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THO the seasons mut alter, ah! yet let me find,

What all must confess ,
A female fill chearful, and faithful and kind,

The blessings of Autumn to fare.

Let one side of our cottage, a fourishing vine

Overspread with it's branches and shade ; Whose clusters appear more transparent and fine,

As it's leaves are beginning to fade.

When the fruit makes the branches bend down with it's load,

In our orchard surrounded with pales;
In a bed of clean straw let our apples be stow'd,

For a tart that in winter regales.

When the vapours that rise from the earth in the morn

Seem to hang on it's surface like smoke,
Till dispers’d by the sun that gilds over the corn,

Within doors let us prattle and joke.

But when we see clear all the hues of the leaves,

And at work in the fields are all hands,
Some in reaping the wheat, others binding the sheaves,

Let us carelessly stroll o’er the lands.

How pleasing the fight of the toiling they make,

To collect what kind Nature has fent !
Heaven grant we may not of their labour partake;

But, oh! give us their happy content.

And sometimes on a bank, under shade, by a brook,

Let us filently fit at our ease,
And there gaze on the stream, till the fish on the hook
Struggles hard to procure it's release.

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And now, when the husbandman fings harveft-home,

And the corn's all got into the house ;
When the long wilh’d-for time of their meeting is come,

To frolick, and feast, and carouse:

When the leaves from the trees are begun to be shed,

And are leaving the branches all bare,
Either strew'd at the roots, shrivell’d, wither'd, and dead...

Or elfe blown to and fro in the air :

When the ways are fo miry, that bogs they might seem,

And the axle-tree's ready to break,
While the waggoner whistles in stopping his team,

And then claps the poor jades on the neck:

In the morning let's follow the cry of the hounds,

Or the fearful young covey beset;
Which ţho' kulking in stubble and weeds on the grounds,

Are becoming a prey to the net.

Let's enjoy all the pleasure retirement affords,

Still amus?d with these innocent sports,
Nor once envy the pomp of fine ladies and lords,

With their grand entertainments in courts.

In the ev’ning, when lovers are leaning on styles,

Deep engag'd in some amorous chat,
And 'tis very well known by his grin and her smiles,

What they both have a mind to be at:


To our dwelling, tho' homely, well-pleas?d to repair,

Let our mutual endearments revive ;
And let no fingle action or look but declare,

How contented and happy wę live...



Should ideas arise that may ruffle the soul,

Let soft mufick the phantoms remove; For ’tis harmony enly has force to controul,

And unite all the paffions in love.

With her eyes but half open, her cap all awry,

When the lafs is preparing for bed,
And the feepy dull clown, who fits nodding just by,

Sometimes rouses and scratches his head :

In the night when 'eis cloudy, and rainy, and dark,

And the labourers snore as they lie,
Not a noise to difturb as, unless a dog bark

In the farm, or the village hard by:

At the time of fweet rett, and of quiet like this,
Ere our eyes are



in their lids, Let us welcome the season, and taste of that bliss

Which the sun-fhine and day-light forbids!

IV. W. I N T E R.


WHEN the trees are all bare, not a leaf to be seen,

And the meadows their beauty have loft ; When Nature's difrob'd of her mantle of green,

And the ftreams are faft bound with the frost :

While the peasant iņactive ftands shivering with cold,

As bleak the winds northernly blow;
And the innocent flocks run for warmth to the fold,

With their feeçes besprinkled with snow :

In the yard, when the cattle are fodder'd with straw,

And they send forth their breath in a steam ;
And the neat-looking dairy-maid sees she must thaw

Flakes of ice that the finds in the cream :


When the sweet country-maiden, as fresh as a roses

As she carelessly trips often slides, And the rufticks laugh loud, if by falling the shows

All the charms that her modesty hides:


When the lads and the lasses for company join'd,

In a crowd round the embers are met,
Talk of fairies and witches that ride on the wind,

And of ghosts, till they're all in a sweat :


Heav'n grant, in this season, it may be my lot,

With the nymph whom I love and admire; While the icicles hang from the eaves of my cot,

I may thither in safety retire !

Where in neatness and quiet--and free from surprize,

We may live, and no hardships endure ; Nor feel any turbulent paffions arise,

But such as each other may, cure !

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N vain, dear Flavilla, in vain still you try,

Inconftant, each feminine art :
Those flutt’ring delusions may catch the fond eye,

But they ne'er will entangle the heart.

The fetters too slender affection to bind

Our reason will break with disdain :
The heart that to beauty it's freedom resign'd,

From caprice fhall receive it again.

While down the light dance, in Pleasure's gay court,

Fantastick you trip it along;
The faireft allow'd, where the fair ones resort,

The gayest of all the gay throng ;

O why in that face, where each beauty is seen,

Should Folly her standard display? Or wild Affectation disfigure that mien,

Where the Graces confpicuously play?

Ah, no! to your greater perfections be just;

By these you may charm at your will :
To youth, wit, and beauty, your conquests entrust,

Which levity only can kill.

For pleasure in vain the inconstant máy rove

Thro' all the wide regions of art:
Their happiness only can permanent prove,

Whose transports arise from the heart.

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HOOK from the purple wings of even

When dews impearl the grove,
And from the dark'ning verge of heaven

Beams the sweet star of Love ;
Laid on a daisy-Sprinkled green,

Beside a plaintive stream,
A meek-ey'd youth of serious mien

Indulg'd this folemn theme.

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