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ODE TO THE MORNING.
BY THE SAME.
HAIL to thy living light,
Ambrosial morn! all hail thy roseate ray,
That bids each dewy-spangled floweret rise,
Bids silver lustre grace yon sparkling tide,
Away, ye goblins all!
Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt;
Or shatter'd ruin of a moss-grown tower,
Through each rough chink the solemn orb of night
Away, ye elves, away!
Shrink at ambrosial Morning's living ray;
That living ray, whose power benign
Unfolds the scene of glory to our eye,
Where, throned in artless majesty,
The cherub Beauty sits on Nature's rustic shrine.
BY DR. COTTON.
DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,
Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,
From the gay world we'll oft retire
Where love our hours employs;
If solid happiness we prize,
And they are fools who roam:
And that dear hut, our home.
Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left
Giving her vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird once more
Explored the sacred bark.
Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,
We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
We'll form their minds, with studious care,
And train them for the skies.
While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll grow in virtue every day,
No borrow'd joys: they're all our own,
Monarchs! we envy not your state,
Our portion is not large, indeed;
We'll therefore relish with content
To be resign'd when ills betide,
And pleased with favours given,
Whose fragrance smells to heaven.
We'll ask no long protracted treat
Grateful from table we'll arise,
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes, The relics of our store.
Thus hand in hand through life we'll go,
And mingle with the dead:
While Conscience, like a faithful friend,