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"Nor thee, the vagrants of the sield,

"The hamlet's little train behold; *e Their eyes to fweet oppression yield,

When thine the falling fliades untold, "Nor thee the hasty ftepherd heeds,

u When love has sill'd his heart with cares, "For flowers he rifles all the meads,

"For waking flowers—but thine forbears.

"Ah! waste no more that beauteous Moom
"On night's chill made, that fragrant breatk,

"Let fmiling funs thofe gems illume!
"Fair flower, to live unleen is death!"

Soft as the voice of vernal gales,

That o'er the bending meadows blow,

Or streams that fteal through even vales,
And murmur that thev move to flow:

, V,

Deep in her unfrequented bower,

Sweet Philomela pourM her strain; The bird of eve approval her flower,

And anfwered thus the anxious fwain :—

Live unfeen! By moon-light shades, in vallies green, Lovely flower, we'll live unfeen! Of our pleafures deem not lightly, Laughing day may look more iprightly, But I love the mo'est m en, Still I love the modest mien Of gentle Ev'ning fair, and her star-train'd queea. Didst thou, Shepherd never sind, jPleafure is of pensive kind?

Has thy cottage- never knows, ,

That fhe loves to live alone?

Dost thou not, at evening hour,

Feel fome'foft and fecret power.

Gliding o'er thy yielding mind,

Leave fweet ferenity behind;

While, all difarm'd, the cares of day

Steal through the falling gloom away?

Love to think thy lot was laid

In this undistinguiih'd lhade.

Far from the world's mfectious v$CWj

Thy little virtues fafely blew.

Go, and in day's more dangerous hour

Guard thy eniblematic flower.

THE WALL-FLOWER.

HY loves my tlower, the fweetest flower,
'* That fwells the golden breast of May,
Thrown rudely o'er yon ruui'd tower
*'To waste her folitary day?

Why, when the mead, the fpicy vale,
** The grove and genial garden call,
Will lhe her fragrant foul exhale,
** Unheeded on the lonely wall?

For never fure was beauty born

To live in death's deferted lhade! Come, lovely flower, my banks adorn, '' My banks for life and beauty made/*

From the Fables of Flora.

[graphic]

Thus Pity wak'd the tender thought.

And by her fweet perfuafion led To feize the hermit-flower I fought,

And bear her from her stony bed.

I fought—but fudden on mine ear
A voice in hollow murmurs broke,

And fmote my heart with holy fear—
The Genius of the Ruin fpoke.

"From thee be far th' ungentle deed,
'* The honours cf the dead Xo fpoil,

"Or take the fole remaining meed,

"The flower that crowns their former toil!

"Nor deem that flower the garden's foe,
"Or fond to grace this barren ihade;

** 'Tis Nature tells her to bestow
"Her honours on the lonely dead.

** For this, obedient Zephyrs bear

"Her light feeds round yon turret's mould, *( And undifpers'd by tempests there,

"They rife in vegetable gold. "Nor shall thy wonder wake to fee

"Such defert fcenes distinction crave; "Oft have they been, and oft fhall bo,

*« Truth's, Honour's Valour's, Beauty's grave.

"Where longs to fall that rifted fpire,

"As weary of th' infulting air; "The poet's thought, the warrior's sire,

"The lover's sighs are fleeping there.

** When that too shakes the trembling ground, Bom down by fome tempestuous lky.

And many a flumhering cottage round

"Startles—how still their hearts will lie! *' Of them who wrapt in earth fo cold,

'* No more the fmiling day fliall view, "Should many a tender tale he told;

"For many a tender thought is due. "Hast thou not feen fome lover pale,

*' When evening hrought the pensive hour, "Step flowly o'er the shadowy vale,

*' And stop to pluck the frequent flower?

** Thofe flowers he furely meant to strew

"On lost assection's lowly cell; *' Though there, as fond rememhrance grew,

"Forgotten, from his hand they fell.

"Has not for thee the fragrant thorn

"Been taught her sirst rofe to resign? *' With vain hut pious fondhefs horne

*' To deck thy Nancy's honour'd shrind? "'Tis Nature pleading in the hreast,

*' Fair memory of her works to find; "And when to fate fhe yields the rest,

"She claims the monumental mind. "Why, elfe, the o'er-grown paths of time,

"Would thus the letter' d fage explore, "With pain thefe crumhling ruins elimh,

K And on the douhtful fculpture pore? '* Why feelts he with unwearied toil,

*' Through Death's dim walks to urge his way, u Reclaim his long-asserted fpoil

u And lead Ohlivion into day?

'* 'Tis Nature prompts, by toil or fear

'* Unmov'd, to range through Death's domain:

"The tender parent loves to hear
"Her children's story told again.

"Treat not with fcorn his thoughtful hours,
"If haply near thefe haunts he stray;-

"Nor take the fair enlivening flowers
"That bloom to cheer his lonely way."

©GELYIE.

ODE,

TO MELANCHOLY.

Hail , queen of thought fublime! propitious pow'rF
Who o'er th' unbounded waste art joy'd to roam,
Led by the moon, when at the midnight hour
Her pale rays tremble at the duIky gloom.
O bear me, goddefs, to thy peaceful feat!
Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd,
Or lodg'd where mountain* fcreen thy deep retreats
Or wandermg wild through Chili's boundlefs lhade.

Say, rove thy steps o'er Lybia's naked waste?
Or feek fome distant folitary fhore;
Or, on the Andes' topmost mountain plac'd,
Dost sit, and hear the folemn thunder roar?

Fix'd on fome hanging rock's projected brow,
Hear'st thou low murmurs from the distant dome?
Or stray thy feet where pale dejected Woe
Pours her long wail from fome lamented tomb *

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