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My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is caft abandon' on the world's wide stage;
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!
Struck with fad anguish at the stern decree,

Fell, lingering fell, a victim to despair,

And left the world to wretchednefs and me.

Pity the forrows of a poor

old man, 1

Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your

door,

Whofe days are dwindled to the shortest span,
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will blefs your

ftore.

Moss

MAY MORNING,

NOW the bright morning ftar, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the eaft, and leads with her
The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowflip, and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May! that dost inspire
Mirth and Youth, and warm Defire:
Woods and groves are of thy dreffing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy bleffing.

Thus we falute thee with our early fong,

And welcome thee, and with thee long. MILTON.

ODE TO CONTENT.

O THOU, the Nymph with placid eye; O feldom found, yet ever nigh,

Receive my temp'rate vow:

Not all the ftorms that shake the pole
I Can e'er difturb thy halcyon foul,
And smooth unalter'd brow.

O come in fimplest vest array'd,
With all thy fober cheer difplay'd,
Ta blefs my longing fight;
Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,
And chaste fubdu'd delight.

No more by varying paffions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit-cell;
Where in fome pure and equal sky,
Beneath thy foft indulgent eye,
The modeft virtues dwell.

Simplicity, in attic veft,

And innocence, with candid breaft,

And clear undaunted eye;

And Hope, who points to diftant years,
Fair op'ning thro' this vale of tears,
A vifta to the sky.

There Health, thro' whose calm bofom glide The temp'rate joys in`even tide,

That rarely ebb or flow ;

And Patience there, thy fifter meek,
Prefents her mild unvarying cheek,
To meet the offer'd blow.

Her influence taught the Phrygian fage,
A tyrant mafter's wanton rage
With fettled fmiles to meet :
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek fubmitted head,
And kiss'd thy fainted feet.

But thou, O nymph, retir'd and coy!
In what brown hamlet doft thou joy
To tell thy tender tale?.

The lowlieft children of the ground,;
Mofs-rofe, and violet bloffom round,
And lily of the vale,

✪ say what soft propitious hour
I best may choose to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway!

When Autumn, friendly to the Mufe,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,
And fhed thy milder day?

When Eve, her dewy ftar beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,
And every ftorm is laid ?

If fuch an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy foothing voice,
Low whisp'ring thro' the shade.

MRS. BARBAULD.

THE GARDEN WINDOW.

HERE, Amanda, gently bending,
Sweetly penfive, loves to lean
O'er the groves, her fight extending
Thro' the walks that shoot between.

Plac'd, fays fhe, within this window
Screen'd, I diftant charms furvey,

Taught by poor, deceiv'd Olindo,
Nothing's fafe that looks too gay.

Here, I view, in foften'd fhadings,
Am'rous flow'r to flow'r incline,
Too remote to mourn their fadings;
When with hanging heads they pine.

Here I fmell the fragrant breezes,
Safe from evening's chilly blast ;
Here the noon-day fun-fhine pleafes,
Fearless when 'twill overcast.

Hence I hear the tempeft rifing,
See the grovey greatness shake,
Ev'ry diftant ill despifing,
While 1 every good partake.

So commanding Life's gay garden,
Let me thornlefs wear the rofe;
Choice like mine let Fashion pardon,
Tafting charms, but fhunning woes,

HILL

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