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But soon, fair flow'r! the morn shall rise,
And rear again thy pensive head;
Again unveil thy snowy dyes,

Again thy velvet foliage spread.

Sweet child of spring! like thee in sorrow's shade,
Full oft I mourn in tears, and droop forlorn:
And O! like thine, may light my gloom pervade,
And sorrow fly before joy's living morn!

Romance of the Forest.

SONNET.

MORN's beaming eyes at length unclose,
And wake the blushes of the rose,

That all night long oppress'd with dews,
And veil'd in chilling shades its hues,
Reclin'd, forlorn, the languid head,
And sadly sought its parent bed;

Warmth from her ray the trembling flow'r derives,
And, sweetly blushing through its tears, revives.

"Morn's beaming eyes at length unclose,"
And melt the tears that bend the rose;
But can their charms suppress the sigh,
Or chase the tear from sorrow's eye?"

Can all their joyful light impart

One ray of peace to sorrow's heart?

Ah! no; their fires her fainting soul oppress-
Eve's pensive shades more soothe her meek distress.

Romance of the Forest.

TO A LADY TEACHING QUADRILLE.

WHILST by thy chair I gazing stand

To learn to win a vole,

Thy eyes, thy lips, thy air, thy hand,
From cards distract my soul.

Yet what avail those lips to praise,
And not their sweets to prove;
Or, fondly on those eyes to gaze,
Yet meet no looks of love?

Thus the starv'd beggar views, with sighs,

The lofty gilded dome,

Yet hopes not, as he shiv'ring lies,

Within its walls to come.

If thou must needs instructress turn,

O teach a nobler art,

Teach me to make thy bosom burn,

And melt thy frozen heart.

Universal Magazine.

As

SEEING LIFE.

A SONG.

yet a youth, and unbetray'd, I sought the rural throng;

The purling stream, the cooling shade,
Inspir'd my artless song.

How happy then each moment pass'd,
No envy, passion, strife,

Till folly's cloud my mind o'ercast,
And whisper'd thus-see life!

Adieu the grove! adieu the plain!
Adieu the purling stream!

No more your charms can entertain,

No more must be my theme:

The town a diff'rent scene will prove,

Where pleasure's always rife;

Where bucks and bloods, and wine and love,

Fill up the span of life.

Hark! Comus calls to midnight joys,

Where Circe fills her cup;

This thought alone each mind employs,
"Kill time and keep it up."

For this the cit his counter quits,
And lonesome leaves his wife,
With sots and noisy wou'd-be wits
For what?-for seeing life.

Yet ah! how vain this strange desire!
How vague the joys they share!
The bowl enfeebles nature's fire,

And folly brings forth care.
A thousand ills attendant wait,
The pistol, sword, or knife,
And all the hours of future fate
Are kill'd by seeing life.

Adieu the town! such joys I leave
To spendthrifts, knaves, and cheats;
For decent mirth can ne'er deceive,
And prudence has more sweets.
The grove, the shade, I'll seek again,
And chuse an artless wife,

Content to grace my cot shall deign:
Adieu to seeing life.

Universal Magazine.

No

RETIREMENT.

o gorgeous arch, no swelling dome,
No glitt'ring turrets grace my home;
No sculptur'd marble seems to live,
No painter's mimic strokes deceive;
No gardens here by skill portray'd,
No smooth canal, no vain cascade;
No tortur'd trees to castles rise,

To strike the sense with false surprise :

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But all the sweets kind nature yields,
Unite in these elysian fields:

Where, while Aurora wanders o'er,
And dew-drops leaves on ev'ry flow'r,
I oft with Contemplation stray,
As wav'ring fancy points the way :-
Perhaps I climb the hoary hill,
With rapture ev'ry sense to fill,
While the gay feather'd warb'ling throng,
Chaunt merrily their matin song;
Then seek the mossy grot's retreat,
Where sportive echo holds her seat,
Responsive to each stirring breeze
That pants amidst the rustling trees.
And, when the glorious god of day
But faintly darts his feeble ray,
I to my rustic cot repair,

(Content reigns jovial mistress there)!
And, thro' the glade of yon thick wood,
There view the noisy headlong flood
Break from the rugged rock's high head,
Then sweep along the verdant mead,
And, winding as it flows, divide
In many a well-tim'd tink'ling tide.
In dusky air the bat now whirls,
Her sable curtain night unfurls;
And mark the silver-rising queen
With radiance pale illumes the scene-
Th' unwholesome damps forbid my stay ;
I'll hie me home the shortest way,

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