Time has but half succeeded in his theft--
Thyself remov'd, thy power to soothe me left.

THE POPLAR-FIELD.

THE poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade,
The winds play no longer, and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.

Twelve years have elaps'd since I last took a view
Of my favourite field and the bank where they grew,
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade.
The blackbird has fled to another retreat

Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat,
And the scene where his melody charm'd me before,
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.

My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in it's stead.

'Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see,
Have a being less durable even than he.

IDEM LATINE REDDITUM.

POPULEÆ cecidit gratissima copia silvæ,
Conticuêre susurri, omnisque evannit umbra.
Nullæ jam levibus se miscent frondibus auræ
Et nulla in fluvio ramorum ludit imago.

Hei mihi! bis senos dum luctû torqueor annos
His cogor silvis suetoque carere recessû,
Cum serò rediens stratasque in gramine cernens
Insedi arboribus sub queîs errare solebam.
Ah ubi nunc merulæ cantus? Felicior illum
Silva tegit, duræ nondum permissa bipenni;
Scilicet exustos colles camposque patentes
Odit, et indignans et non rediturus abivit.
Sed qui succisas doleo succidar et ipse,
Et priùs huic parilis quàm creverit altera silva
Flebor, et, exequiis parvis donatus, habebo
Defixum lapidem tumulique cubantis acervum.
Tam subitò periisse videns tam digna manere
Agnosco humanas sortes et tristia fata-
Sit licèt ipse brevis, volucrique simillimus umbræ,
Est homini brevior citiùsque obitura voluptas.

FROM

THE ANNUAL BILL OF MORTALITY,

NORTHAMPTON.

VIRG.

Placidiq; ibi demum morte quievit.

Then calm at length he breath'd his soul away.

"OH most delightful hour by man

"Experienc'd here below;

The hour that terminates his span,

"His folly and his woe.

"Worlds should not bribe me back to tread

Again life's dreary waste;

"To see my days again o'erspread

My home, henceforth, is in the skies,

"All heaven unfolded to my eyes,

"I have no sight for you."

Thus spake Aspatio, firm possest
Of faith's supporting rod;

Then breath'd his soul into its rest,

The bosom of his God.

He was a man among the few

Sincere on Virtue's side,

And all his strength from Scripture drew,

To hourly use apply'd.

That rule he priz'd, by that he fear'd,

He hated, hop'd, and lov'd,

Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd,

But when his heart had rov'd.

For he was frail as thou or I,

And evil felt within,

But when he felt it, heav'd a sigh, .

And loath'd the thought of sin.

Such liv'd Aspatio, and at last,

Call'd up from earth to heav'n,

The gulph of death triumphant pass'd,
By gales of blessing driven.

His joys be MINE, each reader cries,

When my last hour arrives:

They shall be yours, my verse replies,

Such ONLY be

your lives.

TO THE

REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN.

I.

UNWIN, I should but ill repay

The kindness of a friend,

Whose worth deserves as warm a lay