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It falls for ah! what hand will now supply

The culture to mature' this fair retreat ? No more, alas! beneath the mutual eye,

The meditated scenes shall rise compleat.

Hills, vales, and groves ! ye but retain a name;

Scenes ouce belov’d, ye boast no charms for me! So joyless now, say, are they still the same,

Or did they borrow all their charms from thee? 'Twas not that other vales were not so fair ;

'Twas not that other streams less clear were found; 'Twas not that richer sweets perfum’d the air ;

Thy presence only, made it fairy ground. Friendship like thine to ZEMBLA's waste of snow

Could all the beauties of the south impartNo sickly shoot! in any clime would grow

The vigorous native of thy Roman heart. Yet was it here, of such excelling price,

A hoard thy philosophic bosom glean'd, And was it here, untainted with its vice,

Thy young affections from the world were wean'd! Here still some inspiration may remain,

Thy spirit here may loiter for my sake; And every object yet enough retain,

To keep thy fair example still awake.

Each wonted scene then constant I'll frequent,

And leave each giddy vain pursuit behind; Delightful solitude; if thou be lent

In heavenly visions whispering to my mind.

The stinted portion of the world's renown,

Teach me from conscious virtue to supply:
Teach me alike on Fortune's smile or frown

To turn, with resignation in my eye.
By trust in heaven each anxious wish compos'd,

Teach me thy life, from thankless murmurs free; And on the bosom of my God repos’d,

Teach me to smile away my life like thee. What tho' thy genius led thee to admire

The silent joys which charm the good and wise, And bade thee in the prime of youth retire,

And pomp and vain applauses to despise ; Yet not austere, nor of the cynic band,

Thine was the feast of soul, from crowds apart; Far as thy fortunes stretch'd thy bounteous hand,

Wide as the extended world thy ample heart. The flower, Spring's daughter, fed with Heaven's best

dews, And wooed by Zephyrs which unfold her dyes; Thus far from man's worn path her perfume strews,

Thus breathes her secret incense to the skies.

What tho', my friend, unhonour'd be thy tomb,

No pious verse, nor living marble there;
Well may'st thou, favour'd with no vulgar doom,

The pride of epitaph and sculpture spare.
Yes, while maturing from their second birth,

Thine atoms rest beneath th' unnoticed clod, The Muse shall point to man the hallow'd earth,

The Virtues lift it to the care of God.

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For an Arbour at Forcett in Yorkshire.



By me, a Dryad of the grove,
This shade-imbrowned scene was wove:
By me, the woodbine and the vine
Were taught their mingling arms to twine.
Amid the leafy shrine i dwell,
Disposing life, or bloom, or smell,
To every flaunting shrub or flower
That helps to form my secret bower.
Far from my borders I exclude
Each harmful weed, or bramble rude.
Nor noxious adder here, nor toad,
Nor bat nor owl hath her abode ;
No monster foul of human-kind,
Nor vice, the vermin of the mind.-
But here the tender linpet sings ;
Here the gay goldfinch plumes her wings:
And fair and free my entrance lies
To all that's virtuous, good, and wise :
Nor decent Mirth be banish'd hence;
Nor Joy the child of Innocence.
But chiefly on this hallow'd ground
Sincerity and Truth be found;
With each plain virtue of the heart,
Unsullied by the tricks of art.

-With these, and more, my seats are bles'd, When young MARIA is my guest.

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Our lap.dogs and monkeys, our squirrels and cats,

Our parrots, canaries, and larks,
Have furnish'd amusement to many old maids,

And once in a while to young sparks.
In heaven, where time passes heavily too,

When the gods have no subject to talk on,
Jove calls for an eagle, he keeps in a mew,

As an old English baron his falcon.
He lets it jump up on his sofa and chair,

And dip its crookt beak in his cup;
And laughs when it pinches young Ganimed's car,

Or eats his ambrosia up. Queen Juno, who fears from rough play a mishap,

Keeps peacocks with rainbowy tails; And when she's dispos’d to grudge Saturn his nap,

Their screaming or screeching ne'er fails. Fair Venus most willingly coaxes the doves,

That coo, woo, and wed on her wrist;
The sparrow, her chambermaid Aglae loves,

As often is fondled and kist.
Minerva, too proud to seem pleas'd with a trifle,

Professes to keep her old owl,
The craunies and chinks of Olympus to rifle;

For rais, mice, and vermin, to prowl.

Apollo above stairs, a first-rate young blood,

Has a stud of four galloway ponies; To gallop them bounding on heaven's high road,

A principal part of his fun is. 'Tis fabled or known he instructed a swan,

One spring, to outwhistle a blackbird, Which sings the Castalian streamlet upon,

Like any Neapolitan lack-beard. Lyceus in India purchas'd a pair

Of tygers delightfully pyball’d,
And drives them about at the speed of a hare,

With self-satisfaction unrivali'd.
At Pluto's black gate, in a kennel at rest;

A mastiff so grim has his station,
That fearful of reaching the fields of the blest,

Some ghosts have made choice of damnation. But among all the animals, little and great,

That are foster'd and pamper'd above,
The ass old Silenus selects for his mate

Is that which so fondly I love.
So quiet, so steady, so guarded, and slow,

He bears no ill-will in his mind;
And nothing indecent, as far as I know,

Escapes him before or behind.
So fully content with himself and his lord,

He is us’d with good humour to take,
Whatever the whims of the moment afford,

Be it drubbing, or raisins and cake.
He knows of himself ev'ry step of the way,

Both down to the cellar and back;
A qualification, I venture to say,
No butler of mine is to lack.

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