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In shades like these pursue your favourite joy,
'Midst nature's revel, sports that never cloy.--
A few begin a short but vigorous race,
And indolence, abashed, soou flies the place :
Thus challeng'd forth, see thither, one by one
From every side assembling playmates run;
A thousand wily antics mark their stay,
A starting crowd impatient of delay.
Like the fond dove froin fearful prison freed,
Each seems to say, "Come, let us try our speed :".
Away they scour, impetuous, ardent, strong,
The green turf trembling as they bound along;
Adown the slope, then up the hillock climb,
Where every molehill is a bed of thyme;
There panting stop, yet scarcely can refrain
A bird, a leaf will set them off again,
Or, if a gale with strength unusual blow,
Scattering the wild-briar roses into snow,
Their little limbs increasing efforts try,
Like the torn flower the fair assemblage fly.
Ah, fallen rose! sad emblem of their doom;
Frail as thyself, they perish while they bloom!


But neighs to the shrill trumpet's dreadful

blast, Till death, and when he groans, he groans

his last !


SURVEY the warlike horse! didst thou in

vest With thunder his robus', distended chest?

THE LION No sense of fear his dauntless soul allays;

YOUNG. 'Tis dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze : To paw the vale be proudly takes delight, FIERCE o'er the sands the lordly Lion stalks, And triumphs in the fulness of his might; Grimly majestic in his lonely walks : High-rais'd, he snuffs the battle from afar, When round he glares, all living creatares And burns to plunge amid the raging war: fly; He mocks at death, and throws his foam He clears the desert with his rolling eye, around,

By the pale moon he takes his destin'd round, And in a storm of fury shakes the ground. Lashes his sides, and furious tears the ground. How does his firm, his rising beart, advance Now shrieks and dying groans the forest fill, Full on the brandish'd sword, and shaken He rages, rends, his rav'nous jaws distil lance ;

With crimson foam, and when the banquet's While his fix'd eye-balls meet the dazzling o'er, shield,

He strides away, and paints his steps with Gaze, and return the lightning of the field! gore. He sinks the sense of pain in gen'rous pride, In flight alone the shepberd puts his trust, Nor feels the shaft that trembles in his side ;) And shudders at the talon in the clust.

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With how much beauty is design'd, Each channell’d bark of purest wbite ! With orient pearl each cabin lined, Varying with every change of light.

While with his little slender oars, His silken sail, and tapering mast, The dauntless mariner explores The dangers of the watery waste.

Prepared, should tempests rend the sky,
From harm his fragile bark to keep,
He furls his sail, his var lays by,
And seeks his safety in the deep,

But when I see that wing so bright,
Grow languid with a moment's flight,
Attempt the paths of air in vain,
And sink into the waves again ;
Alas! the flattering pride is o'er;
Like thee, awhile, the soul may soar,
But erring man must blush, to think,
Like thee, again, the soul may siok!
Oh! Virtue, when thy clime I seek,
Let not my spirit's flight be weak :
Let me not, like this feeble thing,
With brine still dropping from its wing,
Just sparkle in the solar glow,
And plunge again to depths below:
But, when I leave the grosser throng
Witb whom my soul hath dwelt so lung,
Let me in that aspiring day,
Cast every lingering stain away,
And panting for thy purer air,
Fly up at once, and fix me there.

Then safe on ocean's shelly bed,
He hears the storm above him roar;
'Mid groves of coral glowing red,
Or rocks o'erbung with madrepore.

So let us catch life's favouring gale, But if fate's adverse winds be rode, Take calmly in th' adventurous sail And find repose in Solitude.



Mild is the Behemoth, though large his frame,
Smooth is bis temper, and repress'd his fame,

While onprovoked!—This native of the flood
Lifts his broad foot, and puts ashore for food;
Earth sinks beneath him, as he moves along

. See, with what strength his harden'd limbs are bound, :19. 6. A uver proof, and shut against a wound.

How like a mountain-cedar moves his tail!
Nor can his complicated sinews fail.
Built high and wide, his solid bones surpass
The bars of steel; his ribs are ribs of brass;
His port majestic, and his armed jaw,
Give the wide forest, and the mountain law,
The mountains feed bim ; there the beasts admire
The mighty stranger, and in dread retire :
At length his greatness nearer they survey,
Graze in his shadow, and his eye obey.
The fen's and marshes are his cvol retreat,
His noontide shelter from the burning heat ;
Their sedgy bosoms his wide couch are made,
And groves of willows give him all their shade:
His eye drinks Jordan up, when fir'd with drought
He trusts to turn its current down his throat ;
In lessen'd waves it creeps along the plain ;
He siuks a river and he thirsts again.



