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The tallest pines feel most the power
Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower

Comes heaviest to the ground;
The bolts, that spare the mountain's side,
His cloud-capt eminence divide,
And spread the ruin round.

The well informed philosopher
Rejoices with an wholesome fear,

And hopes, in spite of pain;
If winter bellow from the north,
Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth,
And nature laughs again.

What if thine heaven be overcast,
The dark appearance will not last;

Expect a brighter sky.
The God, that strings the silver bow,
Awakes sometimes the muses too,

And lays his arrows by.

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If hindrançes obštrụct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,

And let thy strength be seen;
But oh! if Fortune fill thy sail
With more than a propitious gale,

Take half thy canvass in.

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And is this all? Can reason do no more
Thàn bid me shun the deep, and dread the shore
Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea,
The Christiap has an art unknown to thee,
He holds no parley with upmanly fears;
Where duty bids he confidently steers,
Faces a thousand dangers at her call,
And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all,



The nymph must lose her female friend,

If more admired than shem
But where will fierce contention end
If flowers can disagree?

Within the garden's peaceful scene

Appeared two lovely foes,
Aspiring to the rank of queen,

The Lily and the Rose.

The Rose soon reddened into rage,

And swelling with disdain,
Appealed to many a poet's page
To prove her right to reign.

The Lily's height bespoke command,

A fair imperial flower;
She seemed designed for Flora's hand,
The sceptre of her power.

This civil bickering and debate

The goddess chanced to hear,
And flew to save, erc yet too late,
The pride of the parterre;

Yours is, she said, the nobler hue,

And yours the statelier mien;
And, till a third surpasses you,
Let each be deemed a queen.

Thus soothed and reconciled, each seeks,

The fairest British fair :
The seat of empire is her cheeks,

They reign united there,


Heu inimicitias quoties parit æmula, forma,

Quam raro pulchræ pulchra placere potest? Sed fines ultrà solitos discordia tendit, *Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent.

Hortus ubi dulces præbet tacitosque recessûs,

Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas;
Hic sibi regales Amaryllis candida cultûs,
Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa.

III. Ira Rosam et meritis quæsita superbia tangunt,

Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinû, Dum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatâm,

Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat.


Altior emicat illa, et celso vertice nutat,

Ceu flores inter non habitura parem,
Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usûs
Imperii, sceptrun, Flora quod ipsa gerat,

Nec Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixæ,

Cui curæ est pictas pandere ruris opes. Deliciasque suas nunquam non prompta tueri,

Dum licet et locus est, ut tueatur, adest.

Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inquit,

Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color,
Et donec vincat quædam formosior ambas,
Et tibi reginæ nomen, et esto tibi.

VII. His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nympham,

Qualem inter Veneres Anglia sola parit; Hanc penés imperium est, pihiloptant amplius, hujus

Regnant in nitidis, et sinę lite, genis.


The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade, And the whisperiug sound of the cool colonnade; The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Oase on liis bosom their image receives.

Twelve yoars have elapsed since I last took a vieve
Ofmy favourite field, and the bank where they grew;
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat, that once lent me a shade.

The blackbird has fled to another retreat,
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat,
And the scene, where his melody charmed me before,
Resounds with his sweet flowing ditty no more.

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