Where at each step the stranger fears to wake ing day, That call'd them from their native walks away; Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd their last, His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears. C arms. The Deserted Villag But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, O luxury! thou curs'd by heav'n's decree, E'en now the devastation is begun, Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the sail, And kind connubial tenderness, are there; And steady loyalty, and faithful love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ! Unfit, in these degen'rate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decry'd, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well; |