Oh! I could doat upon the rural scene,
It's profpect over hill and champaign wide,
But that it marks the tedious way between,

• That parts my Damon from his promis'd bride.

The gardens now put forth their bloffoms fweet,
In Nature's flowery mantle gaily dress'd;
The clofe-trimm'd hedge, and circling border neat,
All afk my Delia for their dearest gueft.

• The lily pale, the purple blushing rose,

In this fair spot their mingled beauties join; • The woodbine here it's curling tendrils throws,

In wreaths fantaftick, round the mantling vine.

• The branching arbour here, for lovers made,

For dalliance meet, or fong, or amorous tale, • Shall oft protect us with it's cooling fhade, • When fultry Phoebus burns the lowly vale.

< 'Tis all another paradife around;

• And, trust me, fo it would appear to me,
Like the firft man were I not lonely found,
< And but half bleft, my Delia, wanting thee.

For two, but two, I've form'd a lovely walk,

And I have call'd it by my fair-one's name; • Here, bless'd with thee, t' enjoy thy pleafing talk, • While fools and madmen bow the knee to fame.

The ruftick path already have I try'd,

• Oft at the finking of the fetting day;

• And while, my love, I thought thee by my fide, • With careful steps have worn it's edge away.

• With

With thee I've held difcourfe, how paffing fweet! While fancy brought thee to my raptur'd dream ; • With thee have prattled in my lone retreat,

And talk'd down funs on love's delicious theme.

Oft, as I wander through the ruftick crowd,

Mufing with downcaft look, and folded arms; They' ftare with wonder when I rave aloud,

• And dwell with rapture on thy artless charms.

They call me mad, and oft with finger rude,
• Point at me leering, as I heedless pass;

Yet Colin knows the caufe, for love is fhrewd,
And the young fhepherd courts the farmer's lafs.

Among the fruits that grace this little feat,

And all around their clustering foliage spread, • Here may'ft thou cull the peach, or nectarine sweet, And pluck the ftrawberry from it's native bed.

And all along the river's verdant fide,

I've planted elms, which rife in even row, And fling their lofty branches far and wide, Which float reflected, in the lake below,

Since I've been abfent from my lovely fair,
Imagination forms a thousand schemes;

• For O! my Delia, thou art all my care,
• And all with me is love and golden dreams.

O flattering promise of secure delight!
• When will the lazy-pacing hours be o'er,
That I may fly with rapture to thy fight,

And we shall meet again, to part no more?'

ODE

ODE ON HEARING MUSICK.

BY JOHN SCOTT, ESQ.

ON organ! hark!-how foft, how fweet,

Y the organ, harke how feft, how f

The found my fancy leads

To climes where Phoebus' brightest beams
Gild jasmine groves, and chrystal streams,
And lily-mantled meads;

Where myrtle bowers their bloom unfold,
Where citrons bend with fruit of gold,

Where grapes depress the vines;
Where, on the bank with rofes gay,
Love, Innocence, and Pleasure play,
And Beauty's form reclines.

Now different tones and measures flow,
And, gravely deep, and fadly flow,
Involve the mind in gloom;

I feem to join the mournful train,
Attendant round the couch of Pain,
Or leaning o'er the tomb:

To where the orphan'd infant fleeps,
To where the love-lorn damfel weeps,

I pitying feem to ftray;
Methinks I watch his cradle near;
Methinks her drooping thoughts I chear,

And wipe her tears away.

B

Now

Now loud the tuneful thunders roll,

And rouze and elevate the foul
O'er earth and all it's care;

I feem to hear from heavenly plains
Angelick choirs refponfive ftrains,
And in their raptures fhare.

THE WALL-FLOWER.

BY DR. LANGHORNE.

HY loves my flower, the fweetest flower

WH That swells the golden breast of May,

• Thrown rudely o'er this ruin'd tower, To wafte her folitary day?

From thee be far th' ungentle deed,
The honours of the dead to spoil;
Or take the fole remaining meed,

The flower that crowns their former toil!

Nor deem that flower the garden's foe, 'Or fond to grace this barren fhade; ''Tis Nature tells her to bestow 'Her honours on the lonely dead.

For this, obedient zephyrs bear

• Her light feeds round yon turret's mold; 'And, undifpers'd by tempefts, there

Nor fhall thy wonder wake to fee

• Such defart fcenes diftinction crave;

'Oft have they been, and oft shall be

• Truth's, Honour's, Valour's, Beauty's grave.

When that, too, fhakes the trembling ground,
Borne down by fome tempeftuous sky,

And many a flumbering cottage round
Startles how ftill their hearts will lie!

Of them who, wrapt in earth fo cold, • No more the smiling day shall view, • Should many a tender tale be told, For many a tender thought is due,

B 2

• Haft