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WHEN early primroses appear,
And vales are deck'd with daffodils,
I hail the new reviving year,

And foothing hope my bofom fills;
The lambkin bleating on the plain,
The swallow feen with gladden'd eye,
The welcome cuckoo's merry ftrain,
Proclaim the joyful fummer nigh.

The ploughman whistling o'er the lea,
The clacking of yon diftant mill,
The throftle on the budding tree,
The tow'ring fkylark's early trill;
The whispers of the western breeze,
The prattling brook that winds along ;
Such fylvan founds my fancy please,
Supply my theme of rural fong.

The fruitful orchard's lovely bloom
Now ufhers in the sprightly May;
The skies have loft their wintry gloom,
The chilly gales are flown away:

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Returning nightingales appear,

And charm with fong the midnight hour;
And I, their melting notes to hear,
Frequent my lone, fequefter'd bower.

SUMMER.

WHEN golden morn's refulgent rays
Give luftre to the dewy vale,
Whilft June its rofy bloom displays,
And eglantines perfume the gale;
With thepherds on the thymy down
I love to pass the fummer's day,
Or trace (and mark the privet blown)
The fhady thicket's winding way.

When lads and laffes, making hay,
Chat mirthful in the verdant mead,
I form for them the sportive lay,
Or pipe upon my rural reed;
With rake in hand I often walk
With them along the new-mown vale,
And cheer the fwains with merry talk,
And please the nymphs with many a tale,

When

Autumn.

When reapers to the golden field
Hie blithefome in the bufy morn,
I rear the shock, or fickle wield,
And smiling view the ripen'd corn.

AUTUMN.

In wealthy autumn's evening fair,
When all the corn is gather'd in,
I to the ruftic rout repair,

And help to fwell the cheerful din:
We that in rural toils have join'd
Now at the farmer's board regale;
The feast enjoy with gleeful mind,
And push about the nut-brown ale.

The treafures of the cultur'd field
Are in our barns with caution ftor'd;
The juicy fruits our orchards yield
Heap up the winter's ample hoard;
The balmy sweets of toiling bees
Collected are with careful hand;
We fet our anxious minds at ease,
For plenty revels in the land.

55

When,

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When, favour'd by the fcentful morn,
I trace thick woods or climb the rocks,
Urge on the chace with hound and horn,
And far pursue the wily fox;

His nightly ravage in the fold

The fhepherd fhall no longer dread,
The fhouting fwains fhall foon behold
The caitiff number'd with the dead.

WINTER.

THE lawns have loft their vivid hue,
No flow'rets bloom, no lambkins bleat;
Yet with rejoicing eyes we view
The verdure of the springing wheat:
Revolving plenty buds around,

It fhall our future wealth difpenfe;
We'll hedge with care the precious ground,
And truft it then to Providence.

Now dark December's tempeft rends
The frowning fkies with dreadful ire,

And,

A Wifb.

And, chatting with my jocund friends,
I fit befide the blazing fire.

Your herds now fhiver in the mead,
Ye fwains, their urgent calls obey;
Their steps to timely fhelter lead,
And deal around the fragrant hay.

Contending storms now rage around,
With fnow the fields are cover'd o'er :
Huge billows break with frightful found,.
And roll their terrors to the fhore.

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A WISH.

WILLIAMS.

LET wealth, let fame, thofe dazzling gifts of fate,

Blefs all the wayward fons of pomp and state;
Be mine the riches of a foul refin'd,

The heart benevolent, the spotless mind,
To heaven's unerring will, in humble hope,
refign'd!

WILLIAMS.

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