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Who, lower'd in pride, and baffled by defeat,
THE HOROLOGE OF THE FIELDS.
Addressed to a Young Lady, on seeing at the House of an Acquaintance
a magnificent French Time-piece.
(From Charlotte Smith's Poems.) OR her who owns this splendid toy,
Mark where transparent waters glide,
Soft flowing o'er their tranquil bed;
But conscious of the earliest beam,
She rises from her humid rest, And sees reflected in the stream
The virgin whiteness of her breast.
Till the bright day-star to the west
Declines in ocean's surge to lave, Then folded in her modest vest,
She slumbers on the rocking wave.
See Hieracium's various tribe,
Of plumy seed and radiate flowers, The course of Time their blooms describe,
And wake or sleep appointed hours.
Broad o'er its imbricated cup
The Goatsbeard spreads its golden rays, But shuts its cautious petals up,
Retrealing froin the noon-tide blaze:
Pale as a pensive cloister'd nun
The Bethlem-star her face unveils, When o'er the mountain peers the sun,
But shades it from the vesper gales.
Among the loose and arid sands
The hunnble Arenaria creeps; Slowly the purple star expands,
But soon within its calyx sleeps.
And those small bells so lightly ray'd
With young Aurora's rosy hue; Are to the noon-tide sun display'd,
But shut their plaits against the dew.
On upland slopes the shepherds mark
The hour, when, as the dial true, Cichorium to the towe ing lark,
Lifts her soft eyes, serenely blue.
And thou, “ Wee crimson tipped flower,"
Gatherest thy fringed mantle round Thy bosom, at the closiog lour,
When night-drops bathe the turfy ground. Unlike Silene, who declines
The garish noontide's blazing light;
Gives all her sweetness to the night.
That in our path untrodden lie,
How fast the winged moments fly.
But in thy gospel see it shine,
Proclaiming shuis torgiven;
3 R 4
Then let the love that makes me blest,
And ardent gratitude;
My soul's eternal good.
Dart from thine own celestial flame
With kindred energy ;
And love, and bless like thee.
From the same.
IFE'S ceaseless labours, and illusive joys,
Its storms and waves, what brazen breast could bear, Did not the cherub Faith's reviving voice
Sound its sweet music in affliction's ear?
See she waves high upon her heavenly shore
Her faming brand, that guides me to be blest ! Ye foaming billows roll !-ye tempests roar!
Your rage but drives me sooner to my rest.
The seaman thus, long tost by stormy seas,
With looks of rapture eyes the black’ning land,
And leaps exulting on the welcome strand,
DEATH, JUDGMENT, HEAVEN, AND HELL.
From Short Pieces in Verse, by Clericus.
HY terrors, Death! and wide-extended reign,
Thy gloomy mansions, and thy awful train,
Whose succour I implore,-0! hear my prayer,
Mourn, Adam's sons, the fatal sentence mourn!
Our days are quickly gone, in baste they flee
As the rude ploughshare crops the blooming flower,
Where are our sires ? gone to their silent home.