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Beneath her clear discerning eye

The visionary shadows fly

Of Folly's painted show:

She sees, thro' ev'ry fair disguise,
That all but Virtue's solid joys
Is vanity and wo.



How sweet the calm of this sequester'd shore,
Where ebbing waters musically roll;

And solitude, and silent eve restore
The philosophic temper of the soul!

The sighing gale, whose murmurs lull to rest The busy tumult of declining day,

To sympathetic quiet sooths the breast, wild emotion dies away.



Farewell the objects of diurnal care,

Your task be ended with the setting sun;

Let all be undisturb'd vacation here,

While o'er yon wave ascends the peaceful moon.

What beauteous visions o'er the soften'd heart,
In this still moment all their charms diffuse,
Serener joys and brighter hopes impart,

And cheer the soul with more than mortal views.

Here faithful Memory wakens all her powers,
She bids her fair ideal forms ascend;
And quick to ev'ry gladden'd thought restores
The social virtue, and the absent friend.

Come, *******, come, and with me share
The sober pleasures of this solemn scene,
While no rude tempest clouds the ruffled air,
But all, like thee, is smiling and serene.

Come, while the cool, the solitary hours

Each foolish care and giddy wish controul, With all thy soft persuasion's wonted pow'rs, Beyond the stars transport my listening soul.

Oft, when on earth detain'd by empty show,

Thy voice has taught the trifler how to rise; Taught her to look with scorn on things below, And seek her better portion in the skies、

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Come, and the sacred eloquence repeat;

The world shall vanish at its gentle sound, Angelic forms shall visit this retreat,

And opening Heav'n diffuse its glories round.



AGAIN the balmy zephyr blows,

Fresh verdure decks the grove, Each bird with vernal rapture glows, And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentle warblers, hither fly,
And shun the noon-tide heat;
My shrubs a cooling shade supply,
My groves a safe retreat.

Here freely hop from spray to spray,
Or weave the mossy nest;
Here rove and sing the live-long day,
At night here sweetly rest.

Amidst this cool translucent rill,

That trickles down the glade,

Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,

And revel in the shade.

No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,

E'er shews his ruddy face,

Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone,
In this sequester'd place.

Hither the vocal thrush repairs,
Secure the linnet sings,

The goldfinch dreads no slimy snares
To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt,

Yon distant woods among,

And round my friendly grotto chaunt
Thy sweetly plaintive song.

Let not the harmless red-breast fear,
Domestic bird, to come

And seek a sure asylum here,

With one that loves his home.

My trees, for you, ye artless tribe,
Shall store of fruit preserve;

Oh, let me thus your friendship bribe
Come, feed without reserve.

For you these cherries I protect,

To you these plums belong;

Sweet is the fruit that


have peck'd,

But sweeter far your song.

Let then this league betwixt us made,
Our mutual interests guard;

Mine be the gift of fruit and shade—

Your songs be my reward.



PITY the sorrows of a poor old man,

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,

Oh! give relief-and Heav'n will bless your store.

These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak,

These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years; And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek, Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rising ground,

With tempting aspect drew me from my road,

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