Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless sleep!
Thus is nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wandering thought;
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

VARIETY THE PERPETUAL CHARM OF THE LANDSCAPE.

Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landscape tire the view?
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low ;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each gives each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

HOPE AND FRUITION, A SIMILE.

See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide
How close and small the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step, methinks, may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem;
So we mistake the future's face,
Eyed through Hope's deluding glass.
As yon summits soft and fair,
Clad in colors of the air,
Which, to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough, appear;
Still we tread the same coarse way;
The present's still a cloudy day.

ASPIRATIONS AFTER A WELL-HARMONIZED, well-toned life.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see !
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tamed, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul:

'Tis thus the busy beat the air,

And misers gather wealth and care.

ENJOYMENT OF THE LANDSCAPE; ITS BEAUTIES; THE TRUE
ABODES OF PEACE AND PLEASURE.

Now, ev'n now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie ;
While the wanton zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky;
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high.
Be full, ye courts! be great, who will;
Search for Peace with all your skill;
Open wide the lofty door,

Seek her on the marble floor:

In vain ye search, she is not there ;
In vain ye search the domes of Care!
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure close allied,
Ever by each other's side;

And often, by the murmuring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is still
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

"COUNTRY WALK."

SUNRISE.—A RAMBLE; POULTRY; THRESHERS.
THE morning's fair; the lusty sun
With ruddy cheek begins to run,
And early birds, that wing the skies,
Sweetly sing to see him rise.

I am resolved, this charming day,
In the open field to stray,
And have no roof above my head,
But that whereon the gods do tread.
Before the yellow barn I see

A beautiful variety

Of strutting cocks, advancing stout,
And flirting empty chaff about:

Hens, ducks, and geese, and all their brood,
And turkeys gobbling for their food,
While rustics thrash the wealthy floor,
And tempt them all to crowd the door.

LONDON; NATURE. — THE LANDSCAPE; SKY; FLOWERS ;
BROOKS A LABORER ASLEEP HIS HAPPINESS.
What a fair face does Nature show!
Augusta! wipe thy dusty brow;

A landscape wide salutes my sight
Of shady vales and mountains bright;
And azure heavens I behold,

And clouds of silver and of gold.
And now into the fields I go,
Where thousand flaming flowers glow,
And every neighboring hedge I greet,
With honeysuckles smelling sweet.
Now o'er the daisy-meads I stray,
And meet with, as I pace my way,
Sweetly shining on the eye,
A rivulet gliding smoothly by,
Which shows with what an easy tide
The moments of the happy glide :
Here, finding pleasure after pain,
Sleeping, I see a wearied swain ;
While his full scrip lies open by,
That does his healthy food supply.

Happy swain! sure happier far
Than lofty kings and princes are !
Enjoy sweet sleep, which shuns the crown,
With all its easy beds of down.

NOON; SHADE; BIRDS. SILENCE APOSTROPHIZED. —
THOUGHTS COMPARED TO MOLES.

The sun now shows his noontide blaze,
And sheds around me burning rays.

A little onward, and I go
Into the shade that groves bestow,
And on green moss I lay me down,
That o'er the root of oak has grown ;
Where all is silent, but some flood,
That sweetly murmurs in the wood;
But birds that warble in the sprays,
And charm even Silence with their lays.
O! powerful Silence! how you reign

In the poet's busy brain!

His numerous thoughts obey the calls

Of the tuneful water-falls;

Like moles, whene'er the coast is clear,
They rise before thee without fear,
And range in parties here and there.

HELICON DESERTED AND MUDDLED. CLIO AND ECHO.-
AMBITION FLATTERY. A DEER.

Some wildly to Parnassus wing,
And view the fair Castalian spring,
Where they behold a lonely well
Where now no tuneful Muses dwell,
But now and then a slavish hind
Paddling the troubled pool they find.
Some trace the pleasing paths of joy,
Others the blissful scene destroy;
In thorny tracks of sorrow stray,
And pine for Clio far away.

