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"Grant, heav'nly pow'r! thy peaceful' fway May ftill my ruder thoughts controul; "Thy hand to point my dubious way,
Thy voice to foothe the melting foul! "Far, in the fhady fweet retreat,
"Let thought beguile the ling'ring hour; "Let quiet court the moffy-feat,
"And twining-olives form the bow'r.
"Let dove-ey'd PEACE her wreath bestow, "And oft fit lift'ning in the dale,
"While night's fweet warbler from the bough "Tells to the grove her plaintive tale.
"Soft, as in DELIA's fnowy breast,
"Let each confenting paffion move;
"Let angels watch its filent reft,
"And all its blifsful dreams be LOVE."
THE fun had cheer'd the mountain-fnow, His beams had pierc'd the stubborn foil,
The melting ftreams began to flow,
And ploughmen urg'd their annual toil.
"Twas then, amidst the vocal throng,
Whom nature wak'd to MIRTH, and LOVE,
A BLACK-BIRD rais'd his am'rous fong,
And thus it echo'd through the grove .
"O fairest of the feather'd train!
"For whom I fing, for whom I burn,
"Attend with pity to my strain,
"And grant my love a kind return.
"For fee, the wint'ry ftorms are flown,
"And zephyrs gently fan the air;
"Let us the genial influence own,
"Let us the vernal paftime fhare.
"The RAVEN plumes his jetty wing,
"To please his croaking paramour,
"And LARKS refponfive carols fing,
"And tell their passion as they foar :
"But does the RAVEN'S fable wing
"Excel the gloffy jet of mine?
"Or can the LARK more fweetly fing,
"Than we, who strength with softness join?
"O, let me then thy fteps attend!
"I'll point new treafures to thy fight:
"Whether the grove thy wish befriend,
"Or hedge-rows green, or meadows bright.
"I'll guide thee to the cleareft rill,
"Whofe ftreams among the pebbles stray;
"There will we fip, and fip our fill,
"Or on the flow'ry margin play. "I'll lead thee to the richest brake, "Imperv'ous to the fchool-boy's eye; "For thee the plafter'd neft I'll make, "And to thy downy-bofom fly.
"When, prompted by a mother's care,
Thy warmth fhall form th' imprifon'd young,
"The pleafing task I'll gladly share,
"Or cheer thy labours with a fong.
"I'll bring thee food, I'll range the fields,
"And cull the best of ev'ry kind,
"Whatever nature's bounty yields,
"And love's affid'ous care can find.
"And when my lovely mate would firay,
"To tafte the fummer fweets at large,
"I'll wait at home the live-long day,
"And fondly tend our little charge.
"Then prove with me the fweets of love,
"With me divide the cares of life,
"No bufh fhall boaft in all the grove,
"A mate fo fond, fo bleft a wife."
He ceas'd his fong-the plumy dame
Heard with delight the love-fick ftrain,
Nor long conceal'd a mutual flame,
Nor long reprefs'd his am'rous pain.
He led her to the nuptial bow'r,
And perch'd with triumph by her fide; What gilded roof could boaft that hour A fonder mate, or happier bride? Next morn he wak'd her with a fong; "Behold," he faid, "the new-born day, "The LARK, his matin-peal has rung, "Arife, my love, and come away! Together through the fields they ftray'd, And to the murm'ring riv'let's fidè, Renew'd their vows, and hopp'd, and play'd, With artless joy, and decent pride. When O! with grief my mufe relates What dire misfortune clos'd the tale, Sent by an order from the fates, A gunner met them in the vale.
Alarm'd, the lover cry'd, " my dear, "Hafte! hafte! away! from danger fly! "Here, gunner, point thy thunder here, "O! fpare my love, and let me die!" At him the gunner took his aim, Too fure the volley'd thunder flew! O, had he chofe fome other game! Or fhot--as he was wont to do!
Divided pair! forgive the wrong,
While I with tears your fate rehearse,
I'll join the widow's plaintive fong,
And fave the lover in my verse,
THE MATRON's EPITAPH.
where this filent marble
A friend, a wife, a mother, fleeps;
An heart, within whofe facred cell
The peaceful VIRTUE's lov'd to dwell.
AFFECTION warm, and FAITH fincere,
And foft HUMANITY, were there.
In agony, in death, refign'd,
She felt the wound the left behind.
Her infant image, here below,
Sits fmiling on a father's woe:
Whom what awaits, while yet he strays
Along the lonely vale of days?
A pang, to fecret forrow dear;
A figh! an unavailing tear;
Till time thall ev'ry grief remove,
With life, with mem❜ry, and with love.
TO fair FIDELE's graffy tomb,
Soft maids and village hinds fhall bring
Each op'ning fweet, of earlieft bloom,
To rifle all the breathing spring.
No wailing GHOST fhall dare appear
To vex with fhrieks this quiet grove,
But fhepherd lads affemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd WITCH fhall here be seen,
NO GOBLINS lead their nightly crew;
The female FAYS fhall haunt the green,
And drefs thy grave with pearly dew:
The red-breaft, oft at ev'ning hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary mofs, and gather'd flow'rs,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempefts shake thy fylvan cell;
Or 'midft the chafe on ev'ry plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell.
Each lonely scene fhall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly fhed;
Belov'd till life can charm no more;
And mourn'd, till pity's felf be dead.
THE HAPPY LIFE.
HOW happy is he born or taught,
That ferveth not another's will;
Whofe armour is his honeft thought;
And fimple TRUTH his highest skill.
Whofe paffions not his master's are;
Whofe foul is ftill prepar'd for death;
Not ty'd unto the world with care
Of princes' ear, or vulgar breath.
Who hath his life from humours freed,
Whofe CONSCIENCE is his ftrong retreat,
Whofe ftate can neither flatt'rers' feed,
Nor ruin make oppreffors' great :
Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never underftood
How deepest wounds are giv'n with praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of GOOD:
Who God doth late and early pray,
More of his grace than gifts to lend,
And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend!
This man is freed from fervile bands
Of hope to rife, or fear to fall,
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.