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This house, remember, thou art in;
And soon is pull’d to pieces :
Nor one on longer leases.
VERSES WRITTEN IN AUTUMN.
The gladsome hours are gone, and from the fields,
Now mute and naked, cheerful Toil retires The sun far off a paler radiance yields,
And darts more faint his horizontal fires. Mark, how the thickets fade! whose pleasing gloom
No longer charms, whose music all is past ; Prepar'd to shed their last autumnal bloom,
And bare their foreheads to the wintry blast. To those, who riot in the mad career
Of wealth and luxury and idleness,
For worth forsaken, or for pale distress,
But they of softer mould, to nature true,
And love ev'n fields and groves of sadder hue.
These teach, that mortal bliss must swiftly die,
And Man return to night's unending shade; That some on sorrow's dreary couch must lie,
And wait for peace a pitying brother's aid; That, while thro’ fortune's paths we jocund tend,
"Tis ours each headlong passion to restrain, A heart too frail from vanity defend,
And serious think on those, who suffer pain. These too with tender thoughts awhile may charm,
And wake the mem'ry of departed hours, That ʼmid the wilds of life, beset with harm
And pain and sorrow, smile like summer flow'rs;
Whose gentle voice was music to our ears,
where love is vain, and vain our tears.
These too may speak of early friendships flown,
As thro' life's ever-changing paths we go,
And beaming looks that now no longer glow,
And faded hills and woods of foliage pale Again shall bloom, again the forest shades
Will charm, and birds the dew-ey'd morning hail; But ne'er shall youth, nor youth's delights return,
Nor youth's warm sentiments, that love create, Bidding with stronger, purer flames to burn;
Nor those we mourn escape the bonds of fate.
How fresh the breezes blow!
How softly swell the hills! How kind the sun's bright glow!
What soothing in the rills !
All, all with transport thrills ! Scenes that alone impart True vigour to the mind, sweet solace to the
heart! Hark! from the inmost grove,
Borne by the scented gale, The bird of thought and love
Is heard.-0 nightingale !
Thee early do I hail ; Thy full of music long May listening woods resound, and love reward
the song! While in the mid-way skies
The shrill lark seems to float, As yet the cuckoo tries
Faintly her mellowing throat;
Soft is the blackbird's note; Nor yet, at evening's blush, Long heard from hedgerows green the wildly
Though tempest oft alarms,
I love thy chequer'd hour;
Fans the bright bowers above;
Where all is youth and love!
Nor wing'd the appointed dove
P. L. C. APRIL 28, 1805.
BY RICHARD FENTON, ESQ. TELL
what can mean this riot In my pulse when Damon's nigh; That
breast is never quiet,
Then, O tell me what am I?
By each pulse betray'd, and sigh,
And a thousand in the eye, Which to Damon will discover What it is to be a lover,
And to tell him, what am I, VOL, VI.
THE TEARS OF ASTROP.
AN EPISTLE TO MISS HA
BY MICHAEL WODHULL, ESQ.
Gli angelici sembianti nati in cielo
“Can the blest swains of Astrop pine,
In these light strains exclaim'd some youth,
In every sentimental breast; * Michaelmas-day, annually commemorated at Astrop Wells, in Northamptonshire,