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The sufferers of the earth perhaps may go,

Released by death-to thy benignant sphere ;
And the sad children of despair and woe

Forget, in thee, their cup of sorrow here.
Oh! that I soon may reach thy world serene,
Poor wearied pilgrim-in this toiling scene!





SWEET poet of the woods-a long adieu!

Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year! Ah! 'twill be long ere thou shalt sing anew,

And pour thy music on the night's dull ear.' Whether on spring thy wandering flights await,

Or whether silent in our groves you dwell, The pensive muse shall own thee for her mate,

And still protect the song she loves so well. With cautious step, the love-lorn youth shall glide

Through the lone brake that shades thy mossy nest; And shepherd girls from eyes profane shall bide

The gentle bird, who sings of pity best : For still thy voice shall soft affections move, And still be dear to sorrow, and to love!



'Twas when the slow declining ráy

Had tinged the cloud with evening gold; No warbler pour'd the melting lay,

No sound disturb’d the sleeping fold;

When, by a murmuring rill reclined,

Sát rapt in thought a wandering swain; Calm peace composed his musing mind:

And thus he raised the flowing strain :

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Hail, Innocence! celestial maid !

What joys thy blushing charms reveal! Sweet as the arbour's cooling shade,

And milder than the vernal gale.

“ On thee attends a radiant quire,

Soft smiling Peace, and downy Rest, With Love that prompts the warbling lyre,

And Hope that soothes the throbbing breast.

“O sent from heaven to haunt the grove,

Where squint-eyed Envy ne'er can come; Nor pines the cheek with luckless love,

Nor anguish chills the living bloom ;

" But spotless Beauty, robed in white,

Sits on yon moss-green bill reclined; Serene as heaven's unsullied light,

And pure as Delia's gentle mind.

“ Grant, heavenly Power! thy peaceful sway

May still my ruder thoughts control ; Thy hand to point my dubious way,

Thy voice to soothe the melting soul!

6 Far in the shady sweet retreat

Let thought beguile the lingering hour; Let quiet court the mossy seat,

And twining olives form the bower.

“ Let dove-eyed Peace her wreath bestow,

And oft sit listening in the dale ; While night's sweet warbler from the bough

Tells to the grove her plaintive tale.

" Soft as in Delia's snowy breast,

Let each consenting passion move; Let angels watch its silent rest,

And all its blissful dreams be love."




The diamond's and the ruby's rays

Shine with a milder, finer flame, And more attract our love and praise

Than Beauty's self, if lost to fame.

But the sweet tear in Pity's eye

Transcends the diamond's brightest beams; And the soft blush of Modesty

More precious than the ruby seems.

The glowing gem, the sparkling stone,

May strike the sight with quick surprise; But Truth and Innocence alone

Can still engage the good and wise.

No glittering ornament or show

Will aught avail in grief or pain: Only from inward worth can flow

Delight that ever shall remain.


Behold, ye fair, your lovely Queen!

'Tis not her jewels, but her mind; A meeker, purer, ne'er was seen;

It is her virtue charms mankind!

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INFORM me, Virtue! is it true?
Does Pleasure really dwell with you?

The sons of sense say, No.
They say, that all who mind your rules
Are gloomy superstitious fools,

And every joy forego.

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They say, and openly maintain,
That your rewards are care and pain;

And while on heaven you preach,
At best 'tis but a phantom fair,
The soul is mortal, melts in air,

And heaven shall never reach.

O tell me, PLEASURE! what you feel,
Speak honestly, nor aught conceal:

The matter is of weight.

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