Give me, O! give me, fuch a sylvan life,
Devoid of care, of trouble, and of ftrife;
Little poffeffing in a quiet ftate,

I'd laugh at empires, and be truly great.

But ftop, my Mufe.-Refume the fummer lay,
And fing the labours of the fragrant hay.
Behold the ruftic crew, with prongs and rakes,
Amidft the heat the ruffet hay-cock makes.
The old, the young, the maiden, and the fwain,
Together join, and toil upon the plain.
With blended voice of joy, they wake the gale,
While honeft glee refounds from vale to vale,
See too, amidst the heat, a fimple scene!

From whence this noise ? what can this tumult mean?
Lo! in the brooks the shepherds plunge the flocks,
Whofe ceafelefs bleatings wake the echoing rocks.
Their fnowy fleece they lofe with patient fears,
And bow fubmiffive to the founding fhears.
At length, clean fhorn, they are releas'd again,
And once more tafte the verdure of the plain.
While fnmmer's glories scenes of bliss dispense,
With in-felt joy, it glads my ev'ry fenfe,
To fee the fields with waving harvefts fmile,
And fwelling beauties of the fruitful foil,

Replete with riches for the farmer's toil.

Now, let the painting Muse ftrive to intrude
Where Nature dwells in awful folitude:

When the bright fun, in noon-tide heat array'd,
I'd breathe the coolnefs of fome verdant fhade.

}

The bleft retreat, where contemplation lives,
And fober peace and gentle quiet gives.
Where the fweet chaunters of the feather'd choir,
From fultry faintnefs to the fhades retire:
And big with forrow, where the turtle dove,
In mournful dirges, mourns her lifeless love.
There, on the verge of fome foft-founding ftream,
My Mufe retir'd, would chufe her fav'rite theme,
And paint Aurora's charms, the fylvan glades,
And all the beauties of the ev'ning fhades.
The wood-crown'd hill, and gentle purling flood,
The mazy valley, and the lofty wood,
The limpid fprings, and ever-verdant bow'rs,
And balmy fragrance of the clofing flow'rs.
When finking Sol, with downward orb defcends,
And rifing night her gloomy vale extends*;
When gentle murmurs whisper in the breeze,
And foftly kifs the fleeping flow'rs and trees;
To fome fair fpot, the Mufes happy feat,
In thought engag'd, I gladly would retreat;
Of bounteous Nature take a full furvey,
And to th' Almighty confecrate my lay.
And while the nightingales their notes prolong,
To Nature's God I'd dedicate my song,
To whofe all-bounteous hand all joys we owe,
And ev'ry earthly comfort here below.

Night, fable Goddefs! from her ebon throne
In raylefs majefty, on earth defcends.

DR. YOUNG.

THE EN D.

The bending Hermit here a pray'r began:
Lendas in Heav'n, on Earth thy will be done:
Then gladly hiring, sought his ancient place,
And spent a life of piety and grace.

Published as the Act directs, by Roach Russel Court Aug, 26.1798.

DESERTED VILLAGE by Oliver Goldsmith.

THE HERMIT,

by Dr Parnell.

An addrefs to MEDITATION written on the S Shore, by Moonlight,

6

nal Notes a

by M Carter, &c, &c.

Mustrations

the Author of SOLIT

Now lost to all; her friends her virtue fled
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head

'LOND O N.

Printed by and for JRoach Russel Court Drury Lane 1793.
Price Six Pence,