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Full many a thought uncall’d and undetain'd,
And many idle flitting phantasies,
Traverse my indolent and passive brain,
As wild and various as the random gales
That swell or flutter on this subject Lute!
And what if all of animated nature
Be but organic Harps diversly fram'd,
That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps,
Plastic and vast, one intellectual Breeze,
At once the Soul of each, and God of all ?-
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof
Darts, O beloved Woman ! nor such thoughts
Dim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject,
And biddest me walk humbly with my God.
Meck Daughter in the Family of Christ,
Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd
These shapings of the unregenerate mind,
Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break
On vain Pholosophy’s aye-babbling spring.
For never guiltless may I speak of Him,
Th’Incomprehensible ! save when with awe
I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels;
Who with his saving mercies healed me,
A sinful and most miserable man
Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess
Peace and this Cot, and Thee, heart-honourd Maid !




MYRTLE leaf, that ill besped

Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Soil'd beneath the common tread

Far from thy protecting sprav!

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Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!

Heave and flutter to his sighs,
While the Flattrer on his wing

Woo'd and whisper'd thee to rise.
Gaily from thy mother's stalk

Wert thou danc'd and wafted high ;
Soon on this unshelter'd walk

Flung to fade, to rot, and die !



BRUARY, 1794.


SWEET Flower! that peeping from thy russet stem,
Unfoldest timidly (for in strange sort
This dark, freeze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering

Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gaz'd upon thee
With blue voluptuous eye) alas poor

These are but flatteries of the faithless Year.
Perchance escap'd its unknown polar cave
Ev’n now the keen North-East is on its way.
Flower, that must perish ; shall I liken thee
To some sweet Girl of too, too rapid growth
Nipp'd by Consumption 'mid untimely charms?
Or to Bristowa's Bard,* the wond'rous boy!
And Amaranth, which Earth scarce seem'd to own,
Blooming 'mid povety's drear wintry waste,

• Chatterton.


New rfe and joy th' expanding flowret feels :
His pitying Mistress mourns, and mourning heals!




A Mount, not wearisome and bare and steep,
But a green Mountain variously up-pild,
Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep
Or colour'd lichens with slow oozing weep ;
Where cypress and the darker yew start wild ;
And mid the summer torrent’s gentle dash
Dance brighten’d the red clusters of the ash;
Beneath whose boughs, by stilly sounds beguild,
Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep:
Till haply startled by some fleecy dam,
That rustling on the bushy cliff above
With melancholy bleat of anxious love
Made nieek inquiry for her wand'ring lamb:
Such a green Mountain 'twere most sweet, to climb
E’en while the bosom ach'd with loneliness-
How heavenly sweet, if some dear friend should bless
Th’advent'rous toil, and up the path sublime
Now led, now follow ; the glad landscape round,
Wide and more wide, increasing without bound !
O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark
The berries of the half up-rooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash-
Beneath the cypress or the yew more dark,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock,
In social silence now, and now t’unlock
The treasur'd heart; arm link'd in friendly arm,
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm
Mutt'ring brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;

Till high o'er head his beck’ning Friend appears,
And from the forehead of the topmost crage
Shouts gerly : for haply there uprears
That shadowing Pine its old romantic limbs,
Which latest shall detain th’ enamour'd sight
Seen from below, when Eve the valley dims,
Ting'd yellow with the rich departing light;
And haply, basin'd in some unsunn'd cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears,
Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale !
Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine,
And bending o'er the clear delicious fount,
Ah dearest Lloyd ! it were a lot divine
To cheat our noons in moralizing mood,
While west-winds fann'd our temples toil-bedew'd.
Then downwards slope, oft-pausing, from the mount,
To some low mansion in some woody dale,
Where smiling with blue eye Domestic Bliss
Gives this the husband's, that the brother's kiss !

Thus rudely vers’d in allegoric lore,
The bill of knowledge I essay'd to trace ;
That verd'rous hill with many a resting place,
And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour
To glad, and fertilize the subject plains;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod,
And many a fancy-bless'd and holy sod,
Where inspiration, his diviner strains
Low-murm'ring, lay; and startling from the rocks
Stiff evergreens, whose spreading foliage mocks
Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age,
And mad oppression's thunder-clasping rage !
O meek retiring Spirit! we will climb,
Cheering and cheer'd, this lovely hill sublime,

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