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Either his gratitude shall hold him faft,
And keep him warm and filial to the last;
Or, if he prove unkind (as who can say
But, being man, and therefore frail, he may ?)
One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart,
Howe'er he flight thee, thou hast done thy part.

Oh barbarous! wouldeft thou with a Gothic hand Pull down the schools-what-all the schools i'th'

Or throw them up to livery-nags and grooms,
Or turn them into shops and auction rooms ?
A captious question, fir, (and your's is one)
Deserves an answer similar, or none.
Wouldest thou, poffeffor of a flock, employ
(Apprized that he is such) a careless boy,
And feed him well, and give him handsome pay,
Merely to sleep, and let them run aftray ?
Survey our schools and colleges, and see
A fight not much unlike my fimile.
From education, as the leading cause,
The public character its colour draws;
Thence the prevailing manners take their caft,
Extravagant or sober, loose or chafte.
And, though I would not advertise them yet,
Nor write on each-This Building to be Let,

Unless the world were all prepared to embrace
A plan well worthy to supply their place;
Yet, backward as they are, and long have been,
To cultivate and keep the Morals clean,
(Forgive the crime) I wish them, I confess,
Or better managed, or encouraged less.



The swallows in their torpid ftate

Compose their useless wing,
And bees in hives as idly wait
The call of early spring.

The keeneft frost that binds the ftream,

The wildeft wind that blows,
Are neither felt nor feared by them,
Secure of their repose.

But man, all feeling and awake,

The gloomy scene surveys;
With present ills his heart muft ake,
And pant for brighter days.

Old winter, halting o'er the mead,

Bids me and Mary mourn;
But lovely spring peeps o'er his head,

And whispers your return.

Then April, with her fifter May,

Shall chase him from the bowers, And weave fresh garlands every day, To crown the smiling hours,

VI, And, if a tear, that speaks regret

Of happier times, appear, A glimpse of joy, that we have met,

Shall Chine and dry the tear.




She came-she is gone-we have met

And meet perhaps never again ; The fun of that moment is fet,

And seems to have risen in vain. Catharina has Aed like a dream

(So vanishes pleasure, alas !) But has left a regret and efteem,

That will not so suddenly pass.

The last evening ramble we made,

Catharina, Maria, and I,
Our progress was often delayed

By the nightingale warbling nigh.
We paused under many a tree,

And much she was charmed with a tone Lefs sweet to Maria and me,

Who had witnefled fo lately her own.

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