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How happy they who thus escape while young,
TRANSLATION OF THE
FORTIETH ODE OF ANACREON.
BY ROBERT FARREN CHEETHAM.
CUPID once, in evil hour,
Cropp'd the pride of Flora's bow'r;
The god, unus'd to suffer pain,
Hid the rose-bud leaves among,
Wiping Love's tear-streaming eyes,
Pain thee thus, and give thee thrall,
SONNET TO THE RIVER TWEED.
BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES.
O TWEED! a stranger that, with wand'ring feet, O'er hill and dale has journey'd many a mile; If so his weary thoughts he might beguile, Delighted turns thy beauteous scenes to greet.
The waving branches that romantic bend
O'er thy tall banks, a soothing charm bestow; The murmur of thy wand'ring wave below, Seems to his ear the pity of a friend.
Delightful stream! though now along thy shore,
VIRTUE'S REPLY TO PLEASURE.
"TIs with the gods and godlike men I dwell,
Counsel with strength, and industry with art,
With me true friendship dwells: she deigns to bind
Nor need my friends the various costly feast,
Sweet is their sleep: light, cheerful, strong they rise.
Thro' health, thro' joy, thro' pleasure and renown, They tread my paths: and, by a soft descent, At length to age all gently sinking down,
Look back with transport on a life well spent. In which no hour flew unimprov'd away,
In which some generous deed distinguish'd every day.
And when, the destin'd term at length complete,
This Hercules is happiness! obey
My voice, and live. Let thy celestial birth
Lift and enlarge thy thoughts.
Behold the way
That leads to fame, and raises thee from earth, Immortal! lo, I guide thy steps. Arise,
Pursue the glorious path, and claim thy native skies.
HYMN TO CONTENT.
BY MRS. BARBAULD.
O THOU, the Nymph with placid eye!
Receive my temperate vow:
Not all the storms that shake the pole
O come, in simplest vest array'd,
And chaste subdued delight.
No more by varying passions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
Where in some pure and equal sky,
Simplicity in Attic vest,
And Innocence with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye;
And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair op'ning through this vale of tears
There Health, through whose calm bosom glide The temp'rate joys in even tide,
That rarely ebb or flow;
And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,