BEHOLD the large Leviatban arise,
Boast all his strength, and spread his wondrous size.
Whose heart sustains him to draw near? Behold,
Destruction yawns ; his spacious jaws unfold,
And marshall'd round the wide expanse disclose
Teeth edged with death, and crowding rows on rows :
What hideons fangs on either side arise :
And what a deep abyss between them lies !
Sirengih on bis ample shoulder sits in state ;
His well-joined limbs are dreadfully complete;
His tlakes of solid flesh are slow to part ;
As steel his nerves, as adamant his heart.
His like earth bears not on her spacious face:
Alone in nature stands his danntless race,
For utter ignorance of fear renown'd,
In wrath be rolls his baleful eye around,
Makes every swolo disdainful heart snbside,
And holds dominion v'er the sons of Pride.



Its woods delight the eye, its hills arise,

Clothed in perpetual verdure.-

And to crown the whole
Hall, noble Albion! where no golden mines, In one delightful word, which fills the breast
No soft perfumes, nor oils, nor myrtle With all sweet hopes, and tender sympa-

thies The vigorous frame and lofty heart of man This pride of the creation is our HOME! Enervate: round whose stern cerulean brows Our father's, and our own dear native White-winged snow, and cloud, and pearly

land! rain, Freqnent attend, with solemn majesty! Rich queen of mists and vapours! these thy

sons With their cool arms compress; and twist

COW PER. their nerves

ENGLAND, with all thy faults, I love thee For deeds of excellence and high renown.

still : Thus form’d our Edwards, Henrys, Church My country! and while yet a nook is left, hills, Blakes,

Where English minds and manners may be Our Lockes, unr Newtons, and our Miltons


Shall be constrained to love thee. Though See the sun gleams; the living pastures rise,

thy clime After the nurture of the fallen shower,

Be fickle, and thy year nuost part deformed How beautiful! how blue th'ethereal vault,

With dripping rains, or withered by a frost, How verdurous the lawns, how clear the

I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, brooks!

And fields without a Bower, for warmer Such noble warlike steeds, such herds of kine,

France So sleek, so vast; such spacious flocks of

With all her vines; nor for Ausonia's groves sheep,

Or golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers. Like flakes of gold illumining the green,

To shake thysenate, and from beights sublime What other paradise adorn but thine,

Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire Britannia? happy, if thy sons would know

Upon thy fues, was never meant my task: Their happiness. To these thy naval streams,

But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake Thy frequent towns superb of busy trade,

Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart, And ports magnific add, and stately ships,

As any thunderer there. Innumeroas.



A FAIRER isle than Britain, never sun
View'd in his wide career. A lovely spot, To men of other minds my fancy flies,
For all that life can ask, salubrious, mild: Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies.
Its rivers, glistening to the noon-tide beam, Methinks her patient sons before me stand,
Meandering, glide, in silent majesty, Where the broad ocean leans against the
Bearing all blessings to the rich champaigns. land,

And sedulous to stop the coming tide,

ITALY. Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.

GOLDSMITH. Onward methinks, and diligently slow, The firm connected balwark seems to grow; Far to the right where Appennine ascends, Spreads its long arms amidst the watery Bright as the summer, Italy extends; roar,

Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's Scoops out an empire, and usarps the shore, side, While the pent ocean rising o'er the pile, Woods over woods in gay theatric pride; Sees an amphibious world beneath him While oft some temple's mould'ring tops smile:

between The slow canal, the yellow blossom’d vale, With venerable grandeur mark the scene. The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, The crowned mart, the cultivated plain, Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, A new creation rescued from his reign. The sons of Italy were surely blest.

Whatever fruits in different climes are

found, That proudly rise, or humbly court the


Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, SWITZERLAND.

Whose bright succession decks the varied


Whatever sweets salute the northern sky TURN we to survey

With vernal lives, that blossom but to die; Where rougher climes a nobler race display; These here disporting own the kindred soil, Where the bleak Swiss their stormy man- Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil; sion tread,

While sea-born gales their gelid wings exAnd force a churlish soil for scanty bread :

No product here the barren hills afford, To wionow fragrance round the smiling land.
But man and steel, the soldier and his sword.
No verbal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter lingering chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast,

But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.
Yet even here content can spread a charm,

Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. He who hath bent him o'er the dead,
Tho' poor the peasant's hut, his feasts tho' Ere the tirst day of death is fled,

The first dark day of nothingness,
He sees his little lot, the lot of all,

The last of danger and distress,
And every good his native wilds impart, (Before decay's effacing fingers
Imprints the patriot passion on bis heart; Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,)
And even those ills, that round his mansion And mark'd the mild angelic air,

The rapture of repose that's there,
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. The fix'd yet tender traits that streak
Dear is that shed to which bis soul conforms, The langour of the placid cheek,
And dear the hill which lifts him to the And—but for that sad shrouded eye,

That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
And as a child when scaring sounds molest, And but for that chill changeless brow,
Clings close, and closer to his mother's Where cold obstruction's apathy

Appals the gazing mourner's heart, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's As it to him it could impart roar,

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; But bind him to his native mountains more. Yes, but for these, and these alone,

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