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Dying she fell, and as the strains expire,

Breathed out her soul in anguish on the lyre;
Dissolved in transport, she resign'd her breath,
And gain'd a living conquest by her death.




-Carpe diem.

IN the barn the tenant cock,

Close to Partlet perch'd on high,
Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock!)
Jocund that the morning's nigh.

Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nursed by night, retire;
And the peeping sun-beam now
Paints with gold the village spire.

Philomel forsakes the thorn,

Plaintive where she prates at night,
And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.


From the low-roof'd cottage ridge

See the chattering swallow spring; Darting through the one-arch'd bridge, Quick she dips her dappled wing.

Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale :

Kidlings now begin to crop
Daisies on the dewy dale.

From the balmy sweet, uncloy'd,
(Restless till her task be done)
Now the busy bee's employ'd
Sipping dew before the sun.

Trickling through the creviced rock, Where the limpid stream distills,

Sweet refreshment waits the flock When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.

Colin's for the promised corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious; whilst the huntsman's horn, Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe.

Sweet,-O sweet, the warbling throng On the white emblossom'd spray! Nature's universal song

Echoes to the rising day.


FERVID on the glittering flood
Now the noontide radiance glows;
Drooping o'er its infant bud,
Not a dew-drop's left the rose.

By the brook the shepherd dines,
From the fierce meridian heat
Shelter'd by the branching pines
Pendant o'er his grassy seat.

Now the flock forsakes the glade,

Where uncheck'd the sun-beams fall;

Sure to find a pleasing shade

By the ivied abbey wall.

Echo in her airy round,

O'er the river, rock, and hill, Cannot catch a single sound, Save the clack of yonder mill.

Cattle court the zephyrs bland,

Where the streamlet wanders cool; Or with languid silence stand

Midway in the marshy pool.


But from mountain, dell, or stream,
Not a fluttering zephyr springs;
Fearful lest the noontide beam
Scorch its soft, its silken wings.

Not a leaf has leave to stir,

Nature's lull'd-serene-and still! Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur, Sleeping on the heath-clad hill.

Languid is the landscape round,
Till the fresh descending shower,
Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Raises every fainting flower.

Now the hill-the hedge-is green, Now the warblers' throats in tune; Blithesome is the verdant scene, Brighten'd by the beams of Noon!


O'ER the heath the heifer strays
Free;-(the furrow'd task is done :)
Now the village windows blaze,

Burnish'd by the setting sun.

Now he sets behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden sky;
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?

Trudging as the ploughmen go,
(To the smoking hamlet bound,)
Giant-like their shadows grow,
Lengthening o'er the level ground.

Where the rising forest spreads
Shelter for the lordly dome,
To their high-built airy beds
See the rooks returning home.

As the lark with varied tune
Carols to the evening loud,
Mark the mild resplendent moon
Breaking through a parted cloud!

Now the hermit howlet peeps

From the barn or twisted brake; And the blue mist slowly creeps, Curling on the silver lake.

As the trout, in speckled pride,
Playful from its bosom springs;
To the banks a ruffled tide

Verges in successive rings.

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