But from mountain, dell, or ftream,
Not a flutt'ring zephyr springs ;
Fearful left the noon-tide beam

Scorch it's foft, it's filken wings.

Not a leaf has leave to ftir,

Nature's lull'd-ferene-and still!

Quiet e'en the fhepherd's cur,

Sleeping on the heath-clad hill.

Languid is the landscape round,
Till the fresh-defcending shower,
Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Raifes ev'ry fainting flower..

Now the hill-the hedge-is green,
Now the warbler's throats in tune;
Blithfome is the verdant fcene,
Brighten'd by the beams of Noon!

EVENING.

O'ER the heath the heifer ftrays
Free (the furrow'd task is done ;)
Now the village windows blaze
Burnish'd by the setting fun.
G 3

Now

Now he fets behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden sky;
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye ?

Trudging as the ploughmen go,
(To the fmoking hamlet bound)
Giant-like their fhadows grow,
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground.

Where the rifing foreft fpreads
Shelter for the lordly dome !
To their high-built airy beds,
See the rocks returning home!

As the lark with

vary'd tune,

Carols to the evening loud;

Mark the mill refplendent moon,
Breaking through, a parted cloud!

Now the hermit howlet peeps

From the barn or twifted brake; And the blue mift flowly creeps, Curling on the filver lake.

A$

As the trout in speckled pride,
Playful from its bofom fprings;
To the banks, a ruffled tide
Verges in fucceffive rings.

Tripping through the filken grafs,
O'er the path divided dale.
Mark the rofe-complexon'd-lafs
With her well-pois'd milking pail !

Linnets with unnumber'd notes,
And the cuckow-bird with two,
Tuning fweet their mellow throats,
Bid the fetting-fun adieu.

CUNNINGHAM.

Two or three balls, and two or three treats;

Two

Two or three ferenades, given as a lure;
Two or three oaths how much they endure;
Two or three meffages fent in one day;
Two or three times led out from the play;
Two or three foft fpeeches made by the

way;

Two or three tickets for two or three times; Two or three love-letters writ all in rhymes; Two or three months keeping strict to these rules,

Can never fail making a couple of fools.

SWIFT.

The Editor's Wish.
FULL humble is my prayer I ween,

For humble I have always been :
Far from the wishes to be rich,

I afk not, for I need not much.

Give me, kind Fortune, give me clear,、
Two hundred fterling pounds a year !—

I

Full humble is my prayer 1 ween,

For humble I have always been.

On

On the Profpect of Death.

THOU unknown, Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear!

In whole dread Prefence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear :

If I have wander'd in those paths
Of life I ought to fhun

;

As Something, loudly, in my breast,
Remonftrates I have done :

Thou know'ft that Thou haft formed me
With paffions wild and strong;
And lift'ning to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.

Where human weakness has come fhort,

Or frailty ftept afide,

Do Thou, All-Good! for fuch Thou art, In fhades of darkness hide.

Where