Of mighty realms are such the poor remains?
Of mighty realms that fell, when, mad with pow'r,
They call'd for vice to revel on their plains;

The monster doom'd their offspring to devour! O Albion! would'st thou shun their mournful fate, To shun their follies and their crimes be thine; And woo to linger in thy fair retreat,

The radiant Virtues, progeny divine!

Fair Truth, with dauntless eye and aspect bland; Sweet Peace, whose brow no angry frown deSoft Charity, with ever-open hand; [forms; And Courage, calm amid surrounding storms.

O lovely train! O haste to grace our isle!

So may the Power who every blessing yields, Bid on her clime serenest seasons smile,

[fields. And crown with annual wealth her far-fam'd

WRITTEN AT

THE APPROACH OF WINTER.

THE Sun far southward bends his annual way,
The bleak north-east wind lays the forests bare,
The fruit ungather'd quits the naked spray,
And dreary Winter reigns o'er earth and air.

No mark of vegetable life is seen,

No bird to bird repeats his tuneful call; Save the dark leaves of some rude evergreen, Save the lone red-breast on the moss-grown wall. Where are the sprightly prospects Spring supplied,

The may-flower'd hedges scenting every breeze; The white flocks scattering o'er the mountain's side,

The woodlarks warbling on the blooming trees?

Where is gay Summer's sportive insect train,
That in green fields on painted pinions play'd?
The herd at morn wide-pasturing o'er the plain,
Or throng'd at noon-tide in the willow shade?
Where is brown Autumn's evening mild and still,
What time the ripen'd corn fresh fragrance yields,
What time the village peoples all the hill,

And loud shouts echo o'er the harvest fields?

To former scenes our fancy thus returns,

To former scenes that little pleas'd when here! Our winter chills us, and our Summer burns, Yet we dislike the changes of the year.

To happier lands then restless Fancy flies, [flow; Where Indian streams through green savannahs Where brighter suns and ever tranquil skies

Bid new fruits ripen, and new flowerets blow. Let truth these fairer happier lands surveyThere frowning Months descend in watry storms; Or Nature faints amid the blaze of day,

And one brown hue the sun-burnt plain deforms. There oft, as toiling in the sultry fields,

Or homeward passing on the shadeless way, His joyless life the weary labourer yields, And instant drops beneath the deathful ray. Who dreams of Nature, free from Nature's strife? Who dreams of constant happiness below? The hope-flush'd enterer on the stage of life; The youth to knowledge unchastis'd by woe. For me, long toil'd on many a weary road, Led by false Hope in search of many a joy; I find in Earth's bleak clime no bless'd abode, No place, no season, sacred from annoy :

For me, while Winter rages round the plains,
With his dark days I human life compare; [rains,
Not those more fraught with clouds, and winds, and
Than this with pining pain and anxious care.
O! whence this wondrous turn of mind our Fate-
Whate'er the season or the place possess❜d,
We ever murmur at our present state;

And yet the thought of parting breaks our rest?
Why else, when heard in evening's solemn gloom,
Does the sad knell, that sounding o'er the plain
Tolls some poor lifeless body to the tomb,
Thus thrill my breast with melancholy pain?
The voice of Reason thunders in my ear:
"Thus thou, ere long, must join thy kindred clay;
No more those nostrils breathe the vital air,
No more those eyelids open on the day!"
O Winter, o'er me hold thy dreary reign!
Spread wide thy skies in darkest horrors dress'd!
Of their dread rage no longer I'll complain,
Nor ask an Eden for a transient guest.
Enough has Heaven indulg'd of joy below,
To tempt our tarriance in this lov❜d retreat;
Enough has Heaven ordain'd of useful woe,
To make us languish for a happier seat.
There is, who deems all climes, all seasons fair;
There is, who knows no restless passion's strife;
Contentment, smiling at each idle care;

Contentment, thankful for the gift of life!

She finds in Winter many a view to please; [gay, The morning landscape fring'd with frost-work The sun at noon seen through the leafless trees, The clear calm ether at the close of day:

She marks the' advantage storms and clouds beWhen blustering Caurus purifies the air; [stow, When moist Aquarius pours the fleecy snow,

That makes the' impregnate gleme a richer harvest bear;

She bids, for all, our grateful praise arise,

TO HIM whose mandate spake the world to form; Gave Spring's gay bloom, and Summer's cheerful skies,

And Autumn's corn-clad field, and Winter's sounding storm.

WRITTEN AT

AMWELL, IN HERTFORDSHIRE, 1768.

O FRIEND! though silent thus thy tongue remains, I read inquiry in thy anxious eye,

Why my pale cheek the frequent tear distains?

Why from my bosom bursts the frequent sigh? Long from these scenes detain'd in distant fields, My mournful tale perchance escap'd thy ear; Fresh grief to me the repetition yields;

Thy kind attention gives thee right to hear! Foe to the world's pursuit of wealth and fame, Thy Theron early from the world retir'd, Left to the busy throng each boasted aim, Nor aught, save peace in solitude, desir'd. A few choice volumes there could oft engage, A few choice friends there oft amus'd the day; There his lov'd parents' slow-declining age, Life's calm unvaried evening wore away.

Foe to the futile manners of the proud,
He chose an humble virgin for his own;
A form with Nature's fairest gifts endow'd,
And pure as vernal blossoms newly blown :
Her hand she gave, and with it gave a heart
By love engag'd, with gratitude impress'd,
Free without folly, prudent without art,

With wit accomplish'd, and with virtue bless'd. Swift pass'd the hours; alas, to pass no more! Flown like the light clouds of a summer's day! One beauteous pledge the beauteous consort bore; The fatal gift forbad the giver's stay.

Ere twice the sun perform'd his annual round,
In one sad spot where kindred ashes lie,
O'er wife, and child, and parents, clos'd the ground;
The final home of man ordain'd to die!

O cease at length, obtrusive Memory! cease,
Nor in my view the wretched hours retain,
That saw Disease on her dear life increase,
And Med'cine's lenient arts essay'd in vain.
O the dread scene! (in misery how sublime!)
Of Love's vain prayers to stay her fleeting breath!
Suspense, that restless watch'd the flight of Time,
And helpless dumb Despair, awaiting Death!

O the dread scene!-'Tis agony to tell,

How o'er the couch of pain declin'd my head; And took from dying lips the long farewell, The last, last parting, ere her spirit fled.

"Restore her Heaven! as from the grave retrieveIn each calm moment all things else resign'd, Her looks, her language, show how hard to leave The lov'd companion she must leave behind.