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Since then in the rural recess

Catharina alone can rejoice,
May it still be her lot to possess

The scene of her sensible choice!
To inhabit a mansion remote

From the clatter of street-pacing steeds,
And by Philomel's annual note

To measure the life that she leads.

With her book, and her voice, and her lyre,

To wing all her moments at home;
And with scenes that new rapture inspire,

As oft as it suits her to roam ;
She will have just the life she prefers,

With little to hope or to fear,
And ours would be pleasant as hers,

Might we view her enjoying it here.




A 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 bours of study clos'd at last,
And finish'd his concise repast,
Stoppled his cruise, replac'd his book
Within it's 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
Chill’d more his else delightful way,
Distant a little mile he spied
A western bank's stil sunny side,
And right toward the favour'd place
Proceeding with his nimblest pace,

In hope to bask a little yet,
Just reach'd it when the sun was set.

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Your hermit, young and jovial sirs ! i 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 bis 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 side
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, Successful there he wins a curse; But he, whom ev'n in life's last stage Endeavours laudable engage, Is paid, at least in peace of mind, And sense of having well design'd; And if, ere he attain his end, His sun precipitate descend, A brighter prize than that he meant Shall recompense his mere intent. No virtuous wish can bear a date Either too early or too late.


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,
That flutter loose on golden wing,

And frolic where they list;
Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,
But that delight they never knew,

And therefore never miss'd.

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