,
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield,
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Can storied urn or animated burt
Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
Far from the madding crowds ignoble frife