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Then April, with her fifter May, Shall chafe him from the bowers, And weave fresh garlands every day, To crown the smiling hours.
And, if a tear, that fpeaks regret
A glimpse of joy, that we have met,
ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON,
(NOW MRS. COURTNEY.)
SHE came-she is gone-we have met→→→→
The fun of that moment is fet,
And feems to have rifen in vain.
The laft evening ramble we made,
By the nightingale warbling nigh.
We paused under many a tree,
And much she was charmed with a tone
Lefs fweet to Maria and me,
Who had witneffed fo lately her own.
My numbers that day she had fung,
Could infufe into numbers of mine.
The longer I heard, I efteemed
The work of my fancy the more,
And ev❜n to myself never feemed
Though the pleasures of London exceed In number the days of the year, Catharina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here; For the clofe woven arches of limes On the banks of our river, I know,
Are sweeter to her many times
Than all that the city can show.
So it is, when the mind is endued
Then, whether embellished or rude,
Since then in the rural recefs
Catharina alone can rejoice,
May it ftill be her lot to poffefs
The scene of her fenfible choice!
To inhabit a manfion remote
From the clatter of street-pacing fteeds, And by Philomel's annual note
To measure the life that the leads.
With her book, and her voice, and her lyre,
As oft as it fuits her to roam,
She will have juft the life the prefers,
And ours will be pleasant as hers,
Might we view her enjoying it here.
THE MORALIZER CORRECTED.
A HERMIT (or if 'chance hold
That title now too trite and old)
A man, once young, who lived retired
His hours of study closed at last,
And, ftaff in hand, fet forth to share
A western bank's ftill funny fide,