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And paint that sweetly vacant scene, When, all beneath the poplar bough, My spirits light, my soul serene,

I breath'd in verse one cordial vow; That nothing should my soul inspire, But friendship warm, and love entire.

Dull to the sense of new delight,

On thee the drooping muse attends, As some fond lover, robb'd of sight, On thy expressive pow'r depends; Nor would exchange thy glowing lines, To live the lord of all that shines.

But let me chase those vows away Which at Ambition's shrine I made, Nor ever let thy skill display

Those anxious moments ill repaid: Oh! from my breast that season raze, And bring my childhood in its place.

Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,
And bring the hobby I bestrode;
When pleas'd in many a sportive ring
Around the room I jovial rode :

Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu,

And bring the whistle that I blew.

Then will I muse and pensive say,
Why did not these enjoyments last?
How sweetly wasted I the day,
While innocence allow'd to waste!
Ambition's toils alike are vain,

But, ah! for pleasure yield us pain.

Shenstone.

VERSES

WRITTEN BY THE LATE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD,

Over a sideboard at Sir William Stanhope's.

LET social mirth with gentle manners join,
Unstun'd by laughter, uninflam'd by wine;
Let reason unimpair'd exert its powers,
But let gay fancy strew the way with flowers.
Far hence the wag's and witling's scurril jest,
Whose noise and nonsense shock the decent guest:
True wit and humour such low helps decline,
Nor will the graces owe their charms to wine.
Fools fly to drink, in native dulness sunk :

In vain-they're ten times greater fools when drunk.
Thus free from riot, innocently gay,

We'll neither wish, nor fear our final day.

Pleasing Reflections.

A HYMN ON GRATITUDE.

WHEN all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise:
O how shall words with equal warmth
The gratitude declare,

That glows within my ravish'd heart!
But thou canst read it there.

Thy providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redrest,
When in the silent womb I lay,

And hung upon the breast.

To all my weak complaints and cries, Thy mercy lent an ear,

Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt To form themselves in pray'r.

Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestow'd,
Before my infant heart conceiv'd

From whom those comforts flow'd; When in the slipp'ry paths of youth, With heedless steps I ran,

Thy arm unseen convey'd me safe,

And led me up to man.

Thro' hidden dangers, toils, and death,
It gently clear'd my way,

And thro' the pleasing snares of vice,
More to be fear'd than they.

When worn with sickness oft hast Thou
With health renew'd my face;
And when in sins and sorrows sunk,
Reviv'd my soul with grace.

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
Has made my cup run o'er,
And in a kind and faithful friend
Has doubled all my store.
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ;

Nor is the least a cheerful heart
That tastes those gifts with joy.

Thro' ev'ry period of my life

Thy goodness I'll pursue,

And, after death, in distant worlds

The glorious theme renew.
When nature fails, and day and night

Divide thy works no more,

My ever grateful heart, O Lord,

Thy mercies shall adore.

Thro' all eternity to Thee
A joyful song I'll raise,
For, oh! eternity's too short
To utter all thy praise!

Addison,

1

TO LAURA, AT PARTING.

LAURA! thy sighs must now no more
My falt'ring steps detain ;

Nor dare I hang thy sorrows o'er,
Nor clasp thee thus in vain :

Yet, while thy bosom heaves that sigh,
While tears thy cheeks bedew,

Ah! think, tho' doom'd from thee to fly,
My heart speaks no adieu.

Thee would I bid to check those sighs,
If thine were heard alone;
Thee would I bid to dry those eyes,

But tears are in my own.

One last, long kiss, and then we part—

Another, and adieu!

I cannot aid thy breaking heart,

For mine is breaking too.

Smyth.

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