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Thou dost innocently enjoy,
Nor does thy luxury destroy:
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year!
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy infect, happy, thou
Doft neither age nor winter know.
But when thou 'st drunk, and danced and fung,
Thy fill the flowery leaves among,
Sated with thy summer feast
Thou retir'ft to endless rest.

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| Natur







How cheerful along the gay mead .
The daily and cowslip appear!
The flocks, as they carelessly feed,
Rejoice in the spring of the year.
The myrtles that deck the gay bowers,
The herbage that springs from the fod,
Trees, plants, cooling fruits, and sweet flowers. He
All rise to the praise of my God.

Shay An

The Bulfirich in Town.
Then let not what I cannot have

My cheer of mind destroy;
While thus I sing, I am a king,

Although a poor blind boy..

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HARK to the blackbird's pleasing note :
Sweet usher of the vocal throng !
Nature directs his warbling throat,
And all that hear admire the fong.

Yon bulfinch, with unvary'd tone,
Of cadence harsh and accent shrill,
Has brighter plumage to atone,
For want of harmony and skill.

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And while to please fome courtly fair
He one dull tune with labour learns,
A well-gilt cage, remote from air,
And faded plumes, is all he earns. '

The Kid.
Go, hapless captive ! still repeat

The sounds which Nature never taught;
Go, listening fair! and call them sweet,
Because you know them dearly bought.

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Unenvied both, go hear and sing
Your studied music o'er and o'er!
Whilft I attend th' inviting spring
In fields where birds unfettered foar.


Then lipp

And then do

She tells me

He flew to
And how w
And iteadfa

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TEAR bedews my Delia's eye
• To think yon playful kid must die ;
From crystal spring, and flowery mead,
Muit, in his prime of life, recede!

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Erewhite, in sportive circles, round
She saw him wheel, and frisk, and bound;
ton rock to rock pursue his way, *
mad on the fearsul.margin play.

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The First of April.

at | Pleased on his various freaks to dwell, taugh She saw him climb my rustic cell; weet, Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright, ught. And seem all ravished at the fight.

She tells with what delight he stood
To trace his features in the flood :
Then skipp'd aloof with quaint amaze;
And then drew near again to gaze.



She tells me how with eager speed
He flew to hear my vocal reed;
And how with critic face profound,
And steadfast ear, devour'd the sound.

His every frolic, light as air, .
Deserves the gentle Delia's care;
And tears bedew her tender eye
To think the playful kid must die.




Mindful of disaster past,
And thrinking at the northern blast..





The First of April.
The fleety storm returning still,
The morning hoar, the evening chill,
Reluctant comes the timid Spring.
Scarce a bee with airy ring
Murmurs the blossom’d boughs around
That clothe the garden's southern bound:
Scarce the hardy primrose peeps
From the dark dell's entangled steeps:
O'er the field of waving broom
Slowly shoots the golden bloom:
Scant, along the ridgy land
The beans their new-born ranks expand;
The fresh-turned foil with tender blades
Thinly the sprouting barley shades:
The swallow, for a moment seen,
Skims in haste the village green:
Fraught with a trapsient frozen shower,
If a cloud should haply lower,
Sailing o'er the landscape dark,
Mute on a sudden is the lark;
But, when gleams the sun again...
O’er the pearl-besprinkled plain,
And from behind his watery veil
Looks through the thin descending hail,

. She

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