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Wiping Love's tear-streaming eyes,
SONNET TO THE RIVER TWEED.
BY THE REV, W.L. BOWLES.
O TWEED! a stranger that, with wand'ring feet,
O'er hill and dale has journey'd many a mile;
If so his weary thoughts he might beguile, Delighted turns thy beauteous scenes to greet.
The waving branches that romantic bend
O'er thy tall banks, a soothing cbarm bestow;
The murmurs of thy wand'ring wave below, Seem to his ear the pity of a friend.
Delightful stream! though now along thy shore,
When Spring returns in all her wonted pride, The shepherd's distant pipe is beard no more,
Yet here with peosive peace could I abide: Far from the stormy world's tumultuous roar,
To muse upon tby banks at even tide.
VIRTUE'S REPLY TO PLEASURE.
'Tis with the gods and godlike men I dwell,
Me, his supreme delight, th' Almighty sire, Regards well pleas'd; whatever works excel,
All or divine, or human, I inspire.
Counsel with strength, and industry with art,
In union meet, conjoin' with me reside; My dictates arnı, instruct, and mend the heart,
The surest policy, the wisest guide. With me true friendship dwells: she deigns to bind Those generous souls alone, whom I before have join'd.
Nor need my friends the various costly feast,
Hunger to them th' effects of art supplies; Labour prepares their weary limbs to rest,
Sweet is their sleep: light, cheerful, strong they rise.
Thro' health, thro' joy, thro' pleasure and renown,
They tread my paths: and, by a soft descent, At length to age all gently sinking down,
Look back with transport on a life well spent. In which, no hour flew unimprov'd away, In which, some generous deed distinguish'd every day. And when, the destin'd term at length complete,
Their ashes rest in peace; eternal fame Sounds wide their praise : triumphant over fate,
In sacred song for ever lives their name.
This Hercules is happiness! obey
My voice, and live. Let thy celestial birth Lift and eularge thy thoughts. Behold the way
That leads to fame, and raises thee from earth. Immortal! Lo, I guide thy steps. Arise, Pursue the glorious path, and claim thy native skies.
HYMN TO CONTENT.
BY MRS. BARBAULD.
O thou, the Nymph with placid eye!
Receive my temp'rate vow:
And smooth, unalter'd brow.
O come, in simplest vest array'd,
To bless my longing sight;
And chaste subdued delights.
No more by varying passions beat,
To find thy hermit cell;
Thy modest virtues dwell.
Simplicity in Attic vest,
And clear undaunted eye;
A vista to the sky.
There Health, through whose calm bosom glide
That rarely ebb or flow;
To meet the offer'd blow.
Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
With settled smiles to meet;
And kiss'd thy sainted feet.
But thou, O Nymph, retir'd and coy!
To tell thy simple tale?
And lily of the vale.
O say what soft propitious hout
And court thy gentle sway? When Autumn, friendly to the Muse, Shall thy own modest tints diffuse
And shed tliy milder day.
When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
And ev'ry storm is laid;
Low whisp'ring through the shade.