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YE

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN A SHRUBBERY.

E nymphs who haunt this fhady grove,
Tell me, have ye feen my love!
Ye tow'ring pines, ye verdant laurels, fay,
Has my Cleora pass'd this way?

'Tis filence all, how irksome to the breaft
Is anxious expectation! Come, my muse,
The balm of peace diffuse,

And give thy votary's troubled bofom reit.
Strike in Cleora's praise the string,

Say the is fairer than the fairest flower
That graces yonder bower,

And bid the warbling lark attend to hear her fing.
Mark how affection brightens in her eye,

Her car with every grace refin'd;
But chief the cultivated mind,
Which gives to outward charms ftability.

The murmurs tell the pleafing tale,
While echo o'er the paffing gale
Throws all around

The fweetly modulated found-
And hark! how many ruftic lays
Join the full chorus of her praife;
"Tis heartfelt gratitude infpires the fong,

And wakes to harmony each artless tongue.

But fee! the lovely girl appears,
And, as the rifing orb of day,
Scatters each gathering mift away,

She diffipates my anxious fears.
How fwift the moments dart along,
When I can Cleora meet,

And enjoy her converse sweet;
Farewell, my muse, adieu delufive fong.

LINES

From a Hufband to his Wife on the Seventh Anniverfary of their Wedding. The Hufband was at this Time abfent from Home, and in fearch of a Country Retirement.

YE

fpirits of connubial blifs!

Now hear a husband's prayer;
And, on your downy wings a kifs
To dear Eliza bear..

'Tis fraught with tenderness and love,
With love for feven years tried ;
And warm as that which Edwin gave,
When firft he kifs'd his bride.

Gentle fpirits, light as air,

Softly to her pillow creep;

And with a train of pleafing dreams,

Delight Eliza's fleep.

Before her place a lovely scene,

Array'd with rural pride;

Where groves and meadows spread their green,

And filver currents glide.

Let lofty mountains bound the view,

And feem to prop the skies;

Save where at diftance, deeply blue,

The placid ocean lies.

Let not a ripple curl the deep,

Bid all the winds be ftill;
And every moment of her fleep
With peaceful pictures fill.

Now on the hill, now in the vale,
Her Edwin may the trace;
Or fee him on the clifts inhale

The ocean's healthy breeze

Then paint, Eliza, to herself,

Seven years a happy bride;

And let her fee how love can bear
Her fteps to Edwin's fide.

Her graceful form darts o'er the beach,
Array'd in fnowy veft;

And, fpreading wide her beauteous arms,
She clafps him to her breast.

The dear embrace, with equal love,
The happy husband gives;
While every look affures his wife,
'Tis now indeed he lives.

Conduct her, then, ye friendly powers,

Along a fhady lane;
Till, on a gentle flope she fees
A cottage, neat and plain.

Perhaps no fliding fash may give
The light of day to pass;
But humble lead, in humble squares,
Divides the shining glass.

Close to the door the mofs-clad rofe
With fragrant blush may grow;
And round the windows, creeping vines
And honey-fuckles blow.

Perhaps fome dwellings may be near,
Of large, or humble fize;
Or we, perchance, may only fee
The diftant chimnies rife.

A town or hamlet just in fight,

May various wants supply;
And o'er the trees the church's fpire
May catch the roving eye.

From thence the Sabbath's chiming bells

Will found along the vale;

And bid us celebrate His praise,

Whofe mercies never fail.

And though we bend not there the knee,
Yet to th' Eternal King,
Beneath fome humble roof may we
Our weekly homage bring.

"This," whisper in my charmer's car,
"This is thy humble lot;
"But health and innocence appear
"The guardians of the cot.

Then tell her what she'll joy to learn,
Though pomp is never feen;
That quiet spreads his wings without,
And comfort dwells within.

THUS, dear Eliza, does the mufe,
Grateful, the past review;
And fondly try to sketch the blifs,
Still in referve for you.

Accept, my foul's far better part,
The feeble thanks I pay;
And ftill allow my throbbing heart
To blefs my bridal day.

Seven happy years have o'er us roll'd,
What gratitude we owe

To HIM, who made them years of gold,
And bade us pleasure know.

Have I been fick, Eliza's arms
Have propp'd my weary head!
Have I been well, Eliza's charms
To new delights have led.

Around us feven dear children rife,
Seven
props on which to reft;
Eliza, fay-what can we wish,

To make us ftill more bleft?

The hill, the form, we both have known,
A calm we both comprize;

And joy that in the vale of life,
Our future duty lies.

if fo, with gratitude and love,

We'll to the vale retire :

And teach our children, with ourselves,
To blefs the Heav'nly Sire.

The God who fed us all our day,
Shall have our ev'ning fongs;
That charming theme, our Maker's praise,
Shall often fill our tongues.

The best instructions we can give,

Our offspring fhall attend;
Nor fhall they ever want in us
The fympathifing friend.

We'll warn them that the world is vain,
And teach them truth to prize :
But will not blacken what we blame,
Nor what is good disguise.

This we'll imprefs, that GOD is good,
And while in duty's way,

His helping hand, whate'er our lot,
Will hold us every day.

Thus will we teach, thus will we live,
While life is to us giv'n;

And when the hour of death draws nigh,
Look up, and hope for heav'n.

Sidbury Vale.

SW

SONNET TO THE MOON.

E. B.

WEET is thy reign, mild regent of the night,
When thou, enthron'd, on cloudless skies art feen,
Where'er thy radiance falls, the vallies green,
And groves, and meads, and rivers give delight.

And dimly's feen the far-off hills and spire
Of city proud-Whilst filence reigns;
Save ever and anon when Philomel complains

In penfive lay.-Now fcience fair retires,

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