TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY. THE Swallows in their torpid state The keenest frost that binds the stream, Secure of their repose. But man, all feeling and awake, The gloomy scene surveys; Old Winter, halting o'er the mead, But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head, Then April, with her sister May, And if a tear, that speaks regret A glimpse of joy, that we have met, CATHARINA. ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON. (NOW MRS. COURTNEY.) She came—she is gone—we have met— And meet perhaps never again; The sun of that moment is set, And seems to have risen in vain. Catharina has fled like a dream— (So vanishes pleasure, alas!). But has left a regret and esteem The last ev'ning ramble we made, Our progress was often delay'd By the nightingale warbling nigh. We paus'd under many a tree, And much was she charm'd with a tone Less sweet to Maria and me, Who so lately had witness'd her own. My numbers that day she had sung, As only her musical tongue Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I esteem'd The work of my fancy the more, And e'en to myself never seem'd Though the pleasures of London exceed In number the days of the year, Catharina, did nothing impede, Would feel herself happier here; For the close woven arches of limes On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times Than aught that the city can show. So it is when the mind is endu'd Since then in the rural recess May it still be her lot to possess The scene of her sensible choice! |