Close to Partlet perch'd on high, Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock!) Jocund that the morning's nigh. Swiftly from the mountain's brow, Shadows, nurs'd by night, retire: And the peeping sun-beam, now, 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, in 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 limpid stream distills, Sweet refreshment waits the flock When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.

Colin, for the promis'd corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious, hears the huntsman's horn, Boldly sounding, drown his pipe.

Sweet,-O sweet, the warbling throng, On the white emblossom'd spray! Nature's universal song

Echoes to the rising day.

NOON.

FERVID On the glitt'ring flood,
Now the noon-tide radiance glows:
Dropping o'er its infant bud,

Not a dew-drop's left the rose.

By the brook the shepherd dines;
From the fierce meridian heat
Shelter'd, by the branching pines,

Pendent 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.

Cattle court the zephyrs bland,
Where the streamlet wanders cool;
Or with languid silence stand
Midway in the marshy pool.

But from mountain, dell, or stream,
Not a flutt'ring zephyr springs:
Fearful lest the noon-tide beam
Scorch its soft, its silken wings.

Not a leaf has leave to stir,

Nature's lull'd-serene-and-still! Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur, Sleeping on the hearth-clad hill.

Languid is the landscape round,

Till the fresh descending shower, Grateful to the thirsty ground, Raises ev'ry fainting flower.

Now the hill-the hedge-is green, Now the warblers' throats in tune! Blithsome is the verdant scene, Brighten❜d by the beams of noon!

EVENING.

O'ER the heath the heifer strays
Free;-(the furrow'd task is done)
Now the village windows blaze,

Burnish'd by the setting Sun.

Now he hides behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden sky:
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?

Trudging as the ploughmen go,
(To the smoking hamlet bound)
Giant-like their shadows 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!

As the lark, with vary'd tune,

Carols to the evening loud; Mark the mild resplendent Moon, Breaking through a parted cloud!

Now the hermit Howlet peeps

From the barn, or twisted brake: And the blue mist slowly creeps, Curling on the silver lake.

As the trout in speckled pride,
Playful from its bosom springs;
To the banks, a ruffled tide
Verges in successive rings.

Tripping through the silken grass,
O'er the path divided dale,
Mark the rose-complexion'd lass,
With her well-pois'd milking pail.

Linnets, with unnumber'd notes,

And the cuckoo bird with two, Tuning sweet their mellow throats, Bid the setting Sun adieu.

'Tis strange, the many marshall'd stars,
That ride yon sacred round,
Should keep, among their rapid cars,
A silence so profound!

A kind, a philosophic calm,

The cool creation wears! And what day drank of dewy balm, The gentle night repairs.

Behind their leafy curtains hid,

The feather'd race how still!
How quiet now the gamesome kid,
That gambol'd round the hill!

The sweets, that, bending o'er their banks,
From sultry day declin'd,
Revive in little velvet ranks,

And scent the western wind.

The Moon, preceded by the breeze That bade the clouds retire, Appears amongst the tufted trees, A phoenix nest on fire.

But soft-the golden glow subsides!
Her chariot mounts on high!
And now, in silver'd pomp, she rides
Pale regent of the sky!

Where Time, upon the wither'd tree
Hath carv'd the moral chair,

I sit, from busy passions free,
And breathe the placid air.

The wither'd tree was once in prime;
Its branches brav'd the sky!
Thus, at the touch of ruthless Time,
Shall youth and vigour die.

I'm lifted to the blue expanse!
It glows serenely gay!
Come, Science, by my side, advance,
We'll search the milky way.

How smooth that rapid river slides
Progressive to the deep!
The poppies, pendent o'er its sides,
Have charm'd the waves to sleep.

Pleasure's intoxicated sons !
Ye indolent! ye gay!
Reflect for as the river runs,
Life wings its trackless way.

That branching grove of dusky green
Conceals the azure sky;
Save where a starry space between
Relieves the darken'd eye.

Old Errour, thus, with shades impure,

Throws sacred Truth behind:

Yet sometimes, through the deep obscure, She bursts upon the mind.

Sleep and her sister Silence reign,

They lock the shepherd's fold; But hark-I hear a lamb complain, 'Tis lost upon the wold!

To savage herds, that hunt for prey,
An unresisting prize!

For having trod a devious way,
The little rambler dies.

As luckless is the virgin's lot,

Whom pleasure once misguides: When hurried from the halcyon cot, Where Innocence presides—

The passions, a relentless train!
To tear the victim run:

She seeks the paths of peace in vain,
Is conquer'd and undone.

How bright the little insects blaze, Where willows shade the way: As proud as if their painted rays Could emulate the day!

Tis thus, the pigmy sons of Pow'r Advance their vain parade! Thus, glitter in the darken'd hour, And like the glow-worms fade!

The soft serenity of night,

Ungentle clouds deform! The silver host that shone so bright, Is hid behind a storm!

The angry elements engage!

An oak (an ivied bower!) Repels the rough wind's noisy rage, And shields me from the shower.

The rancour, thus, of rushing fate,
I've learnt to render vain :
For whilst Integrity 's her seat,
The soul will sit serene.

A raven, from some greedy vault,
Amidst that cloister'd gloom,

Bids me, and 'tis a solemn thought!
Reflect upon the tomb.
VOL. XIV.

CONCEAL'D within an hawthorn bush,
We 're told, that an experienc'd Thrush
Instructed, in the prime of spring,
Many a neighbouring bird to sing.
She caroll'd, and her various song
Gave lessons to the list'ning throng:
But (the entangling boughs between)
'Twas her delight to teach unseen.

At length, the little wond'ring race
Would see their fav'rite face to face;
They thought it hard to be deny'd,
And begg'd that she 'd no longer hide.
O'er-modest, worth's peculiar fault,
Another shade the tut'ress sought;
And loth to be too much admir'd,
In secret from the bush retir'd.
An impudent, presuming Pie,
Malicious, ignorant, and sly,
Stole to the matron's vacant seat,

And in her arrogance elate,

Rush'd forward-with-" My friends, you see The mistress of the choir in me:

Ff