What though no Auburn's bard, inspir'd of heaven, Save by a few, whom Labour calls her own ;- At this most pensive hour, when from afar The unyok'd steeds, that homeward drag their way, (So should meek Faith to heaven uplift her eye!) The streamlet, gurgling from the cliffs above, A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close." LINES WRITTEN ON SEEING A ROSE STILL BLOOMING AT A COTTAGE DOOR ON EGHAM HILL. OCTOBER 29, 1800. WHY dost thou linger still, sweet flower? And many a chilling, ruthless shower Around thee hardy trees may shew Their verdant branches later still; Must when the wintry tempests blow- Youth's glowing emblem! wherefore stay Then wherefore here Exhaust thy life in sighs away, Bathed in chill winter's frozen tear. Thou emblemest the beauteous mind, Thou! whom by nature's hand designed Sweet rose! methinks I hear thee say, For short had been my glowing day, I might have bound the golden hair, Had seen my beauties rich and rare- Here, the poor hovel still displays My lingering form, while rival flowers Yet here my bosom, morning's rays Then happier far the lowly cot, Where Nature's modest children reign, Than e'en Ambition's loftier lot; For wealth and power, In blank Oblivion's gloom forgot Are phantoms like a summer flower! MRS. ROBINSON, THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. BY T. CAMPBELL, ESQ. O LEAVE this barren spot to me! Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, LINES TO THE RED-BREAST. LONE songstress of the waning year, Why swells with grief thy little throat? Has Fate, beneath the fowler's form, With savage hand thy young destroy'd? If 'tis thy lot these woes to prove, I'll soothe thy sufferings with a tear. |