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I know not what reviving sun

Can e'er that spring renew:

Then seize the glorious golden days,

That fill your cups with joy, Bid every gay and social scene

Your blissful hours employ:

Oft where the crowded stage invites,

The laughing Muses join;
Or woo them while they sport around

Eugenio's laurel'd shrine :

Oft seek the haunts where Health and Joy

To sportive numbers move;
Or plaintive strains breathe soft desire,

And wake the soul to love :

Yet ah! where'er you bend your way,

Let fair Discretion steer
From Folly's vain delusive charms,

And Passion's wild career.

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So when the wintry hours shall come,

When youth and pleasure fly,
Safe shall you ward th’impending storm,
And Time's rude blast defy;

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Perpetual charms, unfading Spring,

In sweet reflection find;
While Innocence and Virtue bring

A sunshine oʻer the mind.

THE MAN OF SORROW.

(GREVILLE.)

Ah! what avails the lengthening mead, By nature's kindest bounty spread

Along the vale of flowers ! Ah! what avails the dark ning grove, Or Philomel's melodious love,

That glads the midnight hours !

For me (alas !) the god of day
Ne'er glitters on the hawthorn spray,

Nor night her comfort brings:
I have no pleasure in the rose :
For me no vernal beauty blows,

Nor Philomela sings.

See, how the sturdy peasants stride,
Adown yon hillock's verdant side,

In cheerful ignorance blest !
Alike to them the rose or thorn,
Alike arises every morn,

By gay contentment drest.

Content, fair daughter of the skies,
Or gives spontaneous, or denies,

Her choice divinely free,
She visits oft the hamlet-cot,
When want and sorrow are the lot

Of Avarice and me.

But see-or is it Fancy's dream?
Methought a bright celestial gleam

Shot sudden thro' the groves.
Behold, behold, in loose array,
Euphrosyne more bright than day,

More mild than Paphian doves!

Welcome, O! welcome, Pleasure's queen! And see, along the velvet green,

The jocund train advance : With scatter'd flowers they fill the air, The wood-nymph's dew-bespangled hair

Plays in the sportive dance.

Ah! baneful grant of angry heaven,
When to the feeling wretch is given

A soul alive to joy!
Joys fly with every hour away,
And leave th’unguarded heart a prey

To cares, that peace destroy,

And see, with visionary haste,
(Too soon the gay delusion past)

Reality remains !
Despair has seiz'd my captive soul,
And Horror drives without controul,

And slackens still the reins.

Ten thousand beauties round me throng, What beauties, say, ye nymphs, belong

To the distemper'd soul ? I see the lawn of hideous dye, The towering elm nods misery,

With groans the waters roll.

Ye gilded roofs, Palladian domes,
Ye vivid tints of Persia's looms,

Ye were for misery made
'Twas thus the man of sorrow spoke,
His wayward step then pensive took

Along th' unhallow'd shade.

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Oft I've implor'd the gods in vain,

And pray'd till I've been weary ;
For once I'll try my wish to gain

Of Oberon the fairy.

Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,

That lurk'st in woods unseen,
And oft, by Cynthia's silver light,

Trip’st gaily o’er the green;

If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd,

As ancient stories tell;
And for th' Athenian maid who lov'd,

Thou sought'st a wond'rous spell;

Oh! deign once more t exert thy power!

Haply some herb or tree,
Sov'reign as juice of western flow'r,

Conceals a balm for me.

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