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How vainly, thro' infinite trouble and strife,
THRO' groves sequester'd, dark and still,
Awhile it plays with circling sweep,
And lingering winds its native plain ; Then pours impetuous down the steep, And mingles with the boundless main.
O let my years thus devious glide
Thro' silent scenes obscurely calm; Nor wealth nor strife pollute the tide, Nor honour's sanguinary palm.
When labour tires, and pleasure palls,
WHAT man in his wits had not rather be poor,
Than for lucre his freedom to give; Ever busy the means of his life to secure, And so ever neglecting to live!
Environ'd from morning to night in a crowd,
Still repining and longing for quiet each hour,
With the means of enjoying his wish in his power,
For a year must be past, or a day must be come,
He must add to his store this or that pretty sum,
But his gains, more bewitching the more they increase,
Such a wretch let mine enemy live, if he please,
OH! what is the gain of restless care,
And what is ambition's treasure,
And what are the joys that the modish share
The shade with its silence,-oh! is it not sweet,
And to rove o'er the heath and the mountain?
Oh! where is the morning seen to rise,
The violet mark'd as 't is springing, The zephyr heard as at eve it sighs,
The blackbird loved for its singing! Oh! there alone can the heart be gay,
The thought be free from sorrow, And soft the night, and short the day, And welcome again the morrow.
* From a very elegant volume of Poems entitled " English Lyrics."
COME, dear Amanda! quit the town,
A gentle radiance glads the sky:
'Tis love and beauty all we see.
Come! let us mark the gradual spring,
And perfect May to spread the rose.
And wisely crop the blooming day; For soon, too soon, it will be night :
Arise, my love! and come away.
WAFT me, some soft and cooling breeze,
Where tufted grass and mossy beds
Old oozy Thames, that flows fast by,
His fertile banks with herbage green,
His vales with smiling plenty swell; Where'er his purer stream is seen
The Gods of health and pleasure dwell.
Let me thy clear, thy yielding wave
And stem thy gently rolling tide.
Lay me with damask roses crown'd
Beneath some osier's dusky shade,
Let chaste CLARINDA too be there