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66 What, though all the world neglect me,
“Shall my haughty soul repine ? 66 And shall poverty deject me,
“ While this hallow'd Lyre is mine? 66 Heaven—that o'er my helpless head, “Many a wrathful vial shed,
“ Heaven gave this Lyre !--and thus decreed, “ Be thou a bruis'd, but not a broken reed."
REMONSTRANCE TO WINTER.
AH! why, unfeeling WINTER ! why
Still flags thy torpid wing?
And yield the year to SPRING.
SPRING,—the young harbinger of love,
An exile in disgrace,
Nor finds a resting place.
When on the mountain's azure peak
Alights her fairy form,
Around her rolls the storm.
If to the valley she repair
For shelter and defence,
And drives her, weeping, thence.
She seeks the brook—the faithless brook,
Of her unmindful grown,
And lingers into stone.
She woos her embryo flowers in vain,
To rear their infant heads ;
Enchanted in their beds.
In vain she bids the trees expand
Their green luxuriant charms ; Bare in the wilderness they stand,
And stretch their withering arms.
Her favourite birds, in feeble notes,
Lament thy long delay ; And strain their little stammering throats,
To charm thy blasts away.
Ah, WINTER ! calm thy cruel rage,
Release the struggling year ; Thy power is past, decrepit Sage !
Arise and disappear.
The stars that graced thy splendid night
Are lost in warmer rays ;
Unrols celestial days.
Then why, usurping WINTER, why
Still flags thy frozen wing ? Fly, unrelenting tyrant, fly
And yield the year to SPRING !
ROUND LOVE's Elysian bowers,
The fairest prospects rise ; There bloom the sweetest flowers,
There shine the purest skies : And joy and rapture gild awhile The cloudless heaven of BEAUTY'S smile.
Round Love's deserted bowers
Tremendous rocks arise ; Cold mildews blight the flowers,
Tornadoes rend the skies : And PLEASURE'S waning moon goes down -Amid the night of BEAUTY's frown.
Then Youth, thou fond believer !
The wily Syren shun :
Will surely be undone !
A DRAWING OF YARDLEY OAK,
CELEBATED BY COWPER.
See Haley's Life and Letters of W. Cowper, Esq.
THIS sole survivor of a race
From age to age, it slowly spread
A thousand years are like a day,
But mournful CowPER, wandering nigh,
O that the Poet had reveal'd
-Yet in his song the Oak remains.
And fresh in undecaying prime,
WRITTEN FOR A SOCIETY, WHOSE MOTTO WAS
FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND TRUTH."
WHEN “Friendship, Love, and Truth” abound
Among a band of BROTHERS, Thé
cup of joy goes gaily round, Each shares the bliss of others :