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III. 3.

Albion, foon thy poets free
Pour'd their foft ftores of harmony;
And dancing in the verdant grove,
Fair Venus led the train of love;
Yellow Ceres o'er thy breast,
Smiling flung her wavy veft.

Here genial freedom fix'd her feat,
Ruby-crested glory fhone,

Refulgent near her facred throne,
Attendant on her state.

Then commerce bleft thy filver ftrand,
And scatter'd plenty o'er the land:

Dear, facred ifle! ne'er fhall these honours die,
For arts and arms renown'd, the land of liberty.

ODE TO THE RIVER CAM.

BY MR. GEORGE DYER.

[From the Annual Anthology for 1799.]}

HILE yon fky-lark warbles high,
While yon ruftic whistles gay,

WH

On thy banks, oh! Cam, I lie,
Mufeful pour the penfive lay.
Willowy Cam, thy lingering ftream

Suits too well the thoughtful breaft;
Languor here might love to dream,
Sorrow here might sigh to rest.
Near yon fteeple's tapering height,
Beauteous Julia, thou art laid;
I could linger through the night
Still to mourn thee, lovely maid!
In yon garden fancy reads-

"Sophron ftrays no longer here,"
Then again my bofom bleeds:
Then I drop the filent tear.

Hoary Cam, fleal flow along :
Near yon defolated grove
Sleep the partners of my fong,
There with them I wont to rove.
He, the youth of faireft fame,
Haften'd to an early tomb-
Friendship thall record his name,
Pity mourn his hapless doom.

Hark! I hear the death-bell found!
There's another spirit fled!
Still mine ears the tidings wound;
Philo flumbers with the dead.
Well he knew the critic's part,
Shakespeare's name to him was dear;
Kind and gentle was his heart,

Now again I drop a tear.

Bending fad befide thy ftream,
While I heave the frequent figh,
Do thy rippling waters gleam,
Sympathetic murm'ring by?
Then, oh! Cam, will I return,
Hail thy foothing ftream again,
And as viewing Julia's urn,

Grateful bless thee in my ftrain.

Still there are, who raptur'd view
Scenes, which youthful hopes endear;
Here they science still can woo,
Still they love to wander here.
Peace they meet in every grove;
Lives again the rapturous fong;
Sweetly fportive still they rove,
Cam! thy fedgy banks along.
Stately ftreams, and glens, and lakes,
They can leave to Scotia's plains,
Mountains hoar, and vales, and brakes,
They refign to Cambrian fwains.
But thefe placid fcenes full well
Suit the quiet mufing breaft;
Here, if fancy may not dwell,
Science fhall delight to reft.

CA

LINES

ON SPRING.

ALM'D is the roaring of the billowy main-
The orient beams-the ftormy clouds are fled,
Zephyrus woos the blue-ey'd Naiads again,
The growling north-eaft feeks his cavy bed.
Freed by the potent fun's enliv'ning ray,
Fair nature pleas'd, with animation smiles;
Each scene to decorate with flow'rets gay,
With tafteful hand laborioufly the toils.
Lo! at his magic touch, the primrose blows,
The purple violets grateful odours shed,
Amid the humid marth the cowflip glows,
And modeft daifies ornament the mead.
The garden now its flow'ry pride displays,
In robe imperial, fhines the crocus fair,
A fpotlefs ftole the fnow-drop fair arrays,
The beauteous hyacinth perfumes the air.
And gay, in vernal charms, the shrubb'ry's feen,
What various hues and bloffoms charm the eye!
The hawthorn blooms, the copfe is clad with green,
The thadowy grove refounds with harmony.

Their matin hymns the larks now fing with glee,
If day's bright regent does the sky illume;
And sweet the murmur of the busy bee,

That fucks the honey from the orchard's bloom.
High on the breezy downs, and on the plains,
Innumerous lambkins sport, and bleat their joy;
Wildly melodious pipe the fhepherd fwains,
And fpring's gay jubilee meets no alloy.

Wav'd by the gale there embryo harvests grow,
And ev'ry verdant blade is burnish'd high,
The glitt'ring rivers murmur as they flow,
Serene and cloudlefs is the azure sky.

The filent fhade reflection now may feek,
And muse on actions past with pure delight,
As memory pictures deeds of childhood meek,
Or manhood's firmness in the paths of right.
And mad ambition, whofe ferocious breaft

Throb'd with wild joy, when conquest crown'd his

arms,

Amidst thefe tranquil fcenes may love to reft,
And be enamour'd of fair virtue's charms.

Here modeft beauty, from licentious gaze,
Unveil'd may wander peaceful thro' the grove :
And age rever'd, may spend his fragile days,
Bleft with the fmiles of happiness and love.

ELEANOR

A

NEGLECT.

BY MRS. ROBINSON.

H! cold neglect-more chilling far
Than Zembla's blaft or Scythia's fnow;

Sure born beneath a luckless star

Is he, who after ev'ry pain,

Has wrung his bofom's central vein,
To fill his bitter cup of woe,

Is deftin'd thee to know.

The fmiles of fame, the pride of truth,
All that can lift the glowing mind,
The noblest energies of youth-
Wit, valour, genius, science, taste;
A form by all that's lovely grac'd,
A foul where virtue dwells enfhrin'd,
A prey to thee we find!

The fpring of life looks fresh and gay,
The flowers of fancy bud around,
We think that ev'ry morn is May;
While hope and rapture fill the breast,
We hold reflection's lore a jeft,

Nor own that forrow's fhaft can wound,
Till cold negle& is found.

Ah! then how fad the world appears!
How falfe, how idle are the gay!
Morn only breaks to witness tears,
And ev❜ning clofes but to fhew
That darkness mimics human woe,
And life's beft fcene, a fummer's day
That fhines and fades away.

Some dread difeafe, and others woe;
Some vifionary torments fee;
Some fhrink unpitied love to know,
Some writhe beneath oppreffion's fangs,
And fome with jealous hopeless pangs;
But whatfoe'er my fate may be,
Oh! keep neglect from me!

E'en after death let mem'ry's hand,
Directed by the moon-light ray,
Weaye o'er my grave a cyprefs-band,
And bind the fod with curious care,
And scatter flow'rets fresh and fair;
And oft the facred tribute pay
To keep neglect away!

PLAC

SUMMER'S EVE.

LACID eve fucceeds the day,
Sol withdraws his fcorching lay;
Now the zephyr's whisp'ring breeze
Wantons through the waving trees;
Ruddy ftreaks fuffufe the sky,
Heifers ruminating lie;

Woolly flocks in meadows bleat,
Frogs their hollow croaks repeat;
Grateful dews on plains defcend,
Verdant hills their fhades extend;
Ruftics, as they trudge along,
Greet the evening with a fong;
Rooks their pasturage forfake,
Skims the fwallow o'er the lake;
Plumy minstrels of the groves
Ceafe to carol forth their loves;

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