And open'd all her variegated stores.
Sweet rural folitude! the fav'rite haunt
Of meditation, and of thought profound;
Here we may roam at large, and uncontroul'd,
Indulge the nobleft feelings of the mind,
And wake devotion in the languid breast;
Here we may learn to foar above the world,
And raise our minds to the great cause of all!
Maidfione.
ON THE MISERIES OF HUMAN LIFE.
HILST man in this imperfect ftate
Of being is confin'd,
What pains affail the outward frame,
What forrows vex his mind.
Of all the various ftates of life,
Not one can 'fcape diftrefs;
The utmoft in the reach of man,
But makes his grief the lefs.
Of poverty, the num'rous ills
Will be by all confeft;
Fatiguing labour, fcanty meals,
And few the hours of reft..
Nor are the rich exempt from cares,
But in the gen❜ral plan,
Receive their deftin'd fhare of woe,
Th' appointed lot of man.
How oft from disappointed schemes
Does anguifh keen arife?
How oft fevere misfortunes force
The ftreams from humid eyes?
Neglecting friends, injurious foes,
Embitter human life;
Oft is th' inoffenfive mind
Compell'd to join in ftrife.
'Twas in a vale, clofe by a neighbouring wood,
In humble form the peaceful cottage flood,
Where I did lead, free from the noife and ftrife
Of city pomp, a happy country life;
At eve, retir'd, with eager hand I took,
From 'midft my fmall collection fome choice book,
Where in a row were feated, round the fire,
Our ruftic family and aged fire;
To them I'd read, or tell of foreign news,
Voyage or travel read, which ere they chofe,
Or facred author, to increase our store
Of fcripture knowledge, or of days of yore;
Sometimes my flute would entertain a friend,
While we our happy hours in mirth did spend ;
Sometimes I to a neighbour's houfe would ftray,
In friendly chat we'd pass the hours away-
Ah! many a time at Chriftmas have I spent
The ev'ning there in rural merriment,
The flowing can, with fmiles was handed round,
And many a fong, with mufic, did refound;
But now thofe pleafing fcenes of life are o'er,
That time is gone, to be recall'd no more!
OLD THOMAS, THE MAN OF THE HILL.
BY A YOUTH OF FOURTEEN.
́HERE the hoarse screeching vulture his notes doth refound,
By the fide of yon murmʼring rill,
Liv'd a man, who enamour'd of science profound,
Left the town, where all vice and all riot is found,
And retir'd to yon dreary hill.
At midnight's dread hour his way he doth steer
Near the wood that leads by the fea coaft,
At that horrible hour, naught elfe could we hear,
From each honest ruftic, all trembling with fear,
But a goblin! a devil! a ghost!
His afpect his manfion! what race he hath run,
To defcribe far furpaffes my skill,
But when e'er he appear'd, babes affrighted have
clung
To their mothers, in hopes by that means for to fhun,
Old Thomas, the Man of the Hill.
But invet'rate old age him full forely hath tried,
And misfortunes, he bore them not ill-
He shook with the palfy! he shudd'red! he died!
And each feeling trav'ler, in paffing hath figh'd--
"Poor Thomas, the Man of the Hill!"
SONNET TO SUPERSTITION.
【ONSTER dark, of vifions dread,
Born of guilt, of ign'rance bred;
Fearing God as fierce and fell,
Self-condemning fiend of hell:
Foe to truth, by error led,
Bigot rage to falfhood wed;
Quit, O quit thy dreary cell,
View the light--with reafon dwell.
Works of knowledge learn to trace,
And to wifdom's fimple grace,
Let proud prejudice give place.
In religion, void of gloom,
Faith with charity doth bloom,
Hope, on mercy, reits its doom..
WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.
HILE now amid thefe rural walks I ftray,
And court that peace of mind fo long un-
known;
I ponder o'er that time when hope has fhone.
With fplendour, dazzling thro' the live long day.
I then had home, and then was ever gay.-
Alas! how unavailing is my moan!
Far from my country and my friends away.
And yet I fee the crimson banner spread,
And yet I hear the hoftile weapons roar→→→
Oh! muft I never tread my native shore;
Perhaps my friends are number'd with the dead-
Oh! that my conflict with this life was o'er.
For fure this WAR will never, never cease,
And in the grave alone fhall I find peace.
In Anfwer to thofe addreffed to me by Mr. J. Davies, in the laft VISITOR.
TOW fweet the mufe that wakes the tuneful lyre
To footh distress, and raise the fainting heart;
With peace the woe-fraught bofom to infpire,
And charm the pangs of care with fyren art.
But ah! no paffing ill, no transient grief,
In cheerless gloom inwraps my fuff'ring foul;
Too long has real woe expell'd relief,
For friendship's power its influence to controul.
Yet while within this woe-enfeebled frame
One gleam of life remains, thy mem❜ry dear
My foul fhall hold, and bless the hallow'd flame
Which burns, unquench'd, by misʼry's ceaseless tear.
Alas! how many friends (deceitful found)
Have fmil'd with fortune, e'er that tear was known;
But ah! how many have with fortune frown'd,
And fled, unmov'd by forrows not their own.
Oh! be it thine that calm content to know,
With which this bofom ne'er can be impreft;
Or if unhappy man must taste of woc,
That fortitude thou dictat'ft to my breast.
July 10, 1799.
Addreffed to MRS. G. TAYLOR, PRIORY, occafioned by her rebuking the Author for Inattention.
HEN Angelina breath'd the mild rebuke,
A foft'ning fweetness play'd o'er every look;
So gently fell each accent from her tongue,
It feem'd a facred vefper fweetly fung;
Enchantment, not conviction's hand fevere,
Wip'd from th' offending eye the conscious tear,
While purer fouls, by no wrong impulfe driv'n,
Might have offended, to be thus forgiv'n.
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