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Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come,
O Hertford ! fitted or to shine in courts
And see where surly Winter passes off,
As yet the trembling year is unconfirmed,
At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun,
Forth fly the tepid airs; and unconfined,
While through the neighbouring fields the sower stalks
Be gracious, Heaven ! for now laborious man Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow! Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend ! And temper all, thou world reviving sun, Into the perfect year! Nor ye who live In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride, Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear : Such themes as these the rural Maro sung To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height Of elegance and taste, by Greece refined.
In ancient times the sacred plough employed The kings and awful fathers of mankind : And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes Are but the beings of a summer's day, Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm Of mighty war; then, with unwearied hand, Disdaining little delicacies, seized The plough, and greatly independent lived.
Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough! And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales, Let Autumn spread his treasures to the sun, Luxuriant and unbounded. As the sea, Far through his azure turbulent domain, Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports, So with superior boon may your rich soil, Exuberant, Nature's better blessings pour O'er
every land, the naked nations clothe, And be th' exhaustless granary of a world!
She lent against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight:
Amid the lingering light.
My hope ! my joy! my Genevieve !
The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air ;
I sang an old and moving story-
That ruin, wild and hoary.
With downcast eyes and modest grace
But gaze upon her face.
Upon his shield a burning brand :
The lady of the land.
The deep, the low, the pleading tone,
Interpreted my own.
With downcast eyes and modest grace; And she forgave me that I gaz'd
Too fondly on her face.
That craz'd the bold and lovely knight; And that he crossed the mountain woods,
Nor rested day nor night.
And sometimes from the darksome shade And sometimes starting up at once,
In green and sunny glade.
An angel beautiful and bright:
This miserable knight!
He leap'd amid a murderous band,
The lady of the land ! And how she wept and clasp'd his knees :
And how she tended him in vain ; And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that craz'd his brain,
And that she nurs'd him in a cave :
And how his madness went away,
A dying man he lay.
That tend'rest strain of all the ditty,
Disturbed her soul with pity.
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve :
The rich and balmy eve :
An undistinguishable throng ;
Subdued and cherished long.
She blush'd with love and virgin shame;
I heard her breathe my name.
As conscious of my look she stept,
She fled to me and wept.
She press'd me with a meek embrace ;
And gaz'd upon my face.
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
The swelling of her heart.
And told her love with virgin pride ;
My bright and beauteous bride !
THE FRUGAL MERCHANT—FROM THE BOROUGH.
LEAVE now our streets, and in yon plain behold
He wore his coat till every thread was bare,
pauper came their table's crumbs to crave,
But while our merchant seem'd so base and mean, He had his wanderings, sometimes, “not unseen;" To give in secret was a favourite act, Yet more than once they took him in the fact : Haunts have been traced to which he nightly went, And serious sums in private pleasures spent ; Oft has he cheer'd the wretched, at a rate For which he daily might have dined on plate ; He has been seen-his hair all silver-white, Shaking and shining—as he stole by night, To feed unenvied on his still delight. A two-fold taste he had ; to give and spare, Both were his duties, and had equal care ; It was his joy, to sit alone and fast, Then send a widow and her boys repast : Tears in his eyes would, spite of him, appear. But he from other eyes has kept the tear : All in a wintry night from far he came, To soothe the sorrows of a suffering dame; Whose husband robb’d him, and to whom he meant A lingering, but reforming punishment : Home then he walk'd, and found his anger rise, When fire and rush-light met his troubled eyes ; But these extinguish'd, and his
addrest To Heaven in hope, he calmly sank to rest.
His seventieth year was past, and then was seen A building rising on the Northern Green, There was no blinding all his neighbours' eyes, Or surely no one would have seen it rise : Twelve rooms contiguous stood, and six were near, There men were placed, and sober matrons here; There were behind, small useful gardens made, Benches before, and trees to give them shade;