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Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tamed, my wishes laid;
For, while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul :
"Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.

Now, ev'n now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie ;
While the wanton zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky,
Now, e'en now, my joys run high.
· Be full, ye courts ; be great who will ;
Search for Peace with all
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor.
In vain you search, she is not there ;
In vain ye search the domes of Care !
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads, and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close allied,
Ever by each other's side :
And often, by the murmuring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is still,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

John Dyer.-Born 1700, Died 1758.

your skill :

Gaudy as the opening dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,
On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wandering eye!
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood,
His sides are clothed with waving wood,
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below;
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps ;
So both a safety from the wind
On mutual dependence find.
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode ;
'Tis now the apartment of the toad;
And there the fox securely feeds;
And there the poisonous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds ;
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.
Yet Time has seen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has seen this broken pile complete,
Big with the vanity of state ;
But transient is the smile of Fate !
A little rule, a little sway,
A sun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers how they run,
Through woods and meads, in shade and sun,
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless sleep!
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wandering thought;
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view !
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!
The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower ;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide ;
How close and small the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step methinks may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem;
So we mistake the Future's face,
Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass;
As yon summits soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear:
Still we tread the same coarse way,
The present 's still a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;

881.—THE BRAES OF YARROW. A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of

Yarrow.
B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride ?

Where gat ye that winsome marrow ?
A. I gat her where I darena weil be seen,

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride,

Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow! Nor let thy heart lament to leave

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride?

Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ? And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen,

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow? A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun

she weep, Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow, And lang maun nae mair weil be seen,

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. For she has tint her lover lover dear,

Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow, And I hae slain the comeliest swain That e'er poued birks on the Braes of

Yarrow.

The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,

His purple vest, 'twas my ain sewing, Ah! wretched me! I little little kenn'd

He was in these to meet his ruin. The boy took out his milk-white milk-white

steed, Unheedful of my dule and sorrow, But e'er the to-fall of the night

He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. Much I rejoiced that waeful waeful day;

I sang, my voice the woods returning, But lang ere night the spear was flown

That slew my love, and left me mourning.

What can my barbarous barbarous father do,

But with his cruel rage pursue me ? My lover's blood is on thy spear, How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo

me ?

Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow,

red ? Why on thy braes heard the voice of

sorrow? And why yon melancholious weeds

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful

flude? What's yonder floats? O dule and sor

row! 'Tis he, the comely swain I slew

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. Wash, oh wash his wounds his wounds in

tears, His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow, And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds,

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow. Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters sad,

Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, And weep around in waeful wise,

His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. Curse ye, curse ye, his useless useless shield,

My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, The fatal spear that pierced his breast,

His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow. Did I not warn thee not to lue,

And warn from fight, but to my sorrow; O'er rashly bauld a stronger arm Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of

Yarrow. Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green

grows the grass, Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan, Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet

flows Tweed, As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, As sweet smells on its braes the birk,

The apple frae the rock as mellow. Fair was thy love, fair fair indeed thy love,

In flowery bands thou him didst fetter ; Though he was fair and weil beloved again,

Than me he never lued thee better. Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, Busk ye, and Ine me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the Braes of

Yarrow.
C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride,

How can I busk a winsome marrow,
How lae him on the banks of Tweed, -

That slew my love on the Braes of Yarrow. O Yarrow fields ! may never never rain,

Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my love,

My love, as he had not been a lover.

My happy sisters may be may be proud ;

With cruel and ungentle scoffin, May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes

My lover nail'd in his coffin. My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, And strive with threatening words to more

me, My lover's blood is on thy spear,

How canst thou ever bid me love thee? Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love,

With bridal sheets my body cover, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door,

Let in the expected husband lover.

But who the expected husband husband is? His hands, methinks, are bathed in

slaughter. Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon,

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after ?

Pale as he is, here lay him lay him down,

O lay his cold head on my pillow; Take aff take aff these bridal weeds,

And crown my careful head with willow. Pale though thou art, yet best yet best

beloved, O could my warmth to life restore thee ! Ye'd lie all night between my breasts,

No youth lay ever there before thee. Pale pale, indeed, O lovely lovely youth,

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, And lie all night between my breasts,

No youth shall ever lie there after.

Return, return, O mournful mournful bride,

Return and dry thy useless sorrow : Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs,

He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. William Hamilton.—Born 1704, Died 1754.

882.-SONG.

Ye shepherds of this pleasant vale,

Where Yarrow streams along, Forsake your rural toils, and join

In my triumphant song.

She grants, she yields; one heavenly smile

Atones her long delays,
One happy minute crowns the pains

Of many suffering days.

