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The trackless scenes disperse in Auid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny waves appear ;
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns.

PHILLIPS.

SECTION III.

Night described. Now came ftill ev'ning on, and twilight gray Had, in her sober liv'ry, all things clad. Silence accompanied; for beasts and birds, Those to their grassy couch, these to their nests Were funk; all but the wakeful nightingale ; She all night long her plaintive descant lung. Silence was pleas’d. Now glow'd the firmament With living sapphires. Hefperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length, Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light ! And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

MILTON

Night, fable power ! from her ebon throne,
In rayless majelty, now stretches forth
Her leaden sceptre o’er a flumb'ring world.
Silence, how dead, and darkness, how profound !
Nor eye, nor list’ning ear, an object finds ;
Creation fleeps. 'Tis as the gen'ral pulse
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause,
An awful pause! prophetic of her end.

YOUNG.

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Grongar hill invites my song,
Draw the landscape bright and strong ;
Grongar! in whole mossy cells,
Sweetly muling quiet dwells ;
Grongar! in whose filent shade,
For the modest Muses made,
So oft I have, the evening Rill,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sat upon a flow'ry bed,
With my hand beneath my head,
While tray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood,
Over mead and over wood,
From house to house, from hill to hill,
Till contemplation had her fill.

About his chequer'd fides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind ;
And groves and grottos, where I lay,
And vistos shooting beams of day.
Wide and wider spreads the vale,
As circles on a smooth canal :
The mountains round, unhappy fate,
Sooner or later, of all height !
Withdraw their summits from the skies,
And lefsen as the others rise.
Still the prospect wider spreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads ;
Still it widens, widens still,
And finks the newly risen-hill.

Now I gain the mountain's brow;
What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapours intervene !
But the gay, the open scene
Does the face of nature show
In all the hues of heav'n's bow;
And, swelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the fight.

Old castles on the cliffs arise,
Proudly tow'ring in the skies ;
Rushing from the woods, the spires
Seem from hence ascending fires ;
Half his beams Apollo fheds
On the yellow.mountain, heads,
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks.

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Below me trees unnumber'd rise,
Beautiful in various dyes ;
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beach, the fable yew ;
The flender fir that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad spread boughs :
And, beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of virtue, peace, and love !
Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,
On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wand'ring eye.
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood;
His sides are cloth'd with waving wood;
And ancient tow'rs crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below

;
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps :
So both a safety, from the wind,
In mutual dependence, find,

'Tis now the raven's bleak abode,
'Tis now th' apartment of the toad ;
And there the fox securely feeds,
And there the pois'nous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds ;
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary - moulder'd walls.
Yet time has seen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state ;
But transient is the smile of fate !
A little rule, a little sway,
A sun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have,
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers, how they run
Thro' ods and meads, in shade and fun!:
Sometimes swift, fometimes flow,
Wave succeeding wave they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life to final sleep.
Thus is nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wand'ring thought ;

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This she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view ?
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody vallies, warm and low ;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky;
The pleasant feat, the ruin's tower,
The naked rock, the shady bow'r ;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charra,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's southern fide,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide,
How close and small the hedges lie !
What streaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step, methinks, may pass the stream ;
So litele distant dangers seem :
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd through hope's deluding glass,
As yon fummits soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear ;
Still we tread the fame coarse way ;
The present's ftill a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see !
Content me with a humble shade,
My passions tam'd, my wishes laid ;
For while our wishes widely roll,
We banish quiet from the soul ;
'Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.
Now, e'en now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain turf I lie ;
While the wanton zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep ;
While the shepherd charms his theep ;
While the birds unbounded Ay,
And with music fill the sky ;
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high.

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Be full, ye courts ! be. great who will ;
Search for peace with all your skill;
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor :
In vain ye search, she is not there ;
In vain ye search the domes of care ;
Grafs and flowers quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads,
Along with pleasure close allied,
Ever by each other's fide ;
And often by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is fill
Within the groves of Grongar Hill. DYER:

SECTION V.

Description of a parish poor house.
BEHOLD yon house that holds the parish poor,
Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door ;
There, where the patrid vapours flagging play,
And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day:
There children dwell who know no parent's care ;
Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there ;
Heart broken matrons on their joyless bed,
Fortaken wives, and mothers never wed;
Dejected widows with unheeded tears,
And crippled age with more than childhood fears j
The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest they,
The moping idiot, and the madman gay.

Here too the sick their final doom receive,
Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve ;
Where the loud groans from son.e sad chamber Bow,
Mix'd with the clamours of the crowd below;
Here forrowing they each kindred forrow ican,
And the cold charities of man to man ;
Whole laws indeed for ruin'd age provide,
And strong compullion plucks the scrap from pride ;
But still that scrap is bought with many a ligh,
And pride embitters what it can't deny.

Say, ye opprets'd by some fantastic woes,
Some jarring nerve that bafles your repole ;
W:0 preis the duwny couch, while faves advance
With timid eye, to read the distant glance ;
Who with fad prayers the weary doctor tease
To name the nameleis ever pew disease :

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