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The loud demand, from year to year the same,
Beggars invention, and makes fancy lame;
Till farce itself, most mournfully jejune,
Calls for the kind assistance of a tune;
And novels (witness every month's review)
Belie their name, and offer nothing new.
The mind, relaxing into needful sport,
Should turn to writers of an abler sort,
Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style,
Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile.
FRIENDSHIP IN RETIREMENT; SOLITUDE A GRAVE WITHOUT IT.

Friends (for I cannot stint, as some have done, Too rigid in my view, that name to one; Though one, I grant it, in the generous breast Will stand advanced a step above the rest : Flowers by that name promiscuously we call, But one, the rose, the regent of them all) — Friends, not adopted with a school-boy's haste, But chosen with a nice-discerning taste, Well-born, well-disciplined, who, placed apart From vulgar minds, have honor much at heart, And, though the world may think the ingredients The love of virtue, and the fear of God! Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed, A temper rustic as the life we lead, And keep the polish of the manners clean, As theirs who bustle in the busiest scene. For solitude, however some may rave, Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, A sepulchre, in which the living lie, Where all good qualities grow sick and die.

[odd,

I praise the Frenchman,' his remark was shrewd

How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude!

But grant me still a friend in my retreat,
Whom I may whisper-
solitude is sweet.
Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside,
That appetite can ask, or wealth provide,
Can save us always from a tedious day,
Or shine the dulness of still life away;
Divine communion, carefully enjoyed,
Or sought with energy, must fill the void.

DIVINE COMMUNION A BALM. DAVID'S FAITH AND STAY.
O sacred art, to which alone life owes
Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close,
Scorned in a world, indebted to that scorn
For evils daily felt and hardly borne,

1 Bruyère.

Not knowing thee, we reap with bleeding hands
Flowers of rank odor upon thorny lands,
And, while experience cautions us in vain,
Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain.
Despondence, self-deserted in her grief,
Lost by abandoning her own relief,
Murmuring and ungrateful discontent,
That scorns afflictions mercifully meant,
Those humors, tart as wine upon the fret,
Which idleness and weariness beget;

[breast,
These, and a thousand plagues, that haunt the
Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest,
Divine communion chases, as the day

Drives to their dens the obedient beasts of prey.
See Judah's promised king, bereft of all,
Driven out an exile from the face of Saul,
To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies,
To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies.
Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice;
Hear him, o'erwhelmed with sorrow, yet rejoice;
No womanish or wailing grief has part,
No, not a moment, in his royal heart;
'Tis manly music, such as martyrs make,
Suffering with gladness for a Saviour's sake;
His soul exults, hope animates his lays,
The sense of mercy kindles into praise,
And wilds, familiar with a lion's roar,
Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before:
"T is love like his that can alone defeat
The foes of man, or make a desert sweet.

RELIGION THE CONSTANT HANDMAID OF JOY AND THE HARMLESS PLEASURES OF RURAL LIFE.

Religion does not censure or exclude Unnumbered pleasures harmlessly pursued ;

To sturdy culture, and with artful toil

To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil;

To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands

The grain, or herb, or plant, that each demands ;

To cherish virtue in an humble state,
And share the joys your bounty may create ;
To mark the matchless workings of the power
That shuts within its seed the future flower,
Bids these in elegance of form excel,

In color these, and those delight the smell,
Sends nature forth the daughter of the skies,
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes;
To teach the canvas innocent deceit,

Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet -
These, these are arts pursued without a crime,
That leave no stain upon the wing of time.

THE POET'S AIM.

Me poetry (or rather notes that aim Feebly and vainly at poetic fame) Employs, shut out from more important views, Fast by the banks of the slow-winding Ouse; Content if thus sequestered I may raise A monitor's, though not a poet's praise, And while I teach an art too little known, To close life wisely, may not waste my own.

Pastorals for November.

BURNS'S" COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.”

My loved, my honored, much respected friend!
No mercenary bard his homage pays :
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end,
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise :
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's sequestered scene,
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways
Which A in a cottage would have been ;
Ah! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I

ween.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;

The short'ning winter day is near a close ; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh, The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose; The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes,

This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

The expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through,
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise and glee,
His wee bit ingle blinkin bonnily,

His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile, An' makes him quite forget his labor and his toil.

Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in,

At service out amang the farmers roun'; Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin A cannie errand to a neebor town: Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, Or deposit her sair-won penny fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

Wi' joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet,

An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers: The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; Anticipation forward points the view; The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; The father mixes a' wi admonition due.

Their master's an' their mistress's command
The yonkers a' are warned to obey,
An' mind their labors wi' an eydent hand,
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play;
An' O! be sure to fear the Lord alway!

An' mind your duty, duly, morn and night,
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray;
Implore His counsel and assisting might,
They never sought in vain who sought the Lord
aright.

But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door-
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same,
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor

To do some errands and convoy her hame.
The wily mother sees the conscious flame

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek, With heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; Weel pleased the mother hears it 's nae wild, worthless rake.

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben:

A strappan youth; he takes the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill ta'en:

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye: The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy : But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave : The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave, Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave.

O happy love! where love like this is found!
O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary, mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare :
If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,

"T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the even-

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And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best,

For them and for their little ones provide, But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside. GLOSSARY.

Sugh, sigh; pleugh, plough; craws, crows; moil, labor ; wee, little; toddlin, tottering; stacher, stagger; flichterin, fluttering; ingle, fire; blinkin, glimmering; carking, corroding; belyve, by and by; bairns, children; drapping, dropping; roun, round; ca, drive; tentie, careful; rin, run; cannie, dextrous; e'e, eye; braw, handsome; spiers, inquires; uncos, strange things; gars, makes; eydent, diligent; jauk, joke; gang, go; wha kens, who knows; hafflins, half, partly; ben, into the room; strappan. strapping; ta'en, taken; cracks, talks; kye, cows; blate, bashful; laithfu', sheepish; lave, rest; parritch, porridge; hawkie, cow; cood, cud; 'yont the hallant, beyond the partition wall; hained, saved; kebbuck, cheese; fell, evenly cut; towmond, twelvemonth; lint in the bell, flax in blossom; ha', hall; lyart, gray; haffets, temples; wales, selects; beets, adds fuel to; Dundee and Elgin, well-known psalm tunes. See also glossaries, pp. 186, 336.

FLETCHER'S "SHEPHERD'S EVE.”
SHEPHERDS all, and maidens fair,
Fold your flocks up, for the air
'Gins to thicken, and the sun
Already his great course hath run.
See the dew-drops, how they kiss
Every little flower that is
Hanging on their velvet heads,
Like a rope of crystal beads;
See the heavy clouds low falling,
And bright Hesperus down calling
The dead night from underground;
At whose rising mists unsound,
Damps and vapors fly apace,
Hovering o'er the wanton face
Of those pastures where they come,
Striking dead both bud and bloom.
Therefore from such danger lock

Every one his loved flock;

And let your dogs lie loose without,

Lest the wolf come as a scout

From the mountain, and, ere day,

Bear a lamb or kid away;

Or the crafty, thievish fox

Break upon your simple flocks.
To secure yourself from these,
Be not too secure in ease;
Let one eye his watches keep,
While the other eye doth sleep;
So you shall good shepherds prove,
And forever hold the love

Of our great God. Sweetest slumbers,
And soft silence, fall in numbers
On your eyelids! so farewell!
Thus I end my evening knell !

Crabbe's "Parish Register."

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Previous consideration necessary: yet not too long delay. Imprudent marriage of old Kirk and his servant: his apprehensions. Comparison between an ancient and youthful partner to a young man. Prudence of Donald, the gardener. Parish wedding: the compelled bridegroom: day of marriage, how spent. Relation of the accomplishments of Phebe Dawson, a rustic beauty: her lover: his courtship: their marriage: misery of precipitation. The wealthy couple: reluctance in the husband, why? Unusually fair signatures in the register: the common kind. Seduction of Bridget Dawdle, by footman Daniel: her rustic lover: her return to him. An ancient couple : three comparisons on the occasion. More pleasant view of village matrimony: farmers celebrating the day of marriage: their wives. Reuben and Rachel an happy pair: an example of prudent delay. Reflections on their state who were not so prudent, and its improvement towards the termination of life: an old man so circumstanced. Attempt to seduce a village beauty: persuasion and reply the event.

