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See how they have safely surviv'd,
The frowns of a sky so severe;
Such Mary's true love, that has liv'd,
Thro' many a turbulent year.

The charms of the late blowing rose
Seem pac'd with a livelier hue,
And the winter of sorrow but shews
The truth of a friend such as you.


If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,

May hope, chaste eve, to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs

Thy springs and dying gales;

O nymph reserv'd, while now the bright-hair'd sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,

With brede etherial wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed:

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-ey'd bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds

His small but sullen horn,

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum:

Now teach me, maid compos'd,

To breathe some soften'd strain,

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darken'd vale,

May not unseemly with its stillness suit,

As, musing slow, I hail

Thy genial lov'd return!

For when thy folding star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant hours, and elves

Who slept in buds the day,

And many a nymph who wreathes her brow! with sedge,

And sheds the freshning dew, and lovelier still, The pensive pleasures sweet

Prepare thy shadowy car.

Then let me rove some wild and healthy scene, Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells,

Whose walls more aweful nod
By thy religious gleams.

Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut,
That from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
And hears their simple bell and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.

While Spring shall pour his showers, as if he


And bathe thy breating tresses, meekest eve!
While Summer loves to sport

Beneath thy lingering light:

While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes:

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,

Shall Fancy, Eriendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own,

And love thy favourite name!


Bright eye of pensive eve! resplendent orb
That o'er the misty mountains shinest clear,
Like a rich gem

Upon an Ethiop's brow;

Thy lamp serene my now benighted steps
Directs, to that bless'd spot where dwells my fair,
Twin rivals who can boast

More pure, more bright than thee.

For not thy lovely sight, that kindly cheers
The sullen frown of unpropitious night,
Is half so sweet as truth,

That beams in beauty's eyes.

Not all the little waking elves, that rise
From out their noisy bow'rs of velvet buds,
Where they had slept the day,

To dance thy rays beneath,

Feel such delight as does this breast, when thou,
With radiant lustre show'st the happy hour,

That leads from scenes of care
To still domestic bliss.


On Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love;
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod th' Arcadian plain,

Pure stream, in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lavė;
No torrents stain thy limpid source;
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,

With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread;
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood;
The springing trout in speckled pride;
The salmon, monarch of the tide ;

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