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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:
To turn, with resignation in my eye.
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;
The pride of epitaph and sculpture spare.
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.
For an Arbour at Forcett in Yorkshire.
BY F. N. C. MUNDAY, ESQ.
By me, a Dryad of the grove,
-With these, and more, my seats are bles'd, When young MARIA is my guest.
THE MENAGERIE OF THE GODS.
FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER.
Our lap.dogs and monkeys, our squirrels and cats,
Our parrots, canaries, and larks,
And once in a while to young sparks.
When the gods have no subject to talk on,
As an old English baron his falcon.
And dip its crookt beak in his cup;
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;
As often is fondled and kist.
Professes to keep her old owl,
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,
With self-satisfaction unrivali'd.
A mastiff so grim has his station,
Some ghosts have made choice of damnation. But among all the animals, little and great,
That are foster'd and pamper'd above,
Is that which so fondly I love.
He bears no ill-will in his mind;
Escapes him before or behind.
He is us’d with good humour to take,
Be it drubbing, or raisins and cake.
Both down to the cellar and back;