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3 But fix'd unalterable Care
Foregoes not what she feels within,
And slights the season and the scene.
4 For all that pleased in wood or lawn,
While Peace possess’d these silent bowers,
Has lost its beauties and its powers.
5 The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley, musing slow;
But not like me to nourish woe!
6 Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste
Alike admonish not to roam ;
And those of sorrows yet to come.
THE WINTER NOSEGAY.
1 What Nature, alas ! has denied
To the delicate growth of our isle, Art has in a measure supplied,
And Winter is deck'd with a smile. See, Mary, what beauties I bring
From the shelter of that sunny shed, , Where the flowers have the charms of the spring
Though abroad they are frozen and dead.
2 'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets,
Where Flora is still in her prime;
From the cruel assaults of the clime.
These pinks are as fresh and as gay
On the beautiful bosom of May.
3 See how they have safely survived
The frowns of a sky so severe !
Through many a turbulent year.
Seem graced with a livelier hue,
The truth of a friend such as you.
NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE.
The lady thus address'd her spouse-
No doubt, my dear, I bade him come,
You are so deaf, the lady cried
Dismiss poor Harry! he replies ;
Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing !-
Alas! and is domestic strife,
Then farewell all that must create
The love that cheers life's latest stage,
TO THE REV. MR NEWTON.
AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY.
1 The swallows in their torpid state
Compose their useless wing, And bees in hives as idly wait
The call of early Spring.
2 The keenest frost that binds the stream,
The wildest wind that blows,
Secure of their repose.
3 But man, all feeling and awake,
The gloomy scene surveys ;
And pant for brighter days.
4 Old Winter, halting o'er the mead,
Bids me and Mary mourn ;
And whispers your return.
5 Then April, with her sister May,
Shall chase him from the bowers, And weave fresh garlands every day,
To crown the smiling hours.
6 And if a tear, that speaks regret
Of happier times, appear,
Shall shine, and dry the tear.
BOADICEA. AN ODE.
1 When the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Counsel of her country's gods
2 Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief ;
Full of rage, and full of grief.