But stay

methinks her lays I hear,

So smooth! so sweet! so deep! so clear!
No, it is not her voice I find;
"Tis but the echo stays behind.

Some meditate Ambition's brow,
And the black gulf that gapes below;
Some peep in courts, and there they see
The sneaking tribe of Flattery:
But, striking to the ear and eye,

A nimble deer comes bounding by!
When rushing from yon rustling spray
It made them vanish all away.

SUNSET; BREATH OF EVENING; THE OLD MAN'S COT,
GARDEN, BROOK, CABBAGES.

I rouse me up, and on I rove;

"T is more than time to leave the grove.
The sun declines, the evening breeze
Begins to whisper through the trees;
And as I leave the sylvan gloom,
As to the glare of day I come,

An old man's smoky nest I see

Leaning on an aged tree,

Whose willow walls, and furzy brow,

A little garden sway below:

Through spreading beds of blooming green, Matted with herbage sweet and clean,

A vein of water limps along,

And makes them ever green and young.

Here he puffs upon his spade,

And digs up cabbage in the shade:

His tattered rags are sable brown,

His beard and hair are hoary grown;

The dying sap descends apace,

And leaves a withered hand and face.

PROSPECT FROM GRONGAR HILL. THE POET'S SUNNY
HOMESTEAD, GARDEN, WALK.
Up Grongar Hill I labor now,
And catch at last his bushy brow.
O! how fresh, how pure, the air!
Let me breathe a little here.
Where am I, Nature? I descry
Thy magazine before me lie.

Temples! and towns! and towers! and woods!
And hills! and vales! and fields! and floods !
Crowding before me, edged around
With naked wilds and barren ground.

See, below, the pleasant dome,
The poet's pride, the poet's home,
Which the sunbeams shine upon
To the even from the dawn.
See her woods, where echo talks,
Her gardens trim, her terrace walks,
Her wildernesses, fragrant brakes,
Her gloomy bowers and shining lakes.
Keep, ye gods! this humble seat
Forever pleasant, private, neat.

THE HILL AND ITS RUINED TOWER. THE PLAIN, SHEEP,
AND A SHEPHERD PLAYING. — THE ANGLER.

See yonder hill, uprising steep,
Above the river slow and deep :
It looks from hence a pyramid,
Beneath a verdant forest hid;

On whose high top there rises great
The mighty remnant of a seat,
An old green tower, whose battered brow
Frowns upon the vale below.

Look upon that flowery plain,
How the sheep surround their swain,
How they crowd to hear his strain!
All careless with his legs across,
Leaning on a bank of moss,
He spends his empty hours at play,
Which fly as light as down away.

And there behold a bloomy mead,
A silver stream, a willow shade,
Beneath the shade a fisher stand,
Who, with the angle in his hand,
Swings the nibbling fry to land.

THE SHADES OF EVENING. UNYOKED OXEN LOWING.-
SHEPHERDS. COTTAGE FIRES LIGHTED.

In blushes the descending sun

Kisses the streams while slow they run;

And yonder hill remoter grows,

Or dusky clouds do interpose.

The fields are left, the laboring hind

His weary oxen does unbind ;

And vocal mountains, as they low,

Reëcho to the vales below;

The jocund shepherds piping come,

And drive the herd before them home;

And now begin to light their fires,

Which send up smoke in curling spires;
While with light hearts all homeward tend,
To Abergasney 1 I descend.

* **

1 The name of a seat belonging to the author's brother.

"DIVINE SOVEREIGNTY.”

BY MRS. BARBAULD.

Quid prius dicam solitis Parentis

JEHOVAH reigns: let every nation hear,
And at his footstool bow with holy fear;
Let heaven's high arches echo with his name,
And the wide-peopled earth his praise proclaim;
Then send it down to hell's deep glooms resounding,
Through all her caves in dreadful murmurs sounding.

He rules with wide and absolute command
O'er the broad ocean and the steadfast land:
Jehovah reigns, unbounded and alone,
And all creation hangs beneath his throne:
He reigns alone: let no inferior nature
Usurp or share the throne of the Creator.

