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Perchance, on some unpeopled strand
Whose rocks the raging tide withstand,
Thy soothing smile, in deserts drear,
A lonely mariner may cheer,
Who bravely holds his feeble breath,
Attack'd by Famine, Pain, and Death.
With thee, he bears each tedious day
Along the dreary beach to stray:
Whence their wide way his toil'd eyes strain
O'er the blue bosom of the main;
And meet, where distant surges rave,
A white sail in each foaming wave.

Doom'd from each native joy to part,
Each dear connexion of the heart,
You the poor exile's steps attend,
The only undeserting friend :
You wing the slow declining year;
You dry the solitary tear;
And oft, with pious guile, restore
Those scenes he must behold no more,

O most adored of earth or skies !
To thee ten thousand temples rise ;
By age retain'd, by youth caress'd,
The same dear idol of the breast:
Deprived of thee, the wretch were poor
That rolls in heaps of Lydian ore;
With thee the simple hind is gay,
Whose toil supports the passing day.

The rose-lipp'd Loves that, round their queen,
Dance o'er Cythera's smiling green
Thy aid implore, thy power display
In many a sweetly warbled lay.
For ever in thy sacred shrine
Their unextinguish'd torches shine;

For me,

Idalian flowers their sweets diffuse,
And myrtles shed their balmy dews.
Ah! still propitious, mayst thou deign
To soothe an anxious lover's pain !
By thee deserted, well I know,
His heart would feel no common woe.
His gentle prayer propitious hear,
And stop the frequent-falling tear.

fair Hope, if once again,
Perchance, to smile on me you deign,
Be such your sweetly rural air,
And such a graceful visage wear,
As when, with Truth and young Desire,
You waked the lord of Hagley's lyre;
And painted to her Poet's mind
The charms of Lucy fair and kind.

But ah! too early lost!-then go,
Vain Hope, thou harbinger of woe.
Ah! no;—that thought distracts my heart:
Indulge me, Hope, we must not part.
Direct the future as you please;
But give me, give me present ease.

Sun of the soul! whose cheerful ray

Darts o'er this gloom of life a smile ;
Sweet Hope, yet further gild my way,

Yet light my weary steps a while,
Till thy fair lamp dissolve in endless day.

LANGHORNE.

TO SPRING.

SWEET daughter of a rough and stormy sire, Hoar Winter's blooming child, delightful Spring!

Whose unshorn locks with leaves

And swelling buds are crown'd; From the green islands of eternal youth [shade), (Crown'd with fresh blooms, and ever springin

Turn, hither turn thy step,

O thou, whose powerful voice More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed, Or Lydian flute, can soothe the madding winds,

And through the stormy deep

Breathe thy own tender calm,
Thee, best beloved! the virgin train await
With songs and festal rites, and joy to rove

Thy blooming wilds among,

And vales and dewy lawns, With untired feet; and cull thy earliest sweets To weave fresh garlands for the glowing brow

Of him the favour'd youth

That prompts their whisper'd sigh. Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers That drop their sweetness on the infant buds,

And silent dews that swell

The milky ear's green stem,
And feed the flowering osier's early shoots ;
And call those winds which through the whisper-

ing boughs
With warm and pleasant breath
Salute the blowing flowers,

7

Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn,
And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er the dale;

And watch with patient eye

Thy fair unfolding charms.
O nymph, approach! while yet the temperate sun
With bashful forehead, through the cool moist air

Throws his young maiden beams,

And with chaste kisses woos
The earth's fair bosom; while the streaming veil
Of lucid clouds with kind and frequent shade

Protects thy modest blooms

From his severer blaze.
Sweet is thy reign, but short: The red dog-star
Shall scorch thy tresses, and the mower's scythe

Thy greens, thy flowerets all

Remorseless shall destroy.
Reluctant shall I bid thee then farewell;
For 0, not all that Autumn's lap contains

Nor Summer's ruddiest fruits

Can aught for thee atone,
Fair Spring, whose simplest promise more delights
Than all their largest wealth, and through the heart

Each joy and new born hope
With softest influence breathes.

MRS. BARBAULD.

TO SPRING.
HENCE, Winter, gloomy power!
Beneath thine iron rod we groan too long;

Nor vernal sight nor song
Hath yet awoke to soothe the lagging hour.

Go, with thy loathed band,
Where hills of ice and snowy mountains rise,

Whose strength the sun defies :
There, amid dismal caves and icy thrones,
Dispense thine horrid frowns;

[land. While storms and hail and wind for ever fill the

But come, soft Spring! no more delay To bless us with thy genial sway! Thy beams have yet but faintly shone, By storms and darkness soon o'erblown; No fostering warmth they yet have shed To wake the verdure of the mead; To ope the primrose' wild perfume, Or rear to life the violet's bloom. Then come, sweet nymph, with fixed pace! The tyrant shall with fearful face Behold far off thy steady beams, And haste away his ragged teams. O, come, thou queen of gay delights, Though late, to bless our longing sights! Flowers shall spring up beneath thy way, And earth and air and seas be gay. Adown the mountain's woody side The tumbling torrent shall subside; And the whistling wind no more Through the castle's turrets roar; But rills shall lulling music keep, And spires and battlements shall peep With glittering hue amid the shade; While shepherds' pipes shall from the glade Echo sweet; and virgins gay, With fresh-bloom'd cheeks, to hear them play, Shall issue from the castle's bounds, And dance to thee their merry rounds.

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