Nubere si quà voles quamvis properabitis ambo, Differ; habent parvæ commoda magna moræ. Ovid. Fast. lib. 3.

MARRY DELIBERATELY; LOVE AND PRUDENCE.

DISPOSED to wed, e'en while you hasten, stay, There's great advantage in a small delay; Thus Ovid sang, and much the wise approve This prudent maxim of the priest of love: If poor, delay shall for that want prepare, That, on the hasty, brings a world of care; If rich, delay shall brace the thoughtful mind, T endure the ills that even the happiest find: Delay shall knowledge yield, on either part, And show the value of the vanquished heart: The humors, passions, merits, failings, prove, And gently raise the veil that's worn by love; Love, that impatient guide!—too proud to think Of vulgar wants, of clothing, meat, and drink, Urges our amorous swains their joys to seize, And then at rags and hunger frightened flees : Yet thee too long let not thy fears detain; Till refrain not age, but if old, refrain.

THE OLD MAN AND HIS YOUNG BRIDE; NATHAN AND HIS
WANTON NURSE. UNCERTAINTIES.

By no such rule would Gaffer Kirk be tied ;
First in the year he led a blooming bride,
And stood a withered elder at. her side.

O! Nathan! Nathan! at thy years trepanned,
To take a wanton harlot by the hand!
Thou, who wert used so tartly to express
Thy sense of matrimonial happiness,

Till every youth, whose banns at church were read,
Strove not to meet, or, meeting, hung his head;
And every lass forbore at thee to look,

A sly old fish, too cunning for the hook;
And now at sixty that pert dame to see
Of all thy savings mistress, and of thee;
Now will the lads, remembering insults past,
Cry, What, the wise one in the trap at last!'
Fie, Nathan! fie! to let a sprightly jade
Leer on thy bed, then ask thee how 't was made,
And lingering walk around at head and feet,
To see thy nightly comforts all complete;
Then waiting seek not what she said she sought,
And bid a penny for her master's thought

(A thought she knew, and thou couldst not send hence,

[fire;

Well as thou lovedst them, for ten thousand pence);
And thus with some bold hint she would retire,
That waked the idle wish and stirred the slumbering
Didst thou believe thy passion all so laid,
That thou might'st trifle with thy wanton maid,
And feel amused and yet not feel afraid?
The driest fagot, Nathan, once was green,
And, laid on embers, still some sap is seen;
Oaks, bald like thee above, that cease to grow,
Feel yet the warmth of Spring and bud below;
More senseless thou than fagot on the fire,
For thou couldst feel, and yet wouldst not retire ;
Less provident than dying trees, for they
Some vital strength, some living fire, display,
But none that tend to wear the life itself
Even now I see thee to the altar come;
Downcast thou wert, and conscious of thy doom :
I see thee glancing on that shape aside,
With blended looks of jealousy and pride;
But growing fear has long the pride supprest,
And but one tyrant rankles in thy breast;
Now of her love a second pledge appears,
And doubts on doubts arise, and fears on fears;
Yet fear defy, and be of courage stout,
Another pledge will banish every doubt;
Thine age advancing as thy powers retire, [quire?
Will make thee sure-what more wouldst thou re-

away.

THE YOUNG HUSBAND AND OLD WIFE. A STEADY WIND MAKES A SAFE VOYAGE.

Thus with example sad our year began,

A wanton vixen and a weary man;

But had this tale in other guise been told,' Young let the lover be, the lady old, And that disparity of years shall prove No bane of peace, although some bar to love : "T is not the worst, our nuptial ties among, That joins the ancient bride and bridegroom young; Young wives, like changing winds, their power disBy shifting points and varying day by day; [play,

Now zephyrs mild, now whirlwinds in their force,
They sometimes speed, but often thwart our course:
And much experienced should that pilot be,
Who sails with them, on life's tempestuous sea:
But like a trade-wind is the ancient dame,
Mild to your wish, and every day the same;
Steady as time, no sudden squalls you fear,
But set full sail and with assurance steer;
Till every danger in your way be past,

And then she gently, mildly, breathes her last;
Rich you arrive, in port a while remain,
And for a second venture sail again.

YOUNG DONALD AND OLD MRS. DOBSON. — LUCY, SUSAN, AND CATHARINE, FOILED.

