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*Oh! I could doat upon the rural scene,
• It's prospect over hill and champaign wide, • But that it marks the tedious way between,
• That parts my Damon from his promis'd bride.
• The gardens now put forth their blossoms sweet,
• In Nature's Rowery mantle gaily dress'd; « The close-trimm'd hedge, and circling border neat,
• All ask my Delia for their dearest guest.
• The lily pale, the purple blushing rose,
• In this fair spot their mingled beauties join; • The woodbine here it's curling tendrils throws,
• In wreaths fantastick, round the mantling vine.
The branching arbour here, for lovers made,
• For dalliance meet, or fong, or amorous tale,
< 'Tis all another paradise around;
• And, trust me, so it would appear to me, • Like the first man were I not lonely found,
• And but half blest, my Delia, wanting thee.
For two, but two, I've form'd a lovely walk,
• And I have call'd it by my fair-one's name; • Here, bless'd with thee, t'enjoy thy pleasing talk,
" While fools and madmen bow the knee to fame.
• The rustick path already have I try'd,
• Oft at the finking of the setting day; • And while, my love, I thought thee by my side,
• With careful steps have worn it's edge away,
• With thee I've held discourse, how passing sweet!
• While fancy brought thee to my raptur'd dream; • With thee have prattled in my lone retreat,
• And talk'd down suns on love's delicious theme.
• Oft, as I'wander through the rustick crowd,
• Musing with downcast look, and folded arms; « They stare with wonder when I rave aloud,
• And dwell with rapture on thy artless charms.
• They call me mad, and oft with finger rude,
• Point at me leering, as I heedless pass;
. And the young shepherd courts the farmer's lass.
. Among the fruits that grace this little seat,
• And all around their clustering foliage spread,
Ana pluck the strawberry from it's native bed.
. And all along the river's verdant fide,
• I've planted elms, which rise in even row, • And Aling their lofty branches'far and wide,
• Which Hoat reflected, in the lake below,
Since I've been absent from my lovely fair,
Imagination forms a thousand schemes; • For O! my Delia, thou art all my care,
• And all with me is love and golden dreams.
*O flattering promise of secure delight!
• When will the lazy-pacing hours be o’er, • That I may fly with rapture to thy fight,
• And we shall meet again, to part no more?"
ODE ON HEARING MUSIC K.
BY JOHN SCOTT, ESQ.
YON organ! hark !-how foft, how sweet,
The found my fancy leads
And lily-mantled meads;
Where myrtle bowers their bloom unfold,
Where grapes depress the vines;
And Beauty's form reclines.
Now different tones and measures flow,
Involve the mind in gloom;
Or leaning o'er the tomb:
To where the orphan'd infant sleeps,
I pitying seem to stray;
And wipe her tears away.
Now loud the tuneful thunders roll,
O'er earth and all it's care;
BY DR. LANGHORNE.
HY loves my flower, the sweetest flower
That swells the golden breast of May, « Thrown rudely o'er this ruin'd tower,
« To waste her folitary day?
• Why, when the mead, the spicy vale,
• The grove and genial garden call, • Will she her fragrant soul exhale,
• Unheeded, on the lonely wall?
• For never, sure, was beauty born
• To live in death's deserted shade! • Come, lovely flower, my banks adorn;
• My banks, for life and beauty made.'
Thus Pity wak'd the tender thought;
And, by her sweet perfuafion led, To seize the hermit-flower I sought,
And bear her from her stony bed.
I fought--but sudden on mine ear
A voice in hollow murmurs broke, And fmote my heart with holy fear ;
The Genius of the Ruin spoke.
« From thee be far th'ungentle deed,
· The honours of the dead to spoil; • Or take the sole remaining meed,
The flower that crowns their former toil!
• Nor deem that flower the garden’s foe,
• Or fond to grace this barren shade; « 'Tis Nature tells her to bestow
• Her honours on the lonely dead.
• For this, obedient zephyrs bear
• Her light seeds round yon turret's mold; • And, undispers'd by tempefts, there
They rise in vegetable gold.
• Nor shall thy wonder wake to see
• Such desart scenes distinction crave; • Oft have they been, and oft shall be
• Truth's, Honour's, Valour's, Beauty's grave.
• Where longs to fall that rifted spire,
• As weary of th' insulting air; • The poet's thought, the warrior's fire,
• The lover's fighs, are fleeping there.
• When that, too, shakes the trembling ground,
• Borne down by some tempestuous lky, • And many a slumbering cottage round
« Startleshow still their hearts will lie !
• Of them who, wrapt in earth fo cold,
• No more the smiling day shall view, Should many a tender tale be told,
For many a tender thought is due,