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In fortune’s varying colours drest :

Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance,

Or chill'd by age, their airy dance, They leave in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear in accents low

The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist and what art thou ?

A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
Thy painted plumage to display:

On hasty wings thy youth is flown;

Thy sun is set thy spring is gone.com We frolic, while 'tis May.

GRAY.

THE BANK OF THE RIVER OF DEATH.

Parting soul! The flood awaits thee,

And the billows round thee roar; And look on---the crystal city

Stands on yon celestial shore ! There are crowns and thrones of glory;

There the living waters glide; There the just, in shining raiment,

Wander by EMMANUEL's side.

Linger not the stream is narrow,

Though its cold dark waters rise; He who passed the flood before thee,

Guides thy path to yonder skies: Hark! the sound of angels' hymnings

Rolls harmonious o'er thine ear ;

See! the walls and golden portals

Through the mist of death appear.

Soul adieu !-This gloomy sojourn

Holds thy captive feet no more ;
Flesh is dropt, and sin forsaken;

Sorrow done, and weeping o'er.
Through the tears thy friends are shedding,

Smiles of hope serenely shine;
Not a friend remains behind thee,

But would change his lot for thine.

EDMESTON.

THE CUCKOO.

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove,

Attendant on the spring !

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Now heav'n repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.

Soon as the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear :
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flowers,

When heav'n is fill'd with music sweet

Of birds among the bowers.

The school-boy, wand'ring in the wood,

To pull the flow'rs so gay, Starts, thy curious voice to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fly'st the vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,

Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,

The sky is ever clear ;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year !

O could I fly, I'd fly with thee:

We'd make with social wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the spring.

LOGAN.

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