ページの画像
PDF
ePub

CATHARINA.

ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON.

SHE came-she is gone-we have met— And meet perhaps never again;

The fun of that moment is fet,

And seems to have rifen in vain.
Catharina has fled like a dream-
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!)
But has left a regret and esteem
That will not fo fuddenly pafs.

The last evening-ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I,

Our progress was often delay'd

By the nightingale warbling nigh.

We paus'd under many a tree,

And much fhe was charm'd with a tone

Lefs fweet to Maria and me,

Who had witness'd fo lately her own.

My numbers that day fhe had fung,

And

them a grace gave

fo divine,

As only her musical tongue

Could infufe into numbers of mine.

The longer I heard, I efteem'd

The work of my fancy the more,

And e'en to myself never feem'd
So tuneful a poet before.

Though the pleafures of London exceed
In number the days of the year,
Catharina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here;
For the close-woven arches of limes,
On the banks of our river, I know,
Are fweeter to her many times

Than all that the city can fhow.

So it is, when the mind is endued
With a well-judging tafte from above,

Then, whether embellish'd 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 lafting, a facred delight.

Since then in the rural recefs
Catharina alone can rejoice,
May it ftill be her lot to poffefs
The scene of her fenfible choice

To inhabit a manfion remote

From the clatter of ftreet-pacing steeds, 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,
And with scenes that new rapture infpire
As oft as it fuits her to roam,

She will have juft the life fhe prefers,
With little to with or to fear,

And ours will be pleasant as hers,
Might we view her enjoying it here.

[blocks in formation]

THE MORALIZER CORRECTED.

A TALE.

A HERMIT (or if 'chance you hold
That title now too trite and old).
A man, once young, who lived retired
As hermit could have well defired,
His hours of fludy clofed at last,
And finish'd his concise repaft,
Stoppled his crufe, replaced his book
Within its cuftomary nook,

And, ftaff in hand, fet forth to fhare
The fober cordial of sweet air,
Like Ifaac, with a mind applied
To ferious thought at evening-tide,
Autumnal rains had made it chill,
And from the trees that fringed his hill
Shades flanting at the close of day
Chill'd more his else delightful way.
Diftant a little mile he spied

A western bank's still funny fide,

[ocr errors]

And right toward the favour'd place
Proceeding with his nimbleft pace,
In hope to bask a little yet,
Juft reach'd it when the fun was fet.
Your hermit, young and jovial firs!
Learns fomething from whate'er occurs-
And hence, he said, my mind computes
The real worth of man's purfuits.
His object chofen, wealth or fame,
Or other fublunary game,
Imagination to his view

Prefents it deck'd with ev'ry hue
That can feduce him not to spare

His pow'rs of beft exertion there,

But youth, health, vigour, to expend

On fo defirable an end.

Ere long, approach life's evening fhades,
The glow that fancy gave it fades;

And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace
Which firft engag'd him in the chase.

True, answer'd an angelic guide,
Attendant at the fenior's fide-
But whether all the time it coft

Το

urge the fruitless chase be loft,

« 前へ次へ »