Or study swept, or nicely dusted coat,
Or usual tendance; ask not, indiscreet,
Thy stockings mended, tho' the yawning rents
Gape wide as Erebus, nor hope to find

Some snug recess impervious shouldst thou try
The custom'd garden-walks, thine eye shall rue
The budding fragrance of thy tender shrubs,
Myrtle or rose, all crush'd beneath the weight
Of coarse check apron, with impatient hand
Twitch'd off when showers impend; or crossing
lines

Shall mar thy musings, as the wet cold sheet
Flaps in thy face abrupt.- Woe to the friend
Whose evil stars have urg'd him forth to claim
On such a day the hospitable rites;

Looks, blank at best, and stinted courtesy,
Shall he receive; vainly he feeds his hopes
With dinner of roast chicken, savoury pie,
Or tart or pudding — pudding he nor tart
That day shall eat; nor, tho' the husband try,
Mending what can't be help'd, to kindle mirth
From cheer deficient, shall his consort's brow
Clear up propitious; the unlucky guest
In silence dines, and early slinks away.

I well remember, when a child, the awe
This day struck into me; for then the maids,

I scarce knew why, look'd cross, and drove me

from them;

Nor soft caress could I obtain, nor hope
Usual indulgences; jelly or creams,
Relique of costly suppers, and set by
For me their petted one; or butter'd toast
When butter was forbid; or thrilling tale
Of ghost, or witch, or murder - so I went
And shelter'd me beside the parlour fire.

There my dear grandmother, "eldest of forms,"
Tended the little ones, and watch'd from harm,
Anxiously fond, tho' oft her spectacles
With elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins
Drawn from her ravell'd stocking, might have
sour'd

One less indulgent

At intervals my Mother's voice was heard
Urging despatch; briskly the work went on :
All hands employ'd to wash, to rinse, to wring,
To fold, and starch, and clap, and iron, and plait,
Then would I sit me down, and ponder much
Why washings were.

FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky.
'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast, and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain

I only feel-Farewell! - Farewell!

INDEX.

DAM and Eve's Morning Hymn

Hymn to the Seasons

On the Glorics of the Heavens

David's Pastoral Hymn on Providence-

Wisdom and Virtue sought from God Henry Moore 16

Elegy written in a Country Church-yard
Hassan or the Camel Driver

Goldsmith 69

Gray 70
Collins 75
Porteus 77

Southey 79
Keate 83

P. Pindar

A Father's Address to his Orphan Babe
My Native Home

The Love of Country and of Home the
same in all ages, and among all

Worldly Anxiety reproved

A Reflection at Sea

An Elegy on the Death of C. Gough
The Felicity of the Humble State
On a Thunder Storm