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To thee, whose temple is all space,
UTREACH ROus conscience! while she seems to sleep
As all-rapacious usurers conceal
ON AN INFANT.
To the dark and silent tomb,
A PASTORAL IN THREE PARTS..
In the barn the tenant cock,
Shadows nurs'd by night, retire;
Paints with gold the village spire. Philomel forsakes the thorn,
Plaintive where she prates at night; And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight, From the low roof'd cottage ridge,
See the chatt'ring swallow spring; Darting through the one arch'd bridge, Quick she dips her dappled wing. Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale; Kidlings, now, begin to crop
Daisies, on the dewy dale. From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd, (Restless till her task be done,) Now the busy bee's employ'd,
Sipping dew before the sun. Trickling through the crevic'd rock, Where the limped stream distils, Sweet refreshment waits the flock,
When 'tis sun-drove from the hills. Colin's for the promis'd corn
(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious; whilst the huntsman's horn, Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe." Sweet; O sweet, the warbling throng, On the white emblossom'd spray ! Nature's universal song
Echoes to the rising day.
FERVID On the glitting flood,
From the fierce meridian heat,
Pendant o'er his grassy seat. Now the flock forsakes the glade, Where uncheck'd the sun-beams fall, Sure to find a pleasing shade By the ivy'd abbey wall. Echo, in her airy round,
O'er the river, rock, and hill, Cannot catch a single sound,
Save the clack of yonder mill.
Where the streamlet wanders cool,
But from mountain, dell, or stream,
Scorch its soft its silken wings.
Nature's lull'd, serene, and still!
Sleeping on the heath-clad hill,
Till the fresh descending show'r,
Raises ev'ry fainting flower.
Now the hill, the hedge, are green,
O'ER the heath the heifer strays
Sinking from a golden sky;
Copy the refulgent dye? Trudging as the ploughmen go,
(To the smoaking hamlet bound,) Giant like their shadow's grow,
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground. Where the rising forest spreads
Shelter for the lordly dome! To their high built airy beds,
See the rooks returning home!
Carols to the ev'ning loud;
From the barn or twisted brake; And the blue mist slowly creeps,
Curling on the silver lake.
As the trout in speckled pride,
Verges in successive rings.
And the cuckoo bird with two, Tuning sweet their mellow throats, Bid the setting sun adieu.