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An element that flatters him—to kill,
But most the Bard is true to inborn right, Lark of the dawn, and Philomel of night, Exults in freedom, can with rapture vouch For the dear blessings of a lowly couch, A natural meal-days, months, from Nature's hand;
Time, place, and business, all at his command!
Who bends to happier duties, who more wise
Which Horace needed for his spirit's health;
In a deep vision's intellectual scene, Such earnest longings and regrets as keen Depressed the melancholy Cowley, laid Under a fancied yew-tree's luckless shade; A doleful bower for penitential song, Where Man and Muse complained of mutual
While Cam's ideal current glided by,
And antique towers nodded their foreheads
Citadels dear to studious privacy.
But Fortune, who had long been used to sport With this tried Servant of a thankless Court, Relenting met his wishes; and to you
The remnant of his days at least was true; You, whom, though long deserted, he loved
You, Muses, books, fields, liberty, and rest! 125
Far happier they who, fixing hope and aim On the humanities of peaceful fame, Enter betimes with more than martial fire The generous course, aspire, and still aspire; Upheld by warnings heeded not too late Stifle the contradictions of their fate, And to one purpose cleave, their Being's godlike mate!
Thus, gifted Friend, but with the placid brow
That woman ne'er should forfeit, keep thy vow; With modest scorn reject whate'er would
The ethereal eyesight, cramp the wingèd mind!
Life's book for Thee may lie unclosed, till age Shall with a thankful tear bedrop its latest
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show,
1 There is now, alas! no possibility of the anticipation, with which the above Epistle concludes, being realised nor were the verses ever seen by the Individual for whom they were intended. She accompanied her husband, the Rev. Wm. Fletcher, to Îndia, and died of cholera, at the age of thirty-two or thirty-three years, on her way from Shalapore to Bombay, deeply lamented by all who knew her.
Her enthusiasm was ardent, her piety steadfast ; and her great talents would have enabled her to be eminently useful in the difficult path of life to which she had been called. The opinion she entertained of her own performances, given to the world under her maiden name, Jewsbury, was modest and humble, and, indeed, far below their merits; as is often the case with those who are making trial of their powers, with a hope to discover what they are best fitted for. In one quality, viz., quickness in the motions of her mind, she had, within the range of the Author's acquaintance, no equal.
2 The small wild Geranium known by that name.
To rival summer's brightest scarlet flower;
But while a thousand pleasures come unsought, Why fix upon his wealth or want a thought? Is the string touched in prelude to a lay Of pretty fancies that would round him play When all the world acknowledged elfin sway Or does it suit our humour to commend Poor Robin as a sure and crafty friend, Whose practice teaches, spite of names to show
Bright colours whether they deceive or no?—
This child of Nature's own humility,
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE.
THAT happy gleam of vernal eyes,
That cheek—a kindling of the morn,
To scenes Arcadian, whispering, through soft air,
What mortal form, what earthly face
'Mid that soft air, those long-lost bowers, The sweet illusion might have hung, for hours.
Thanks to this tell-tale sheaf of corn,
That touchingly bespeaks thee born