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V. Then April, with her fifter May,
Shall chase him from the bowers, And weave fresh garlands every day, To crown the smiling hours,
VI, And, if a tear, that speaks regret
Of happier times, appear, A glimpse of joy, that we have met,
Shall fine and dry the tear.
ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON
(NOW MRS. COURTNEY.)
She came-she is gone-we have met
And meet perhaps never again ; The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain. Catharina has filed like a dream
(So vanishes pleasure, alas !) But has left a regret and esteem,
That will not so suddenly pass.
The last evening ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I, Our progress was often delayed
By the nightingale warbling nigh. We paused under many a tree,
And much she was charmed with a tone Lefs sweet to Maria and me,
Who had witnessed so lately her own.
My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine, As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine. The longer I heard, I efteemed
The work of my fancy the more, And ev'n to myself never seemed
So tuneful a poet before.
Though the pleasures of London exceed
In number the days of the year, Catharina, did nothing impedey
Would feel herself happier here; For the clofe woven arches of limes
On the banks of our river, I know, Are sweeter to her many times
Than all that the city can show.
So it is, when the mind is endued
With a well-judging taste from above, Then, whether embellished or rude,
'Tis nature alone that we love. The achievements of art may amuse,
May even our wonder excite, But groves, hills, and vallies, diffuse
A lasting, a sacred delight.
Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice, May it still be her lot to poffefs
The scene of her sensible choice! To inhabit a manfion remote
From the clatter of ftreet-pacing Ateeds, And by Philomel's annual note
To measure the life that the leads.
With her book, and her voice, and her lyre,
To wing all her moments at home,
As oft as it suits her to roam,
With little to wish or to fear,
Might we view her enjoying it here.
THE MORALIZER CORRECTED.
A HERMIT (or if 'chance you hold