YE STANZAS WRITTEN IN A SHRUBBERY. E nymphs who haunt this fhady grove, 'Tis filence all, how irksome to the breaft And give thy votary's troubled bofom reit. Say the is fairer than the fairest flower And bid the warbling lark attend to hear her fing. Her car with every grace refin'd; The murmurs tell the pleafing tale, The fweetly modulated found- And wakes to harmony each artless tongue. But fee! the lovely girl appears, She diffipates my anxious fears. And enjoy her converse sweet; 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; 'Tis fraught with tenderness and love, 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; Now on the hill, now in the vale, The ocean's healthy breeze Then paint, Eliza, to herself, Seven years a happy bride; And let her fee how love can bear Her graceful form darts o'er the beach, And, fpreading wide her beauteous arms, The dear embrace, with equal love, Conduct her, then, ye friendly powers, Along a fhady lane; Perhaps no fliding fash may give Close to the door the mofs-clad rofe Perhaps fome dwellings may be near, A town or hamlet just in fight, May various wants supply; 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, "This," whisper in my charmer's car, Then tell her what she'll joy to learn, THUS, dear Eliza, does the mufe, Accept, my foul's far better part, Seven happy years have o'er us roll'd, To HIM, who made them years of gold, Have I been fick, Eliza's arms Around us feven dear children rife, To make us ftill more bleft? The hill, the form, we both have known, And joy that in the vale of life, if fo, with gratitude and love, We'll to the vale retire : And teach our children, with ourselves, The God who fed us all our day, The best instructions we can give, Our offspring fhall attend; We'll warn them that the world is vain, This we'll imprefs, that GOD is good, His helping hand, whate'er our lot, Thus will we teach, thus will we live, And when the hour of death draws nigh, Sidbury Vale. SW SONNET TO THE MOON. E. B. WEET is thy reign, mild regent of the night, And dimly's feen the far-off hills and spire In penfive lay.-Now fcience fair retires, |