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Thus, when life hath stol'n away,
And the wintry night is near ;
Age's closing evening cheer.
If those who live in shepherd's bower
Press not the rich and stately bed ;
A softer couch beneath them spread.
If those who sit at shepherd's board,
Soothe not their taste by wanton art 3 They take what nature's gifts afford,
And take it with a cheerful heart.
If those who drain the shepherd's bowl,
No high and sparkling wines can boast; With wholesome cups they cheer the soul,
And crown them with the village-toast.
If those who join in shepherd's sport,
Gay dancing on the daisied ground,
Yet love adorns the merry round.
* In the masque of Alfred.'
'Tis not wealth, it is not birth,
Can value to the soul convey ; Minds possess superior worth,
Which chance nor gives, nor takes away.
Like the sun true merit shows;
By nature warm, by nature bright ; . With inbred flames he nobly glows,
Nor needs the aid of borrow'd light.
BY S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ.
Tell me, on what holy ground
In a cottag'd vale she dwells,
* In the comic opera of Love in a Village."
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
BY WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ.
The rose had been wash’d, just wash'd by a shower,
Which Mary to Anna convey'd ;
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cups were all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,
On the flourishing bush where it
I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd; And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas !
I snap'd it; it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile ; And the tear that is wip'd with a tender address,
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
A SHAKE BY THE HAND.
BY THE REV. JAMES PLUMPTRE.
When my hand thus I proffer, your own 0 deny not,
Nor offer it cold, nor a finger extend ;
If well or if ill, how its master will stand ;
Yet 'tis not with each new-hatch'd comrade,' I'd shake
me, Be mine the tried friend, whose warm heart shall
expand, Who in wealth or in sorrow will never forsake me, And the truth of whose heart I shall feel in his hand.
For the hand, &c.
Oh! I hate for to see it abus'd at election,
In a canvas of votes from each holder of land ;
For the hand, &c.
Then for friends, and friends only, this token reserving,
For them be it ever at will to command ;
But let each be thy friend, who at all is deserving,
If well or if ill, how its master will stand :
DEATH OR LIBERTY.
While happy in my native land,
I boast my country's charter ;
Her liberties to barter.
By poverty degraded;
And well I am persuaded,
Or give me death or liberty.
Though small the power which Fortune grants,
And few the gifts she sends us ;
That freedom which defends us.
Our house is our castellum ;