Far hence retire, O Night! thy praise, Already has been sung: When thine own spheres expire, thy name, Secure from time, shall rise in fame, Immortaliz'd by Young. See, while I speak, Aurora sheds And meets th' accustom'd toil. Day's monarch comes to bless the year! Plenty and health attend his beams, The visit of the God. Aw'd by the view, my soul reveres The great first Cause, that bade the spheres In tuneful order move: Thine is the sable-mantled night, Unseen Almighty! and the light The radiance of thy love. Hark! the awaken'd grove repays And echo spreads the strain; While nature thus her charms displays, These are your haunts, your influence lend, Riot and guilt, and wasting care, And fell revenge, and black despair, Nor beams the sun, nor blooms the rose, Who virtue's dictates slight. Along the mead, and in the wood, The goddess walks confess'd; She gives the landscape pow'r to charm, The wise and gen'rous breast. Happy the man! whose tranquil mind The varying year may shift the scene, C. B. SONNET, ADDRESSED TO THE REV. W. L. BOWLES. POUR, pour again, sweet bard, thy wonted strains, Resume thy lyre, and with a master's hand Nor thou refuse this weak, tho' willing lay; Forms a rude chaplet for her fav'rite bard; Whose melting strains congenial virtue hears, And weeps, and smiles, rejoicing in her tears. Miss Locke. DESCRIPTION OF THE MANNER OF LIFE OF A CELEBRATED WRITER, Written by himself. I PASS the silent rural hour, No slave to wealth, no tool to pow'r. say, a pretty snug retreat. My rooms no costly paintings grace, The faithful mastiff is my guard, My cow rewards me all she can, (Brutes leave ingratitude to man ;) She, daily thankful to her lord, Crowns with nectareous sweets my board. I love my house, and seldom roam, Who loves all company but self, Do not arraign my want of taste, My joys, like streams, glide gently by, Keep a still, even fruitful wave, And bless the neighb'ring meads they lave. My fortune (for I'll mention all, And more than you dare tell) is small; |