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How happy they who thus escape while young,
TRANSLATION OF THE
FORTIETH ODE OF ANACREON.
BY ROBERT FARREN CHEETHAM.
CUPID once, in evil hour,
Cropp'd the pride of Flora's bower;
The god, unused to suffer pain,
Hid the rose-bud leaves among,
Wiping Love's tear-streaming eyes,
66 Cupid, if a thing so small,
Pain thee thus, and give thee thrall,
SONNET TO THE RIVER TWEED.
BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES.
O TWEED! a stranger that, with wandering feet,
The waving branches that romantic bend
O'er thy steep banks, a soothing charm bestow; The murmur of thy wandering wave below, Seems to his ear the pity of a friend.
Delightful stream! though now along thy shore, When spring returns in all her wonted pride, The shepherd's distant pipe is heard no more; Yet here with pensive peace could I abide, Far from the stormy world's tumultuous roar, To muse upon thy banks at even tide.
VIRTUE'S REPLY TO PLEASURE.
"TIs with the gods and god-like men I dwell;
Counsel with strength, and industry with art,
With me true friendship dwells: she deigns to bind Those generous souls alone, whom I before have join'd.
Nor need my friends the various costly feast;
Labour prepares their weary limbs to rest;
Sweet is their sleep; light, cheerful, strong they rise.
Through health, through joy, through pleasure and renown,
They tread my paths: and by a soft descent,
At length to age all gently sinking down,
Look back with transport on a life well spent ;
In which no hour flew unimproved away,
In which some generous deed distinguish'd every day.
And when, the destined term at length complete,
In sacred song for ever lives their name.
This, Hercules, is happiness! obey
My voice, and live. Let thy celestial birth
Lift and enlarge thy thoughts
Behold the way
That leads to fame, and raises thee from earth.
Immortal! lo, I guide thy steps. Arise,
Pursue the glorious path, and claim thy native skies,
HYMN TO CONTENT.
BY MRS. BARBAULD.
( THOU, the nymph with placid eye!
Receive my temperate vow:
Not all the storms that shake the pole
O come, in simplest vest array'd,
Thy mien composed, thy even pace,
And chaste subdued delight.
No more by varying passions beat,
Where in some pure and equal sky,
Simplicity in Attic vest,
And Innocence with candid breast,
And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair opening through this vale of tears,
There Health, through whose calm bosom glide The temperate joys in even tide,
That rarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Presents her mild unvarying cheek
Her influence taught the Phrygian sage