He saw the struggling beams of infant light Shoot through the massy gloom of ancient night; His spirit hushed the elemental strife, And brooded o'er the kindling seeds of life: Seasons and months began the long procession, And measured o'er the year in bright succession.

The joyful sun sprung up the ethereal way, Strong as a giant, as a bridegroom gay; And the pale moon diffused her shadowy light Superior o'er the dusky brow of night; Ten thousand glittering lamps the skies adorning, Numerous as dew-drops from the womb of morning. Earth's blooming face with rising flowers He dressed,

And spread a verdant mantle o'er her breast; Then from the hollow of his hand He pours The circling waters round her winding shores, The new-born world in their cool arms embracing, And with soft murmurs still her banks caressing.

At length she rose complete in finished pride, All fair and spotless, like a virgin bride : Fresh with untarnished lustre as she stood, Her Maker blessed his work, and called it good; The morning stars, with joyful acclamation, Exulting sung, and hailed the new creation.

Yet this fair world, the creature of a day, [away; Though built by God's right hand, must pass

And long oblivion creep o'er mortal things, The fate of empires, and the pride of kings: Eternal night shall veil their proudest story, And drop the curtain o'er all human glory.

The sun himself, with weary clouds oppressed,
Shall in his silent, dark pavilion rest;
His golden urn shall broke and useless lie,
Amidst the common ruins of the sky!

The stars rush headlong in the wild commotion,
And bathe their glittering foreheads in the ocean.

But fixed, O God! forever stands thy throne; Jehovah reigns, a universe alone; The eternal fire that feeds each vital flame, Collected or diffused, is still the same. He dwells within his own unfathomed essence, And fills all space with his unbounded presence.

But, O! our highest notes the theme debase,
And silence is our least injurious praise:
Cease, cease your songs, the daring flight control,
Revere Him in the stillness of the soul;

With silent duty meekly bend before Him,
And deep within your inmost hearts adore Him.

ADDISON'S "TWENTY-THIRD PSALM."

A PASTORAL ON THE DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

THE Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye ;
My noon-day walks He shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary, wandering steps He leads,
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.

Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For Thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.

Self-recollection and reproof. Address to domestic happiness. Some account of myself. The vanity of many of their pursuits who are reputed wise. Justification of my censures. Divine illumination necessary to the most expert philosopher. The question, What is truth? answered by other questions. Domestic happiness addressed again. Few lovers of the country. My tame hare. Occupations of a retired gentleman in his garden. Pruning. Framing. Greenhouse. Sowing of flower-seeds. The country preferable to the town, even in winter. Reasons why it is deserted at that season. Ruinous effects of gaming, and of expensive improvement. Book concludes with an apostrophe to the metropolis.

RAMBLINGS AND RETURN.-THE AUTHOR'S FORMER AND PRESENT RNDS.

As one, who long in thickets and in brakes Entangled, winds now this way and now that, His devious course uncertain, seeking home; Or, having long in miry ways been foiled And sore discomfited, from slough to slough Plunging, and half-despairing of escape; If chance at length he finds a greensward smooth And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, He cherrups brisk his ear-erecting steed, And winds his way with pleasure and with ease; So I, designing other themes, and called

To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,
To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams,
Have rambled wide: in country, city, seat
Of academic fame (howe'er deserved),
Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last.
But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road
I mean to tread. I feel myself at large,
Courageous, and refreshed for future toil,
If toil await me, or if dangers new.

THE TASK OF REPROVING FOLLY LITTLE HOPEFUL.

Since pulpits fail, and sounding-boards reflect Most part an empty ineffectual sound, What chance that I, to fame so little known, Nor conversant with men or manners much, Should speak to purpose, or with better hope Crack the satiric thong? 'T were wiser far For me, enamored of sequestered scenes And charmed with rural beauty, to repose, Where chance may throw me beneath elm or vine, My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains, Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft And sheltered Sofa, while the nitrous air Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth; There, undisturbed by folly, and apprised

How great the danger of disturbing her,
To muse in silence, or at least confine
Remarks, that gall so many, to the few
My partners in retreat. Disgust concealed
Is ofttimes proof of wisdom, when the fault
Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach.