883.-SONG Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate, When doom'd to love and doom'd to lan.

guish, To bear the scornful fair one's hate,

Nor dare disclose his anguish! Yet eager looks and dying sighs

My secret soul discover,
While rapture, trembling through-mine eyes,

Reveals how much I love her.
The tender glance, the reddening cheek,

O'erspread with rising blushes,
A thousand various ways they speak

A thousand various wishes.

Raise, raise the victor notes of joy,

These suffering days are o'er; Love satiates now his boundless wish

From beauty's boundless store :

No doubtful hopes, no anxious fears,

This rising calm destroy ; Now every prospect smiles around,

All op'ning into joy.

For, oh! that form so heavenly fair,

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush and modest air,

So fatally beguiling ;
Thy every look, and every grace,

So charm, whene'er I view thee,
Till death o'ertake me in the chase,

Still will my hopes pursue thee.
Then, when my tedious hours are past,

Be this last blessing given,
Low at thy feet to breathe my last,

And die in sight of heaven.
Tilliam Hamilton.-Born 1704, Died 1754.

The sun with double lustre shone

That dear consenting hour,' Brighten'd each hill, and o'er each vale

New colour'd every flower :

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The gales their gentle sighs withheld,

No leaf was seen to move, The hovering songsters round were mute,

And wonder hush'd the grove.

The hills and dales no more resound

The lambkin's tender cry; Without one murmur Yarrow stole

In dimpling silence by :

All nature seem'd in still repose

Her voice alone to hear, That gently roll’d the tuneful wave,

She spoke and bless'd my ear.

Take, take whate'er of bliss or joy

You fondly fancy mine; Whate'er of joy or bliss I boast,

Love renders wholly thine :

The woods struck up to the soft gale,

The leaves were seen to move, The feather'd choir resumed their voice,

And wonder fill'd the grove ;

884.-LONDON. Though grief and fondness in my breast

rebel, When injured Thales bids the town farewell ; Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice

commend, I praise the hermit, but regret the friend, Who now resolves, from vice and London

far, To breathe in distant fields a purer air; And fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore, Give to St. David one true Briton more. For who would leave, un bribed, Hibernia's

land, Or change the rocks of Scotland for the

Strand? There none are swept by sudden fate away, But all, whom hunger spares, with age

decay : Here malice, rapine, accident conspire, And now a rabble rages, now a fire ; Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay, And here the fell attorney prowls for prey; Here falling houses thunder on your head, And here a female atheist talks you dead. While Thales waits the wherry that con

tains Of dissipated wealth the small remains,

The hills and dales again resound

The lambkins' tender cry, With all his murmurs Yarrow trilla

The song of triumph by ;

Above, beneath, around, all on

Was verdure, beauty, song ;
I snatch'd her to my trembling breast,

All nature joy'd along.
William Hamilton.-Born 1704, Died 1754.

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On Thames's banks, in silent thought we A statesman's logic unconvinced can hear, stood,

And dare to slumber o'er the Gazetteer: Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd, flood :

And strive in vain to laugh at H-y's Struck with the seat that gave Eliza birth,

jest. We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth ; Others, with softer smiles and subtler In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew,

art, And call Britannia's glories back to view; Can sap the principles, or taint the heart; Behold her cross triumphant on the main, With more address a lover's note convey, The guard of commerce, and the dread of Or bribe a virgin's innocence away. Spain,

Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic Ere masquerades debauch’d, excise oppress'd, tongue Or English honour grew a standing jest.

Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong, A transient calm the happy scenes bestow, Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy, And for a moment lull the sense of woe. Live unregarded, unlamented die. At length awaking, with contemptuous frown, “For what but social guilt the friend Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town : endears ? “Since worth," he cries, " in these degenerate Who shares Orgilio's crimes, his fortunes days,

shares. Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise ; But thou, should tempting villany present In those cursed walls, devote to vice and All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers gain,

spent, Since unrewarded science toils in vain ;

Turn from the glittering bribe thy scornful Since hope but soothes to double my distress, eye, And every moment leaves my little less ; Nor sell for gold what gold could never buy, While yet my steady steps no staff sustains, The peaceful slumber, self-approving day, And life still vigorous revels in my veins; Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay. Grant me, kind Heaven, to find some happier "The cheated nation's happy favourites, place,

see! Where honesty and sense are no disgrace; Mark whom the great caress, who frown on Some pleasing bank where verdant osiers me ! play,

London! the needy villain's general home, Some peaceful vale with Nature's painting The common sewer of Paris and of Rome, gay;

With eager thirst, by folly or by fate, Where once the harass'd Briton found repose, Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state. And safe in poverty defied his foes ;

Forgive my transports on a theme lile this, Some secret cell, ye powers indulgent, give, I cannot bear a French metropolis. Let-live here, for has learn'd to live. “Illustrious Edward! from the realms of Here let those reign whom pensions can day, incite

The land of heroes and of saints survey ! To vote a patriot black, a courtier white; Nor hope the British lineaments to trace, Explain their country's dear-bought rights The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace ; away,

But, lost in thoughtless ease and empty And plead for pirates in the face of day;

show, With slavish tenets taint our poison'd youth, Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau; And lend a lie the confidence of truth.

