Sweet is thy reign, but short; the red Dog-star
Shall scorch thy tresses, and the mower's scythe

Thy greens, thy flow'rets all,
Remorseless shall destroy.

Reluctant shall I bid thee then farewel;
For Oi not all that Autumn's lap contains,

Nor Summer's ruddieft fruits,
Can aught for thee atone..

Fair Spring! whose fimplest promise more delights
Than all their largest wealth, and thro' the heart

Each joy and new-born hope
With softest influence breathes.


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O HAPPY they! the happieft of their kind !

Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend.
'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws,
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind,
That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
Attoning all their passions into love;
Where friendship full exerts her softest power.
Perfect esteem, enliven’d by desire
Ineffable, and sympathy of soul;
Thought, meeting thought, and will preventing will,
With boundless confidence: for nought but love
Can answer love, and render bliss secure.

Let him, ungenerous, who alone, intent
To blefs himself, from fordid parents buys
The loathing virgin, in eternal care,
Well-merited, confume his nights and days:
Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman-love
Is wild defire, fierce as the fans they feel;
Let eastern tyrants from the light of heaven
- Seclude their bosom-flaves, meanly poffefs'd

Of a mere lifeless, violated form:
While those whom love cements in holy faith,
And equal transport, free as nature live,
Disdaining fear. What is the world to them,
Ite pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all ?
Who in each other clasp whatever fair
High Fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish;
Something than beauty dearer, should they look
Or on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face;
Truth, Goodness, Honour, Harmony, and Love,
The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven.
Mean-time a smiling offspring rises round,
And mingles both their graces. By degrees,
The human blofsom blows; and every day,
Soft as it rolls along, fhew's some new charm,
The father's-luftre, and the mother's bloom.
Then infant Reafon grows apace, and calls
For the kind hand of an affiduous care.
Delightful talk! to rear the tender Thought,
To teach the


Idea, how to shoot,

the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
To breathe enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the glowing breast,
Oh! speak the joy ! ye whom the fadden tear


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Surprises often, while you look around,
And nothing strikes your eye but fights of bliss ;
All various Nature pressing on the heart :
An elegant sufficiency, content,
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
Ease and alternate labour, useful life,
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven:
These are the matchless joys of virtuous love;
And thus their moments Ay. The Seasons thus,
As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll,
Still find them happy; and consenting Spring
Sheds her own rofy garland on their heads :
Till evening comes at last, serene and mild:
When after the long vernal day of life,
Enamour'd more, as more remembrance swells.
With many a proof of recollected love,
Together down they fink in social sleep;
Together freed, their gentle spirits Ay
To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign.


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KNEW he but his happiness! of men
The happiest he, who far from public rage,
Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life.
What tho' the dome be wanting, whose proud gate,
Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd
Of Aatterers false, and in their turn abus'd!'
Vile intercourse! What tho' the glittering robe



Of every hue reflected light can give,
Or floated loose, or stiff with mazy gold,
The pride and gaze of fools ! opprefs him not?
What tho’, from utmost land and sea purvey'd,
For him each rarer tributary life
Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps
With luxury and death? What tho' his bowl
Flames not with costly juice; nor sunk in beds
Oft of gay Care, he tosses out the night,
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state?
What tho' he knows not those fantastic joys,
That still amuse the wanton, still deceive;
A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain ;
Their hollow moments undelighted all ?

is his; a solid life estrang'd
To disappointment, and fallacious hope:
Rich in Content, in Nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits ; whatever greens the spring,
When heav'n descends in showers; or bends the bough.
When summer reddens, and when autumn beams;.
Or in the wint’ry glebe whatever lies
Conceald and fattens with the richest fap:
These are not wanting ; nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale :
Nor blearing mountains; nor the chide of streams,
And hum of bees, inviting sleep fincere
Into the guilti: ss breast, beneath the shade,
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song,
Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear.
Here too dwells fimple Truth; plain Innocence;
Unsullied Beauty; sound unbroken Youth,


Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd;
Health ever blooming ; unambitious Toil;
Calm Contemplation, and poetic Ease.

The rage of nations, and the crush of states,
Move not the man, who, from the world escap'd,
In still retreats, and flow'ry solitudes,
To nature's voice attends, from month to month,
And day to day, thro' the revolving year ;
Admiring, sees her in her every shape;
Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart;
Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more.
He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems, ,
Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale
Into his freshen’d soul ; her genial hours
He full enjoys; and not a beauty blows,
And not an opening blossom breathes, in vain.
In summer he, benetath the living shade
Such as o'er frigid Tempe wont to wave,
Or Hemus cool, reads what the Muse, of these
Perhaps, has in immortal numbers fung;
Or what the dictates writes : and, oft an eye
Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year.
When Autumn's yellow lustre gilds the world
And tempts the sickled swain into the field,
Seiz’d by the general joy his heart distends
With gentle throws; and, thro' the tepid gleams
Deep musing, then he beft exerts his song.
Even Winter wild to him is full of bliss :
The mighty tempeft, and the hoary waste,
Abrupt, and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth
Awake to solemn thought. At night the skies,
Disclos'd and kindled by refining frost, ·


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