DOMESTIC HAPPINESS DESCRIBED AND EULOGIZED.

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss

Of Paradise, that hast survived the fall!
Though few now taste thee unimpaired and pure,
Or, tasting, long enjoy thee! too infirm,
Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets
Unmixed with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup;

Thou art the nurse of virtue; in thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again.
Thou art not known where pleasure is adored,
That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist
And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm
Of novelty, her fickle, frail support;
For thou art meek and constant, hating change,
And finding, in the calm of truth-tried love,
Joys that her stormy raptures never yield.

ADULTERY AND PROSTITUTION.

Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made
Of honor, dignity, and fair renown!
Till prostitution elbows us aside

In all our crowded streets; and senates seem
Convened for purposes of empire less,
Than to release the adult'ress from her bond.
The adult'ress! what a theme for angry verse!
What provocation to the indignant heart,
That feels for injured love! but I disdain
The nauseous task to paint her as she is,
Cruel, abandoned, glorying in her shame!
No:
let her pass, and charioted along,
In guilty splendor, shake the public ways;
The frequency of crimes has washed them white!
And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch,
Whom matrons now of character unsmirched,
And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own.

DEGENERACY OF THE AGE IN PURITY AND HONOR.

Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time, Not to be passed and she, that had renounced Her sex's honor, was renounced herself By all that prized it; not for prudery's sake, But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 'T was hard perhaps on here and there a waif, Desirous to return, and not received: But 't was a wholesome rigor in the main, And taught the unblemished to preserve with care That purity, whose loss was loss of all. Men too were nice in honor in those days, And judged offenders well. Then he that sharped, And pocketed a prize by fraud obtained,

Was marked and shunned as odious. He that sold His country, or was slack when she required

His every nerve in action and at stretch,
Paid, with the blood that he had basely spared,
The price of his default.

GENTLEMANLY KNAVES CARESSED BY SOCIETY. HYPOCRISY.

But now yes, now

We are become so candid and so fair,
So liberal in construction, and so rich
In Christian charity (good-natured age !),
That they are safe, sinners of either sex, [bred,
Transgress what laws they may. Well dressed, well
Well equipaged, is ticket good enough
To pass us readily through every door.
Hypocrisy, detest her as we may

(And no man's hatred ever wronged her yet),
May claim this merit still-that she admits
The worth of what she mimics with such care,
And thus gives virtue indirect applause ;
But she has burnt her mask, not needed here,
Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts
And specious semblances have lost their use.

THE AUTHOR'S CONTRITION, RELIEF, AND CHANGED VIEWS.
I was a stricken deer, that left the herd
Long since. With many an arrow deep infixed
My panting side was charged, when I withdrew
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades.
There was I found by One, who had Himself
Been hurt by the archers. In his side He bore,
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars.
With gentle force soliciting the darts,

He drew them forth, and healed, and bade me live;
Since then, with few associates, in remote
And silent woods I wander, far from those
My former partners of the peopled scene;
With few associates, and not wishing more.
Here much I ruminate, as much I may,
With other views of men and manners now
Than once, and others of a life to come.

GENERAL INSANITY OF MAN.DELUSIONS.

I see that all are wanderers, gone astray
Each in his own delusions; they are lost
In chase of fancied happiness, still wooed
And never won. Dream after dream ensues;
And still they dream that they shall still succeed,
And still are disappointed. Rings the world
With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind,
And add two thirds of the remaining half,
And find the total of their hopes and fears
Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay,
As if created only like the fly,

That spreads his motley wings in the eye
of noon,
To sport their season and be seen no more.
The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise,
And pregnant with discoveries new and rare.

HISTORY. ITS PRETENSIONS.

Some write a narrative of wars, and feats Of heroes little known; and call the rant A history describe the man, of whom His own coevals took but little note,