For this blithe Donald southward made his way, And left the lasses on the banks of Tay; Him to a neighboring garden fortune sent; Whom we beheld aspiringly content : Patient and mild he sought the dame to please, Who ruled the kitchen and who bore the keys; Fair Lucy first, the laundry's grace and pride, With smiles and gracious looks, her fortune tried ; But all in vain she praised his pawky eyne,' Where never fondness was for Lucy seen; Him the mild Susan, boast of dairies, loved, And found him civil, cautious, and unmoved; From many a fragrant simple Catharine's skill Drew oil, drew essence from the boiling still; But not her warmth, nor all her winning ways, From his cool phlegm could Donald's spirit raise; Of beauty heedless, with the merry mute, To Mrs. Dobson he preferred his suit; There proved his service, there addressed his vows, And saw her mistress, friend, protectress, spouse. A butler now, he thanks his powerful bride, And, like her keys, keeps constant at her side.

THE COMPELLED WEDDING; MISERY FROM SIN. Next at cur altar stood a luckless pair, Brought by strong passions and a warrant there; By long rent cloak, hung loosely, strove the bride From every eye what all perceived to hide ; While the boy-bridegroom, shuffling in his pace, Now hid a while and then exposed his face; As shame alternately with anger strove The brain, confused with muddy ale, to move; In haste and stammering he performed his part, And looked the rage that rankled in his heart (So will each lover inly curse his fate, Too soon made happy, and made wise too late); I saw his features take a savage gloom, And deeply threaten for the days to come; Low spake the lass, and lisped and minced the while; Looked on the lad, and faintly tried to smile ; With softened speech and humbled tone she strove To stir the embers of departed love; While he, a tyrant, frowning walked before, Felt the poor purse, and sought the public door, She sadly following in submission went,

And saw the final shilling foully spent ;
Then to her father's hut the pair withdrew,
And bade to love and comfort long adieu!-
Ah! fly temptation, youth; refrain! refrain !
I preach forever; but I preach in vain!

THE VILLAGE BELLE, PHEBE DAWSON. HER CHARMS, VIRTUES, AND TRIUMPHS.

Two summers since, I saw at Lammas fair
The sweetest flower that ever blossomed there;
When Phebe Dawson gayly crossed the green,
In haste to see, and happy to be seen;
Her air, her manners, all who saw admired;
Courteous though coy, and gentle though retired;
The joy of youth and health her eyes displayed,
And ease of heart her every look conveyed;
A native skill her simple robes expressed,
As with untutored elegance she dressed;
The lads around admired so fair a sight,
And Phebe felt, and felt she gave, delight.
Admirers soon of every age she gained,
Her beauty won them, and her worth retained;
Envy itself could no contempt display -
They wished her well, whom yet they wished away;
Correct in thought, she judged a servant's place
Preserved a rustic beauty from disgrace;

But yet on Sunday eve, in freedom's hour,
With secret joy she felt that beauty's power;
When some proud bliss upon the heart would steal,
That, poor or rich, a beauty still must feel.

HER ACCEPTED LOVER, THE TAILOR.

At length, the youth ordained to move her breast Before the swains with bolder spirit pressed; With looks less timid made his passion known, And pleased by manners most unlike her own; Loud though in love, and confident though young; Fierce in his air, and voluble of tongue; By trade a tailor, though, in scorn of trade, He served the squire, and brushed the coat he made; Yet now, would Phebe her consent afford, Her slave alone, again he'd mount the board ; With her should years of growing love be spent, And growing wealth :- —she sighed, and looked con

sent.

THE LOVERS' STROLL.-TEMPTATION YIELDED TO. Now, through the lane, up hill, and 'cross the Seen but by few and blushing to be seen- [green, Dejected, thoughtful, anxious, and afraid, Led by the lover, walked the silent maid: Slow through the meadows roved they, many a mile, Toyed by each bank and trifled at each stile; Where, as he painted every blissful view, And highly colored what he strongly drew, The pensive damsel, prone to tender fears, Dimmed the false prospect with prophetic tears: Thus passed the allotted hours, till, lingering late, The lover loitered at the master's gate; There he pronounced adieu! and yet would stay, Till chidden, soothed, entreated, forced away;

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