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Perhaps some veteran, whom Egyptic sands
Have reft of sight, (O, when will warfare cease!)
Leans on his staff, and wishes that but once,
But only once, he could behold those blooms,
Which now recal his father's little field.

THE EFFECTS OF JUDICIOUS CULTURE.
[From the same.]

Y such resources so applied, I've seen,

BY

As if it were, a new creation smile;
Have seen the clover, red and white supplant
The purple heath-bell; rustling ears succeed
The dreary stillness of the lurid moor;
The glutted heifer lowing for the pai!,
Where starving sheep picked up their scanty fare;
The sheltering hawthorn blossom, where the furze
Its rugged aspect reared; and I have heard,
Where melancholy plovers hovering screamed,
The partridge-call, at gloamin's lovely hour,
Far o'er the ridges break the tranquil hush;
And morning larks ascend with songs of joy,
Where erst the whinchat chirped from stone to stone.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE COTTAGER'S OCCUPATION IN

WINTER.

[From the same.]

E shuts again his door, and turns his hand

HE

To home employment,-mending now a hive,

With bark of brier darned pliant through the seams ¿
Or, looking forward through the wintry gloom
To summer days, and meadows newly mown,
Repairs his toothless rake; or feeds his bees;
Or drives a nail into his studded shoon;
Or twists a wisp, and winds the spiral steps
Around the hen-roost ladder: deeply fixed,
Meanwhile his children quit their play, and stand
With look inquiring, and inquiring tongue,
Admiring much his skill. Thus glides the day;
Thus glide the evening hours, when laid to rest
His imps are stilled, and with its deep-toned hum
The wool-wheel joins the excluded tempest's howl.
Perhaps some neighbour braves the blast, and cheers
The fire-side ring; then blaze the added peats,
Or moss-dug faggot, brightening roof and wall,
And rows of glancing plates that grace the shelves.

The

The jest meanwhile, or story of old times,

Goes cheery round; or, from some well-soiled page,
Are read the deeds of heroes, by the light

Mayhap of brands, whereon-when greenwood trees
Were all their canopy-their armour hung.

RECOMMENDATION OF PLANTING WILLOWS FOR
BASKET-MAKING.

[From the same.]

HE man bowed down with age, the sickly youth,

TH

The widowed mother with her little child,

That lends its aid and loves to be employed,

Find, from this easy toil, a help in need.

The blind man's blessing lights on him who plants
An osier bed: Oh! I have seen a smile
Of mild content upon the assembled group
Of piteous visages, whose dextrous hands,
Taught by the public care, plied the light task;
And I have heard, their hour of labour done,
That simple, sacred strain, By Babel's streams,
Rise from the sightless band, with such a power
Of heart-dissolving melody,-move such a host
Of strong o'erwhelming feelings in the breast,
As wrung a tear from most obdurate eyes.

Once I beheld a captive, whom these wars
Had made an inmate of the prison-house,
Cheering with wicker-work (that almost scemed
To him a sort of play) his dreary hours.
I asked his story: in my native tongue
(Long use had made it easy as his own)
He answered thus:-Before these wars began,
I dwelt upon the willowy banks of Loire :
I married one who, from my boyish days,

Had been my playmate. One morn,-I'll ne'er forget!→→
While busy choosing out the prettiest twigs,
To warp a cradle for our child unboru,
We heard the tidings, that the conscript-lot
Had fallen on me; it came like a death-knell.
The mother perished, but the babe survived;
And, ere my parting day, his rocking couch
I made complete, and saw him sleeping smile,—
The smile that played upon the cheek of her
Who lay clay-cold. Alas! the hour soon came
That forced my fettered arms to quit my child;
And whether now he lives to deck with flowers
The sod upon his mother's grave, or lies
Beneath it by her side, I ne'er could learn :

I think

I think he's gone; and now I only wish
For liberty and home, that I may see,

And stretch myself and die upon that grave!

A FAMILY OF COTTAGERS REDUCED BY THE MONO. POLIZERS OF LAND TO MIGRATE TO A CITY. [From the same.]

BEHOLD the band

With some small remnant of their household gear,
Drawn by the horse which once they 'called their own;

Behold them take a last look of that roof,

From whence no smoke ascends, and onward move
In silence; whilst each passing object wakes
Remembrances of scenes that never more
Will glad their hearts;-the mill, the smiddy blaze
So cheerful, and the doubling hammer's clink,
Now dying on the ear, now on the breeze
Heard once again. Ah! why that joyous bark
Precursive! Little dost thou ween, poor thing!
That ne'er again the slowly-stepping herd,
And nibbling flock, thou'lt drive a-field or home;
That ne'er again thou'lt chase the limping hare,
While, knowing well thy eager yelp, she scorns
Thy utmost speed, and, from the thistly lea,
Espies, secure, thy puzzled fruitless search.--

But soon thou wilt forget
The cheerful fields; not so the infant train,
Thy playmates gay.-

Oft from their high

And wretched roof, they look, trying, through clouds
Of driving smoke, a glimpse of the green fields
To gain, while, at the view, they feel their hearts
Sinking within them. Ah! these vain regrets
For happiness that now is but a dream,
Are not their sorest evil. No; disease
(The harvest of the crowded house of toil)
Approaches, withering first the opening bloom
Of infant years.

