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THE MIDSUMMER'S WISH.

AN ODE.

BY THE SAME.

O Phobus! dowu the western sky,

Far hence diffuse thy burning ray, Thy light to distant worlds supply,

And wake them to the cares of day.

Come, gentle Eve, the friend of Care,

Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night; Refresh me with a cooling breeze,

And cheer me with a lambent light.

Lay me where o'er the verdant ground

Her living carpet Nature spreads; Where the green bower, with roses crown'd,

In showers its fragrant foliage sheds.

Improve the peaceful hour with wine,

Let music die along the grove; Around the bowl let myrtles twine,

And every strain be cun'd to love.

Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!

Come, born to fill its vast desires ! Thy looks perpetual joys impart,

Thy voice perpetual love inspires.

Whilst all my wish and thine complete,

By turns we languish and we burn, Let sighing gales our sighs repeat,

Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return,

Let me, when Nature calls to rest,

And blushing skies the morn foretel, Sink on the down of Stella's breast,

And bid the waking world farewel.

AUTUMN.

AN ODE.

BY THE SAME.

ALAS! with swift and silent pace

Impatient Time rolls on the year; The seasons change, and Nature's face

Now sweetly sniiles, now frowns severe. 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay,

Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away,

And Summer fruits desert the bough.

The verdant leaves that play'd on high,

And wanton'd on the western breeze, Now trod in dust neglected lie,

As Boreas strips the bending trees.

The fields that wav'd with golden grain,

As russet heaths, are wild and bare; Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain,

Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there.

No more while through the midnight slade,

Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,

As Progne pours the melting lay.

From this capricious clime she soars,

0! would some god but wings supply, To where each morn the Spring restores,

Companion of her flight I'd fly.

Vain wish! me fate compels to bear

The downward season's iron reign, Compels to breathe polluted air,

And shiver on a blasted plain.

What bliss to life can Autumn yield,

If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail; And Ceres flies the naked field,

And flowers, and fruits, and Phæbus fail?

Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,

To cheer me in the darkening hour? The grape remains! the friend of wit,

In love and mirth of mighty power.

Haste-press the clusters, fill the bowl;

Apollo! shoot thy parting ray: This gives the sunshine of the soul,

This god of health, and verse, and day.

Still-still the jocund strain shall flow,

The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; My Stella with new charms shall glow,

And every bliss in wine shall meet.

'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay,

Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away,

And Summer fruits desert the bough.

The rendant leaves that play'd on high,

And wanton'd on the western breeze, Now trod in dust neglected lie,

As Boreas strips the bending trees.

The fields that wav'd with golden grain,

As russet heaths, are wild and bare; Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain,

Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there.

No more whule through the midnight slide,

Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,

As Progne pours the melting lay.

From this capricious clime she soars,

0! would some god but wings supply, To where each morn the Spring restores,

Companion of her flight I'd fly.

l'ain wish! me fate compels to bear

The downward season's iron reign, Compels to breathe polluted air,

And shiver on a blasted plain.

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