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Give my Soul each raptur'd Feeling,

Which thy generous Joys bestow, And when Sorrow's Tears are stealing,

Touch my Heart with manly Woe.

Then thro' Life, without repining,

In an even Course I'll stray, Till with hoary Age declining,

Death proclaims his destin d Prey.

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(By the AUTHOR of The Cave of MORAR.)

HEN bamly Zephyr's gentle Breeze,

Proclaim'd the welcome
When blooming Verdure cloath'd the Trees,

And Birds began to fing,

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Charm'd with the Scene, in mute Surprise

The young PASTOR A stray'd, Till tender Looks and broken Sighs,

The feeling Breast display'd. ! Hail, hail,' she cry'd, ye blissful Pow'rs,

« Of SYMPATHETIC Joy, « 'Tis your's to fill the fleeting Hours

• With Sweets that ne'er can cloy.

• In this Retreat with you I'll dwell,

• Remote from mortal Care, • Content shall guard the humble Cell,

« And Health the Feast prepare.

. Oft as the happy rural Throng, ( With frolic Freedom

gay, < To Mirth devote the artless Song,

• I'll join the sprightly Lay.

. When

When pale Distress, with fault'ring Voice,

• Demands the friendly Tear, • In blissful Pity's native Guise,

Her drooping Heart I'll chear.

« Nor shall my Breast defy the Flame,

· That speaks the Power of Love, • For oft with Damon's favourite Name,

" I'll charm the listening Grove.'

She ceas'd the Strain-Swift from the Shade

The happy Damon few,
With eager Arms he press’d the Maid

So gentle, kind, and true.

To quell the Rage of Love's Alarms,

He sily snatch'd a Kiss-
She blush'd, and own'd she felt the Charms


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(By the AUTHOR of The Cave of MORAR.)


Weetest Warbler of the Wood,

Raise thy soft bewitching Strain,
And in Pleasure's sprightly Mood,

Free from Sorrow free from Pain ;
Throthy airy Mansions stray,
Full of Sport and full of Play.

When the Sun's returning Beam,

Darts propitious from the East, Dimpling every limpid Stream,

Gilding Nature's flowery vest, Thro' the Calm protecting Grove, Chaunt the welcome Songs of Love.

When the Evening's Clouds prevail,

And the chearing Sun retires, When the Shadows mark the Dale,

And the Beam forsakes the Spires, Highly mounting from our View, Give him still the last Adieu,


As you skim the verdant Lawn,

Let the youthful Virgin Band,
Early as the Morning's Dawn,

Triping light with Aspects bland,
Guided by thy artless Note,
Thro? the graceful Measure float.


Thus on Freedom's easy Wing,

Let the Mufe, with raptur'd Song, Hail the first Approach of Spring,

And the grateful Strain prolong, Till surly Winter's harth Decree, Restrain her Verse, and banish thee.

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