« PředchozíPokračovat »
Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice,
The scene of her sensible choice!
From the clatter of street-pacing steeds,
To measure the life that she leads.
With her book, and her voice, and ber lyre,
To wing all her moments at home;
As oft as it suits her to roam ;
With little to hope or to fear,
Might we view her enjoying it here.
THE MORALIZER CORRECTED.
HERMIT (or if 'chance you hold That title now too trite and old) A man, once young, who liv'd retir'd As hermit could have well desir'd, His hours of study clos'd at last, And finish'd his concise repast, Stoppled his cruise, replac'd his book Within its customary nook, And, staff in hand, set forth to share The sober cordial of sweet air, Like Isaac, with a mind applied To serious thought at ev’ningtide. Autumnal rains had made it chill, And from the trees, that fring’d his hill, Shades slanting at the close of day Chilld more his else delightful way, Distant a little mile he spied A western bank's stiH sunny side, And right toward the favour'd place Proceeding with his nimblest pace,
In hope to bask a little yet,
Your hermit, young and jovial sirs ! Learns something from whate'er occurs And hence, he said, my mind computes The real worth of man's pursuits. His object chosen, wealth or fame, Or other sublunary game, Imagination to his view Presents it deck'd with ev'ry hue, That can seduce him not to spare His pow'rs of besť exertion there, But youth, health, vigour to expend On so desirable an end. Ere long approach life's ev’ning shades, The glow, that fancy gave it, fades; And, earn’d too late, it wants the grace, That first engag'd him in the chase.
True, answer'd an angelic guide, Attendant at the senior's sidem But whether all the time it cost, To urge the fruitless chase be lost, Must be decided by the worth Of that, which call'd his ardour forth. Trifles pursu'd, whate'er th' event, Must cause him shame or discontent;
A vicious object still is worse,
THE FAITHFUL BIRD.
The greenhouse is my summer seat; My shrubs displac'd from that retreat
Enjoy'd the open air ; Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song, Had been their mutual solace long,
Liv'd happy pris'ners there.
They sang, as blithe as finches sing,
And frolic where they list ;
And therefore never miss'd.
But nature works in ev'ry breast,
And Dick felt some desires,
A pass between his wires.