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SECLUSION. (From Ecclesiastical Sketches.)
METHINKS that to some vacant Hermitage
My feet would rather turn-to some dry nook
Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting Owl
Tir'd of the world and all its industry.
WALTON'S BOOK OF LIVES. (From the same.)
THERE are no colours in the fairest sky
So fair as these. The feather whence the pen
Was shap'd that trac'd the lives of these good men,
Dropp'd from an Angel's wing. With moisten'd eye We read of Faith and purest Charity
In Statesman, Priest, and humble Citizen:
O could we copy their mild virtues, then
Or lonely tapers when from far they fling
A guiding ray; or seen, like stars on high,
Around meek Walton's heavenly memory.
ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.
MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
EDWARD LORD THURLOW.
TO A BIRD, THAT HAUNTED THE WATERS OF LAKEN,
O MELANCHOLY bird, a winter's day
Thou standest by the margin of the pool;
And, taught by God, dost thy whole being school
To Patience, which all evil can allay :
Unthrifty, to submit to moral rule,
And his unthinking course by thee to weigh.
WILLIAM STEWART ROSE.
A GLORIOUS form thy shining city wore,
When fearless gull too nigh his pinnace goes.