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'Twas here a tender mother strove

To keep my happiness in view; I smild beneath a parent's love,

Who soft compassion ever knew;' In whom the virtues all combin'd,

On whom I could with faith rely; To whom my heart and soul were join'd

By mild affection's primal tie: Who smiles in heav'n, exempt from care,

Whilft I remember--fuch things were. 'Twas here, (where calm and tranquil rest

O’erpays the peasant for his toil,) That first, in blessing, I was blest With growing friendship’s open

smile. My friend, far diftant, doom'd to roam,

Now braves the fury of the seas ; He fled his peaceful, happy home,

His little fortune to increase : Whilft bleeds afresh the wound of care, When I remember-such things were. 'Twas here—ev'n in this blooming grove,

I fondly gaz’d on Laura's charms, Who blushing own’d a mutual love,

And melted in my youthful arms.
Though hard the soul-conflicting strife,

Yet fate, the cruel tyrant, bore
Far from my fight the charm of life-

The lovely maid I did adore.
'Twould ease my foul of all its care,
Could I forget that—such things were.
Here first I saw the morn appear

Of guileless pleasure's shining day;
I met the dazzling brightness here,

Here mark’d the soft declining rayBeheld the skies, whose streaming light

Gave splendour to the parting sun;
Now loft in sorrow's fable night,

And all their mingled glories gone !
Till death, in pity, end my care,
I must remember-such things were.

ON SEEING

CHILDREN GATHERING FLOWERS.

BY T. SMART.

LO

OVELY Innocents! what pleasures

Meet you in this happy hour! Richer far than monarchs' treasures

Seems each vari’gated flow'r. Oh! that joys supreme may ever

In each bosom find abode ! And no villain's base endeavour

Lead your steps to sorrow's road! Should some monster, iron-hearted,

From their home you parents tear; Heedless of each wound that smarted,

Wounds which wives and children bear : Doom'd awhile, like mine, to languish,

Rapidly your tears would flow; While the wretch, who caus’d your anguish,

Smiles, insulting, on your woe.

THE RETROSPECT OF LIFE.

ANONYMOUS.

, ; Beauty lives a day, and dies ! Honour lulls us while we live,

Mirth's a cheat, and pleasure flies. Is there nothing worth our care?

Time, and chance, and death our foes; If our joys so fleeting are,

Are we only ty'd to woes ?
Let bright Virtue answer, Tino;

Her eternal pow'rs prevail
When honours, riches, cease to flow,

And beauty, mirth, and pleasure fail.

SONNET.

WRITTEN ON THE SEA SHORE:

BY CHARLOTTE SMITH.

N some rude fragment of the rocky shore,

Musing, my folitary feat I take,
And listen to the deep and solemn roar.
O’er the dark waves the winds tempestuous howl ;

The screaming sea-bird quits the troubled sea:

But the wild gloomy scene has charms for me,
And suits the mournful temper

of
my

foul. Already shipwreck’d by the storms of fate,

Like the poor mariner methinks I stand,

Cast on a rock; who sees the distant land,
From whence no succour comes or comes too late.

and more faint are heard his feeble cries,
Till, in the mingled tide, th' exhausted suff’rer dies.

ELEGY TO PITY.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN.

HAH,

When fancy paints the scene of deep distress; Whose tears spontan taneous crystallize the

eye, When rigid fate denies the pow'r to bless. Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey,

From flow'ry meads, can with that sigh compare ; Not dew-drops, glitt'ring in the morning ray,

Seem half so beauteous as that falling tear. Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play;

Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies;
No blood-staind traces mark thy blameless way,

Beneath thy feet no hapless insect dies.
Come, lovely nymph! and range the mead with me,

To spring the partridge from the güleful foc,

From secret fnares the struggling bird to free,

And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow. And when the air with heat meridian glows,

And nature droops beneath the conqu’ring gleam, Let us, slow wand'ring where the current flows,

Save finking flies that float along the stream.
Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,

To me thy sympathetic gifts impart;
Teach me in friendship’s griefs to bear a share,

And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart.
Teach me to sooth the helpless orphan's grief,

With timely aid the widow's woes assuage, To mis’ry's moving cries to yield relief,

And be the fure resource of drooping age. So when the genial spring of life shall fade,

And sinking nature own the dread decay, Some soul congenial then may lend its aid,

And gild the close of life's eventful day.

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

BY S. T. COLERIDGE.

E ,

Death came with friendly care ;
The op’ning bud to heav'n convey'd,

And bade it blossom there.

THE ROSE.

BY COWPER.

THE Phice had been wash’d, juft waļh’d in a show?r,

VHE

Which Anna ;
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r,

And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,

And it seem’d, to a fanciful view, Το weep

for the buds it had left, with regret, On the flourishing bush where it grew. 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 snapp'd it-it fell to the ground. And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part

Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart,

Already to forrow resign'd.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloom'd with its owner awhileAnd the tear that is wip’d, with a little address,

May be follow'd perhaps with a smile.

The DOG and the WATER-LILY.

BY THE SAME.

THE noon was shady, and soft airs

Swept Ouse's silent tide,
When 'scap'd from literary cares,

I wander'd on its fide.
My spaniel, prettiest of his race,

And high in pedigree;
(Two nymphs adorn’d with every grace

That spaniel found for me ;)
Now wanton'd loft in flags and reeds,

Now starting into fight,
Pursu'd the swallows o’er the meads,

With scarce a flower flight.
It was the time when Quse display'd

His lilies newly blown;
Their beauties I intent survey'd,

And one I wish'd my own.

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