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Here, 'midst the boldest triumphs of her worth,
Harl! where the suppms tobe now rips along: Each sturot move. Emums and strong, Whost writing form meriti hest defies, Bends v'er hit work, and every ser tries; Prostrate that warmg treasut a his feet, But spare the rising cime since and sweet. Come, Health come Jolink: hràt footed, come; Here bold rour rerets and make this your home: Each heart awaits and baits run as its own; Each moisten'd brow, that sourns to wear a frown Th' unpeopled dwelling mourns its tenants stray'd; E'en the domestic laughing duits-zaid Hies to the field. the general toel to share. Meanwhile the Farmer quits his elbou-chair, His cool brick floor, his picber, and his case, And braves the sultry beams and gladly sees His gates thrown opes, and his team abroad, The ready group attendant on his word, To turn the swarth, the quis ring load to rear, Or ply the busy rake, the land to clear. Summer's light garb itself now camb'rous grown, Each his thin doublet in the shade throws down; Where oft the mastiff sculks with half-shut eye, And rouses at the stranger passing by; Whilst unrestraind the social converse flows,' And every breast Love's powerful impulse knows, And rival wits with more than rustie grace Confess the presence of a pretty face.
Now, cre sweet Summer bids its long adieu, And winds blow keen where late the blossom grew, The bustling day and jovial night must come, The long-accustomed feast of Harvest-home. No blood-stain'd victory, in story bright, Can give the philosophic mind delight; No triumph please, while rage and death destroy ; Reflection sickens at the monstrous joy. And where the joy, if rightly understood, Like cheerful praise for universal good ? The soul nor check nor doubtful anguish knows, But free and pure the grateful current flows.
Behold the sound oak table's massy frame Bestride the kitchen flour! the careful dame And gen'rous host invite their friends around,
For all that clear'd the crop, or till’d the ground,
Yet Plenty reigns, and from her boundless hoard,
Here once a year Distinction low’rs its crest,
Such were the days—of days long past I sing,
E'en Giles, for all his cares and watchings past, And all his contests with the wintry blast, Claims a full share of that sweet praise bestow d By gazing neighbours, when along the road, Or village green, his curly-coated throng Suspends the chorus of the spinner's song; When admiration's unaffected grace Lisps from the tongue, and beams in ev'ry face: Delightful moments !-sunshine, health, and joy, Play round, and cheer the elevated boy! “ Another spring!” his heart exulting cries ; “ Another year! with promis'd blessings rise!"
THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR-GLASS,
Come, friend, I'll turn thee up again :
Since thou hast stood
In frame of wood,
And, when my husband died.
I've often watch'd thy streaming sand
Its conic crown
Still sliding down,
And mingling joy and pain.
Though silent thou,
And jog along thy destin'd way:
Thou get'st a holiday.
Come, lovely May !
Thy lengthen'd day Shall gild once more my native plain ; Curl inward here, sweet Woodbine flower ;Companion of the lonely hour,
I'll turn thee up again.
A SPRING, O'erhung with many a flower,
The grey sand dancing in its bed, Embank'd beneath a hawthorn bower,
Sent forth its waters near my head : A rosy lass approach'd my view;
I caught her blue eye's modest beam : The stranger nodded “how d’ye do!”
And leap'd across the infant stream. The water heedless pass'd away:
With me her glowing image stay'd : I strove, from that auspicious day,
To meet and bless the lovely maid. I met her where beneath our feet
Through downy moss the wild thyme grew; Nor moss elastic, flow'rs though sweet,
Match'd Hannah's cheek of rosy hue. I met her where the dark woods wave,
And shaded verdure skirts the plain ; And when the pale moon rising gave
New glories to her clouded train.
Our plighted vows to heaven are flown ;
Hannah is my own.