Sense, freedom, piety, refined away, Let such raise palaces, and manors buy, Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey. Collect a tax, or farm a lottery;

"All that at home no more can beg or With warbling eunuchs fill a licensed stage,

steal, And lull to servitude a thoughtless age. Or like a gibbet better than a wheel ; “ Heroes, proceed! what bounds your pride Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the shall hold?

court, What check restrain your thirst of power and Their air, their dress, their politics import; gold ?

Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gay, Behold rebellious Virtue quite o'erthrown, On Britain's fond credulity they prey. Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives your No gainful trade their industry can 'scape,

They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a To such a groaning nation's spoils are given, clap: When public crimes inflame the wrath of All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows, Heaven :

And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes. But what, my friend, what hope remains for “Ah! what avails it that, from slavery far, me,

I drew the breath of life in English air ; Who start at theft, and blush at perjury? Was early taught a Briton's right to prize, Who scarce forbear, though Britain's court he And lisp the tale of Henry's victories ; sing,

If the gull’d conqueror receives the chain, To pluck a titled poet's borrow'd wing ; And flattery subdues when arms are yain ?

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and power,

“Studious to please, and ready to submit,
The supple Gaul was born a parasite :
Still to his interest true, where'er he goes,
Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish tongue be-

stows :
In every face a thousand graces shine,
From every tongue flows harmony divine.
These arts in vain our rugged natives try,
Strain out with faltering diffidence a lie,
And gain a kick for awkward flattery.

“Besides, with justice, this discerning age Admires their wondrous talents for the

stage : Well may they venture on the mimic's art, Who play from morn to night a borrow'd

part: Practised their master's notions to embrace, Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face ! With every wild absurdity comply, And view each object with another's eye ; To shake with laughter ere the jest they

hear, To pour at will the counterfeited tear ; And, as their patron hints the cold or heat, To shake in dog-days, in December sweat. How, when competitors like these contend, Can surly Virtue hope to fix a friend? Slaves that with serious impudence beguile, And lie without a blush, without a smile ; Exalt each trifle, every vice adore, Your taste in snuff, your judgment in a

whore; Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air! " For arts like these preferr'd, admired,

caressid, They first invade your table, then your

breast; Explore your secrets with insidions art, Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the

heart; Then soon your ill-placed confidence repay, Commence your lords, and govern or betray. " By numbers here, from shame or censure

free, All crimes are safe but hated poverty: This, only this, the rigid law pursues, This, only this, provokes the snarling muse. The sober trader at a tatter'd cloak Wakes from his dream, and labours for a

joke; With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze, And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways. Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd, Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest; Fate never wounds more deep the generous

heart Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart.

* Has Heaven reserved, in pity to the poor, No pathless waste, or undiscover'd shore ? No secret island in the boundless main ? No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd by Spain ? Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore, And bear Oppression's insolence no more. This mournful truth is everywhere confess'd : Slow rises worth, by poverty depressid:

But here more slow, where all are slaves to

gold, Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are Where, won by bribes, by flatteries implored, The groom retails the favours of his lord. “But hark! the affrighted crowd's tumul.

tuous cries Roll through the street, and thunder to the

skies : Raised from some pleasing dream of wealth Some pompous palace, or some blissful bower, Aghast you start, and scarce with aching

sight Sustain the approaching fire's tremendous

light; Swift from pursuing horrors take your way, And leave your little all to flames a prer; Then through the world a wretched vagrant

roam, For where can starving Merit find a home? In vain your mournful narrative disclose, While all neglect, and most insult your woes. “Should Heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth

confound, And spread his flaming palace on the ground, Swift o'er the land the dismal rumour flies, And public mournings pacify the skies ; The laureate tribe in servile verse relate How Virtue wars with persecuting Fate: With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land. See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come. And crowd with sudden wealth the rising

dome; The price of boroughs and of souls restore, And raise his treasures higher than before : Now bless'd with all the baubles of the great, The polish'd marble, and the shining plate, Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire, And hopes from angry Heaven another fire. "Couldst thou resign the park and play

content, For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent; There mightst thou find some elegant retreat, Some hireling senator's deserted seat, And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling

land, For less than rent the dungeons of the

Strand; There prune thy walks, support thy drooping

flowers, Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers : And while thy beds a cheap repast afford, Despise the dainties of a venal lord : There every bush with nature's music rings, There every breeze bears health upon its

wings; On all thy hours security shall smile, And bless thine evening walk and morning

toil. “Prepare for death, if here at night you

roam; And sign your will, before you sup from

home.

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