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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.

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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.

yet

* See the description of the Genius of the Wood in Milton's Arcades,

For know by lot, from Jove I am the power
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower ;
To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove
With ringlets quaint, &c.

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,
Come from the base enchanter set me free,

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.

Of inan,

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.

AN

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.

T

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
And all the air a solemn sillnefs holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony Alight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Moleft her ancient, folitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet Deep.

The breezy call of incenfe-breathing Morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built thed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more Mall rouze them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care :
No children run to lisp their fire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocupi did they drive their teem afield !
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and deftiny obscure ;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the

poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gare,
Await alike th' inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the fault,
If Mem'ry o'er their Tonb no Trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn isle and freeted vault
The pealing anthem (wells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated burt
Back to its mansion c:ll the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice provoke the filent duft,
Or Falt'ry south the dull cold car of Death ?

Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have fway d,
Or wak'd to extafy the living lyre.
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample pare
Rich with the spoils of Time did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress’d their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the foul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desart air.

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little Tyrant of his fields with tood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
Th’applause of liftning fenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise.
To scatter plenty o'er i smiling land,
And read their hift'ry in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbad: nor circunscrib'd alone
Their growing virtucs, but their crimes confir'd:
Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
The fruggling pangs of conscious truth to live,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous fame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With icense kindled at the Muse's fianne.

Far from the madding crowds ignoble frife
Their fober wishes never learu'd to stray ;
Along the cool sequefter'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

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