O! that heart-wringing cry,
To take them home,-to take them home again,—
Their ceaseless, death-bed cry, poor innocents!
Repeated while the power to lisp is theirs ;-
Alas! that home no more shall ye behold;
No more along the thistly lea pursue
The flying down; no more, transported, rush

From learning's humble door, with playmates blythe,
To gather pebbles in the shallow burn.

HIGHLAND

HIGHLAND REAPERS RETURNING FROM A LOWLAND HARVEST.

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[From the same.]

OFT, at this season, faintly meets the ear

The song of harvest bands, that plod their way
From dark Lochaber, or the distant isles,

Journeying for weeks to gain a month of toil:
Sweet is the falling of the single voice,
And sweet the joining of the choral swell,
Without a pause ta'en up by old and young, ;
Alternating, in wildly-measured strain,
Thus they, 'mid clouds of flying dust, beguile,
With songs
of ancient times, their tedious way.

THE TEMPLE OF REASON.

[From Principal Brown's Philemon; or the Progress of Virtue.]

DHILEMON trod the metaphysic soil

PHI

With cautious step, and profit paid his toil.
For, he pursued the clear and solid road,

And shunn'd the devious path which sceptics trod;
Where doubt and fear perplex them as they go,
Where knowledge only teaches not to know:
Where motley shapes appear: Religion's face
Is shewn enrag'd, or practising grimace;
Folly advances, cloth'd in Wisdom's guise,
While Wisdom, in a fool's coat, strikes the eyes;
Death, in tremendous armour, stands array'd:
No gleam from heav'n illumes the grisly shade;
Man without solace of his woes is left,
And weeping Nature of her sire bereft ;
Insidious meteors glimmer to ensnare ;
Research and study settle in despair!

These paths could ne'er Philemon tempt to roam
From that which led to Reason's lofty dome,
Though rough and steep: he persever'd to climb
Till patient progress gain'd the top sublime.
Arriv'd, admitted to the sacred bound,
With rapture, he survey'd the scene around.
The solid structure on four columns rear'd,
Half in the clouds, and half on earth appear'd,
To shew on Reason's energies we soar
From earth; from time, eternity explore.

On adamant was fix'd her simple throne,
No gaudy ornaments around it shone;
No gold, emboss'd on iv'ry, shot a blaze;
No diamond sparkled with alternate rays.
But, graceful sculpture deck'd the modest seat
With emblems chaste, and elegant!; neat.
The sceptre Reason bore that can assuage
The bursting passions, and subdue their rage.
On her right hand Religion held the book
Whose periods flow from Inspiration's brook,
When knowledge fail'd, and darkling doubts perplext,
Religion bade her hear the sacred text,

Dispell'd the clouds, and open'd, to her view,
The realms of light, and bliss for ever new,
Experience, on her left, the fruits display'd,
Her sure instructions to our race convey'd,
Abundance rising from the fertile plains,
The guiltless wealth which Industry obtains;
All, Art bestows to polish, and improve,
Man's ills to lighten, or their cause remove.
Before her, Happiness, in sweetest strain,
Sung all the joys that follow in her train ;
Health, competence; the conscience void of fear;
The will to heav'n resign'd; the judgment clear;
Th' unblemish'd name; affection; mutual trust;
And hope that springs above, and spurns the dust,
While these she sung, she cast her look on high,
The roof disclosing a cerulean sky;
And breathing odours round the palace flew,
Such as the rose dispenses, fresh with dew.
Philemon, thus, th' approving Goddess hail'd:
"Advance; thy patient labours have prevail'd.
"None reach the palace where my power resides,
"But such as love of truth impels, and guides.
"Thee I receive, and register as mine;
"To guard the glorious privilege be thine!"

The Youth, this vision shewn to Fancy's eye,
Adhered to Truth, and spurn'd the Sophist's lie.

Those principles, which on the heart engrav'd,
Have mad Opinion's shifting tempests brav'd,
Which, undefac'd by manners, or by times,
By revolutions and their train of crimes,
Man, civiliz'd or savage, still has felt,
And will retain, till Nature's fabric melt-
These in the holy shrine of Conscience laid
No doubt could soil, no sophistry invade.

AN

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