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Silver'd and mellow'd on thy liquid course,

To neighbouring farm or cottage. There we trust
Right welcome is the sound; more welcome still
The pastor's voice persuasive, when he speaks
Of hopes eternal. Charitable deeds

Shedding a daily beauty on his life,

That makes his doctrines saintly; while, combined,
They form a picture delicate of trait

As the soft scene now mirror'd on thy breast;
While the soft scene and thou, its mirror fair,
Are all the sweet creation of his hand *
Whose touch is genius, and whose life is love.

ANNA SEWARD.

APOSTROPHE TO BRITAIN.

PEERLESS isle,

How dost thou sit amid thy blue domain
Of ocean, like a sceptred queen! The bonds
Like flax have wither'd from thy comely limbs.
Thou, the strong freedom of thy untamed locks
Shaking abroad, adornest God's fair world.
Thou noblest Eden of man's fallen state,
Apart and sever'd from the common earth,
Even like a precious jewel, deep and far
In the abyss of time thy dawn of pride
Still with a fuller and more constant blaze
Grows to its broad meridian, and Time's rolls
Are silent of thy setting. Oh, how fair
The steps of freemen in thy vales of peace;
Thy broad towns teem with wealth, thy yellow
fields

* The drawing was by the Rev. W. Bree.

Laugh in their full fertility; thy bays
Whiten and glisten with the myriad barks.
The angels love thee, and the airs of heaven
Are gladden'd by thy holy hymns, while Faith
Sits on thy altars, like a nestling dove,
In unattainted snowyness of plume.

MILMAN.

A LANDSCAPE.

Rura mihi et irrigui placeant in vallibus amnes.

Now that Summer's ripen'd bloom

Frolics where the Winter frown'd, Stretch'd upon these banks of broom, We command the landscape round. Nature in the prospect yields

Humble dales and mountains bold,
Meadows, woodlands, heaths, and fields
Yellow'd o'er with waving gold.

Goats upon that frowning steep,
Fearless, with their kidlings browse;
Here a flock of snowy sheep,
There a herd of motley cows.

On the uplands, every glade
Brightens in the blaze of day;
O'er the vales the sober shade
Softens to an evening gray.
Where the rill, by slow degrees,
Swells into a crystal pool,
Shaggy rocks and shelving trees
Shoot to keep the waters cool.

Virg.

Shiver'd by a thunderstroke,

From the mountain's misty ridge, O'er the brook a ruin'd oak,

Near the farmhouse, forms a bridge.

On her breast the sunny beam
Glitters in meridian pride;
Yonder as the virgin stream
Hastens to the restless tide:-
Where the ships by wanton gales
Wafted, o'er the green waves run,
Sweet to see their swelling sails
Whiten'd by the laughing sun!
High upon the daisied hill,

Rising from the slope of trees,
How the wings of yonder mill
Labour in the busy breeze!-

Cheerful as a summer's morn

(Bouncing from her loaded pad), Where the maid presents her corn, Smirking to the miller's lad.

O'er the green a festal throng
Gambols in fantastic trim!
As the full cart moves along,
Hearken-'tis their harvest hymn!

Linnets on the crowded sprays
Chorus, and the woodlarks rise,

Soaring with a song of praise,

Till the sweet notes reach the skies.

Torrents in extended sheets

Down the cliffs, dividing, break : "Twixt the hills the water meets, Settling in a silver lake!

From his languid flocks the swain,
By the sunbeams sore oppress'd,
Plunging on the watery plain,

Ploughs it with his glowing breast.
Where the mantling willows nod,
From the green bank's slopy side,
Patient, with his well thrown rod,
Many an angler breaks the tide !
On the isles, with osiers dress'd,
Many a fair-plumed halcyon breeds!
Many a wild bird hides her nest,
Cover'd in yon crackling reeds.
Fork-tail'd prattlers as they pass
To their nestlings in the rock,
Darting on the liquid glass,

Seem to kiss the mimick'd flock. Where the stone-cross lifts its head, Many a saint and pilgrim hoar Up the hill was wont to tread, Barefoot, in the days of yore. Guardian of a sacred well,

Arch'd beneath yon reverend shades, Whilom, in that shatter'd cell,

Many a hermit told his beads.
Sultry mists surround the heath
Where the Gothic dome appears,
O'er the trembling groves beneath
Tottering with a load of years.
Turn to the contrasted scene,
Where, beyond these hoary piles,
Gay, upon the rising green,
Many an attic building smiles!

VOL. II.

Painted gardens-grots-and groves,
Intermingling shade and light!
Lengthen'd vistas, green alcoves,
Join to give the eye delight.

Hamlets-villages, and spires
Scatter'd on the landscape lie,
Till the distant view retires,
Closing in an azure sky.

CUNNINGHAM.

A FRAGMENT.

FAIR Morn ascends; soft Zephyr's wing
O'er hill and vale renews the Spring;
Where sown profusely, herb and flower
Of balmy smell, of healing power,
Their souls in fragrant dews exhale,
And breathe fresh life in every gale.
Here spreads a green expanse of plains,
Where sweetly pensive Silence reigns;
And there, at utmost stretch of eye,
A mountain fades into the sky;
While winding round, diffused and deep,
A river rolls with sounding sweep.

Of human art no traces near,

I seem alone with Nature here!

Here are thy walks, O sacred Health!
The monarch's bliss, the beggar's wealth,
The seasoning of all good below!
The sovereign friend, in joy or woe!
O thou! most courted, most despised,
And but in absence duly prized!

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