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Lo! in the vale of years beneath

A griefly troop are seen,

The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring finew strains,
Those in the deeper vitals rage:

Lo! Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-confuming Age.

To each his fuff'rings: all are men,

Condemn'd alike to groan ;

The tender for another's pain,

Th' unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why fhould they know their fate,
Since forrow never comes too late,

And happiness too fwiftly flies?
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more; where ignorance is blifs,
'Tis folly to be wise.

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ABSEN C E.

How

A PASTORAL.

BY THE REV. MR. PARSONS.

OW fweet to recal the dear moments of joy!
"Tis this, and this only, can Abfence employ;
Can ease my fond heart, and beguile my foft pain,
Till I fee with delight my dear charmer again.
Ah! who ever knew fuch full transports as I,

While with her the sweet minutes unheeded pass'd by?

Alas!

Alas! with the sweet recollection I burn;

Bring back your delights, ye dear moments, return!

Ah, me! what delights in my bofom would rife,
While with eager attention I've hung on her eyes,
And watch'd the kind beams of Compaffion and Love,
While fhe pitied my paffion, and feem'd to approve!
Ah, me! with what raptur'd attention I've hung,
To catch the sweet accents that flow'd from her tongue,
When tenderness bade the dear maiden impart
The pleafing fenfations that glow'd in her heart.

O how does my fair-one confume the long day!
Is the charmer quite eafy while I am away!
Indeed, if our thoughts like our hearts fhould agree,
The dear lovely maiden is thinking on me:

Ah! did the but think with fuch fondness as I,

How much would fhe grieve, and how oft would she figh!
Yet with so much fond love may her bosom ne'er burn,
If fhe fighs as I figh, if fhe mourns as I mourn.

But why do I wander? why figh thus alone?

Alas! 'tis the lofs of my fair that I moan.

"

Why thus every hour does my forrow increase?
Alas! it is absence that ruins my peace.

Why fwells my fad bofom with fear and with grief?
Ah! nought but her presence can bring me relief,
Why thus down my cheek trickles faft the big tear?
Alas! can I help it ?-my fair is not here.

Till I nourish'd this paffion, I, all unconcern'd,
Saw Peace my companion wherever I turn'd;
Till now, with my heart all at ease I could reft,
And a figh was a stranger unknown to my
breaft.
What, then, is this love? and why do I endure
Thefe griefs in my mind, nor endeavour to cure?

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When thus my fond heart is o'erwhelm'd with despair,
And I know no delight when away from my fair?

Yet, Colin, thefe pains, fpite of all thou haft faid,
By one hour of her prefence are far over-paid;
Thefe forrows from absence which now you deplore,
Then vanish, are loft, and are thought of no more.
Recal those rash words, and forbear to complain,
Since the next tender meeting rewards all your pain!
Let fweet expectation, then, leffen your care,
Let hope foften abfence, and keep off despair,

Sure, fure, thofe dear pleasures once more will return!
How long in this absence distress'd must I mourn!
How long must I wish, while my lot I deplore,
That dear angel-face !-could I see it once more!

That dear angel-voice !-Time, how swift didft thou seem,
While I liften'd inchanted as love was her theme!

O come those dear hours! and, to foothe my fond pain,
Love again be her theme, and I listen again!

How dull and how flow do the moments retreat!

Time was when they flew, now there's lead on their feet,

Ye loit'rers, be gone; why fo long do ye ftay?

Ye fly when I'm with her, ye creep when away.
Ah! Colin, how foolish Time's progress to blame,
His paces are equal, his motions the fame;
"Twas the joy of her prefence made time appear fleet,
'Tis the pain of her absence adds lead to his feet.

THE

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BY MR. COLE.

O these lone fhades, where Peace delights to dwell,
May Fortune oft permit me to retreat;

Here bid the world, with all it's cares, farewel,
And leave it's pleasures to the rich and great.

Oft as the fummer's fun fhall chear this fcene,
With that mild gleam which points his parting ray,
Here let my foul enjoy each eve ferene,

Here share it's calm, till life's declining day!

No gladfome image then should 'fcape my fight,

From these gay flow'rs, which border near my eye, To yon bright cloud, that decks, with richeft light, The gilded mantle of the western sky.

With ample gaze, I'd trace that ridge remote,
Where op'ning cliffs disclose the boundless main;
With earnest ken, from each low hamlet note
The steeple's fummit peeping o'er the plain.

What various works that rural landscape fill,
Where mingling hedge-rows beauteous fields inclofe;

And prudent Culture, with industrious skill,
Her chequer'd fcene of crops and fallows fhows!

How

How should I love to mark that riv'let's maze,

Through which it works it's untaught course along;
Whilst near it's graffy banks the herd shall graze,
And blithfome milkmaid chaunt her thoughtless fong?

Still would I note the fhades of length'ning fheep,
As fcatter'd o'er the hill's flant brow they rove;
Still note the day's last glimm'ring luftre creep
From off the verge of yonder upland grove.

Nor should my leisure seldom wait to view

The flow-wing'd rooks in homeward train fucceed; Nor yet forbear the swallow to pursue,

With quicker glance, close skimming o'er the mead.

But mostly here should I delight t' explore

The bounteous laws of Nature's myftick pow'r;
Then muse on Him who bleffeth all her store,
And give to folemn thoughts the fober hour.

Let Mirth, unenvy'd, laugh with proud difdain,
And deem it spleen one moment thus to waste ;
If fo fhe keep far hence her noisy train,

Nor interrupt the joys fhe cannot taste.

Far fweeter ftreams fhall flow from Wisdom's spring,
Than fhe receives from Folly's costlieft bowl;
And what delights can her chief dainties bring,
Like those which feaft the heavenly-penfive foul?

Hail, Silence, then! be thou my frequent gueft;
For thou art wont my gratitude to raise
As high as wonder can the theme suggest,
Whene'er I meditate my Maker's praise.

What

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