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T length the Muse her destin'd task resumes
With joy; agen o’er all her hop-land groves
She longs t'expatiate free of wing. Long while
For a much-loving, much-lov’d youth she wept,
And sorrow'd silence o'er th' untimely urn.
Hush then, effeminate fobs ; and thou, my heart,
Rebel to g.iief no more---And yet a while,
A little while, indulge the friendly tears.
O’er the wild world, like Noah's dove, in vain
I seek the olive peace, around me wide
See! see! the wat’ry waste---In vain, forlorn
I call the Phænix fair Sincerity ;
Alas!---extinguish'd to the skies she fled,
And left no heir behind her. Where is now
Th'eternal smile of goodness ? Where is now 15
That all-extensive charity of soul,
So rich in sweetness, that the classic sounds
In elegance Augustan cloath'd, the wit
That flow'd perennial, hardly were observ’d,
Or, if observ’d, set off a brighter gem.
How oft, and yet how seldom did it seem!
Have I enjoy'd his converse ?---When we met,
The hours how swift they sweetly Aed, and till
Agen I saw him, how they loiter’d. Oh!
* Theophilus, thou dear departed soul,
What flattering tales thou told'st me? How thou’dst hail
My Muse, and took'st imaginary walks
All in my hopland groves ! Stay yet, oh stay!
Thou dear deluder, thou haft seen but half----
He's gone ! and ought that's equal to his praise 30
Fame has not for me, tho’ she
Howe'er this verse be sacred to thy name,
These tears, the last sad duty of a friend.
Oft i'll indulge the pleasurable pain
Of recollection ; oft on Medway's banks
I'll muse on thee full pensive; while her streams
Regardful ever of my grief, Thall flow
In fullen silence filverly along,
The weeping shores----or else accordant with
My loud laments, shall ever and anon
Make melancholy music to the shades,
* Mr. Theophilus Wheeler, of Christ-College, Cambridge.
The hopland shades, that on her banks expose
Serpentine vines and flowing locks of gold.
Ye smiling nymphs, th' inseparable train. Of saffron Ceres; ye, that gamesome dance,
45 And sing to jolly Autumn, while he stands With his right hand poizing the scales of heav'n, And with his left grasps Amalthea's horn: Young chorus of fair bacchanals, descend, And leave a while the sickle; yonder hill, Where stand the loaded hop-poles, claims your care. There mighty Bacchus stradling cross the bin, Waits your attendance--- There he glad reviews His paunch, approaching to immensity Still nearer, and with pride of heart surveys
55 Obedient mortals, and the world his own. See! from the great metropolis they rush, Th'industrious vulgar. They, like prudent bees, In Kent's wide garden roam, expert to crop The flow'ry hop, and provident to work,
63 Ere winter numb their sunburnt hands, and winds Engoal them, murmuring in their gloomy cells. From these, such as appear the rest t'excell In strength and young agility, select. These shall support with vigour and address
65 The bin-man's weighty office; now extract From the fequacious earth the pole, and now
Unmarry from the closely clinging vine.
O'er twice three pickers, and no more, extend
The bin-man's sway; unless thy ears can bear
The crack of poles continual, and thine eyes
Behold unmoved the hurrying peasant tear
Thy wealth, and throw it on the thankless ground:
But first the careful planter will consult
His quantity of acres, and his crop,
How many and how large his kilns; and then
Proportion’d to his wants the hands provide.
But yet, of greater consequence and coft,
One thing remains unsung, a man of faith
And long experience, in whose thund'ring voice
Lives hoarse authority, potent to quell
The frequent frays of the tumultuous crew.
He shall preside o’er all thy hop-land store,
Severe dictator ! His unerring hand,
And eye inquisitive, in heedful guise,
Shall to the brink the measure fill, and fair
On the twin registers the work record.
And yet. I've known them own a female reign,
And gentle * Marianne's soft Orphean voice
Has lıymn’d sweet lessons of humanity
To the wild brutal crew. Oft her command
Has fav’d the pillars of the hopland state,
The Author's youngest Sister.