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No more the morn with tepid rays

Unfolds the flower of various hue; Noon spreads no more the genial blaze, Nor gentle eve distils the dew.

The lingering hours prolong the night,
Usurping darkness shares the day;
Her mists restrain the force of light,
And Phoebus holds a doubtful sway.

By gloomy twilight half reveal'd,
With sighs we view the hoary hill,
The leafless wood, the naked field,
The snow-topt cot, the frozen rill.

No music warbles through the grove,
No vivid colours paint the plain;
No more with devious steps I rove
Through verdant paths now sought in vain.

Aloud the driving tempest roars,

Congeal'd, impetuous showers descend; Haste, close the window, bar the doors, Fate leaves me Stella and a friend.

In nature's aid let art supply

With light and heat our little sphere; Rouse, rouse the fire, and pile it high, Light up a constellation here.

Let music sound the voice of joy!
Or mirth repeat the jocund tale;
Let Love his wanton wiles employ,
And o'er the season wine prevail.

Yet time life's dreary winter brings,

When mirth's gay tale shall please no more;

Nor music charm-though Stella sings;
Nor love, nor wine, the Spring restore.

Catch then, O! catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies;
Life's a short Summer-man a flower,

He dies-alas! how soon he dies!



BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove, What dreary prospects round us rise; The naked hill, the leafless grove,

The hoary ground, the frowning skies!

Nor only through the wasted plain, Stern Winter! is thy force confess'd; Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,

I feel thy power usurp my breast.

Enlivening Hope and fond Desire

Resign the heart to Spleen and Care; Scarce frighted Love maintains her fire, And Rapture saddens to despair.

In groundless hope, and causeless fear, Unhappy man! behold thy doom; Still changing with the changeful year, The slave of sunshine and of gloom.

Tir'd with vain joys, and false alarms,
With mental and corporeal strife,
Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,
And screen me from the ills of life




How cheerful along the

gay mead

The daisy and cowslip appear, The flocks as they carelessly feed,

Rejoice in the spring of the year; The myrtles that shade the gay bow'rs,

The herbage that springs from the sod, Trees, plants, cooling fruits, and sweet flow'rs, All rise to the praise of my God.

Shall man, the great master of all,
The only insensible prove?
Forbid it, fair Gratitude's call,

Forbid it, Devotion and Love.

The Lord who such wonders could raise,
And still can destroy with a nod,

My lips shall incessantly praise,

My soul shall be wrapt in my God!




THE wind was high, the window shakes,

With sudden start the Miser wakes;
Along the silent room he stalks,

Looks back, and trembles as he walks;
Each lock and every bolt he tries,
In every creek and corner pries,

Then opes the chest with treasure stor❜d,
And stands in rapture o'er his hoard.
But now, with sudden qualms possest,
He wrings his hands, he beats his breast,
By conscience stung, he wildly stares,
And thus his guilty soul declares:

Had the deep earth her stores confin'd, This heart had known sweet peace of mind. But virtue's sold. Good gods! what price Can recompense the pangs of vice! O bane of good! seducing cheat! Can man, weak man, thy pow'r defeat? Gold banish'd honour from the mind, And only left the name behind; Gold sow'd the world with ev'ry ill;

Gold taught the murd'rer's sword to kill:

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