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“ The fragrant breezes of the new-mown hay ;

“ The lark's shrill matin at returning day;

“ The spangled gossamer that decks the lawn, “Th’inspiring echo of the hunter's horn; “The lofty oaks, that shade yon mountain ridge ; “ The murm’ring streamlet, and romantic bridge. “ A long farewell! each blessing I resign, “At Fashion's call, with essenc'd beaux to shine; “ In foreign Courts, some midnight revel keep; “Or like Macbeth, awake from broken sleep. “Quit all the duties, Providence design’d,

“ By time and habit, o'er my bosom 'twin'd; “ For hollow smiles, that veil an anxious breast, “ Or scenes by folly and delusion drest; “ Where rigid power, and wily priestcraft join'd,

“ Depress the feelings, and unnerve the mind.

“Who now will greet the balmy breath of spring, “Or the poor robin scatter'd fragments bring ? “Who now the bean-field's zephyr will inhale, “Or hear delighted the autumnal gale;

- Who o'er the common's thymy path will roam,

"- 'Till Eve's bright star recalls the wand'rer home?

YOUTH AND AGE.

49

“Each grey domestic, who will now befriend ?
“Or some poor tenant's humble pray’r attend.
“ Haste then, ye moments ! fly, reluctant hours !
“ 'Till happier days restore my natal bowers;
“ Each haunt forgot of dissipated strife,
“ This ancient Chateau' shelters me for life.”

vol. 11.

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“ I pity the man, whose patriotism is not excited on the plains of Marathon ; “and whose piety does not burn with a brighter flame at Iona.”

Dr. Johnson.

What visit Avignon, and Petrarch forget !*
Nor pay to fair Laura the once promised debt ?
No pilgrimage make to her long-worshipp'd shrine,
Nor a chaplet of roses at Vaucluse entwine ?

* The Author being obliged, with great regret, to quit Avignon, that he might arrive at Paris on a particular day.

LINES WRITTEN AT AVIGNON.

51

Once indeed how delightful the theme to rehearse,
And reflect on a passion immortal thro' verse,

On their steady attachment by moonlight to dream,
And wander alone, near the crystalline stream.
Those visions are destin'd for gay twenty-two,
As when “ La Belle France" first enraptur'd my view;

Blest Age! by a thousand reflections endear’d,
(As Fancy her fairy-built edifice reard ;)
Then fresh as the dawn of a bright summer day,
Hope, lovely enchantress ! laugh’d sorrow away ;
Her wand could alone th' intruder expel,
And

years seem'd as moments, thro’ her mystic spell.
No Lauras now smile upon wrinkled threescore,
And the brief reign of beauty in vain we deplore ;
Old Time with unerring and merciless dart,
Alike chills the feelings, and freezes the heart;
The moral observe, in great Homer is found,
Who comparing our race with the foliage around,
Despondingly shews, we decay as we rise,

And each season a fresh generation supplies.*

* In the well-known, and beautiful lines,

“ Like leaves on trees, the race of man is found.”

Still, still, there remain future objects of joy,
In life's ebbing current, the spirits to buoy;
Like a Pharos illuming old Ocean's domain,
When some long-harass’d vessel the harbour would gain;
There are scenes of past pleasure at will to review,
As the path of high honour we strictly pursue ;
There are friendships, affections, and blessings in store,
To soothe and delight us, 'till life is no more.
When like shadows they sink, as decreed from above,

And each tie is dissoly'd of ambition or love,

While Lauras unknown in succession will rise,

And their charms future Petrarchs extol to the skies ;

Thoʻsickness and sorrow, like demons may lower,

On the unstable dreams of our fast-fading hour;

Only grant, that unmov'd by misfortune or pain,
We may close a career, without blemish or stain.

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