"Nor thee, the vagrants of the field,
"The hamlet's little train behold;
"Their eyes to fweet oppreffion yield,
"When thine the falling fhades unfold.
"Nor thee the hafty fhepherd heeds,

"When love has fill'd his heart with cares, "For flowers he rifles all the meads,

"For waking flowers-but thine forbears.

"Ah! wafte no more that beauteous bloom "On night's chill fhade, that fragrant breath, "Let fmiling funs thofe gems illume!

"Fair flower, to live unfeen is death !”

Soft as the voice of vernal gales,

That o'er the bending meadows blow, Or ftreams that fteál through even vales, And murmur that they move fo flow:

Deep in her unfrequented bower,

Sweet Philomela pour'd her ftrain;

The bird of eve approv'd her flower,
And anfwered thus the anxious swain :-

Live unfeen!

By moon-light shades, in vallies green,
Lovely flower, we'll live unfeen!
Of our pleasures deem not lightly,
Laughing day may look more (prightly,

But I love the modeft m en,

Still I love the modeft mien

Of gentle Ev'ning fair, and her star-train'd queea,

Didst thou, Shepherd never find,

Pleasure is of penfive kind?

Has thy cottage never known,
That the loves to live alone?
Doft thou not, at evening hour,
Feel fome foft and fecret power,
Gliding o'er thy yielding mind,
Leave fweet ferenity behind;

While, all difarm'd, the cares of day
Steal through the falling gloom away :?
Love to think thy lot was laid
In this undiftinguifh'd shade.

Far from the world's infectious view,
Thy little virtues fafely blew.

Go, and in day's more dangerous hour
Guard thy emblematic flower.

THE WALL-FLOWER.

From the Fables of Flora.

WHY loves my flower, the sweetest flower,

"That fwells the golden breast of May,

Thrown rudely o'er yon ruin'd tower "To wafte her folitary day?

"Why, when the mead, the fpicy vale,

"The grove and genial garden call,

"Will the her fragrant foul exhale,
"Unheeded on the lonely wall?

"For never fure was beauty born
"To live in death's deferted thade!
"Come, lovely flower, my banks adorn,
My banks for life and beauty made."

Thus Pity wak'd the tender thought,
And by her sweet perfuafion led
To feize the hermit-flower I fought,
And bear her from her ftony bed.
I fought-but fudden on mine ear
A voice in hollow murmurs broke,
And fmote my heart with holy fear-
The GENIUS of the Ruin fpoke.

"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 mould, "And undifpers'd by tempefts there,

"They rife in vegetable gold.

"Nor fhall thy wonder wake to fee

"Such defert fcenes diftinction crave;

"Oft have they been, and oft fhall be,

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

"Where longs to fall that rifted fpire,
"As weary of th' infulting air;
"The poet's thought, the warrior's fire,
"The lover's fighs are fleeping there.

When that too shakes the trembling ground,
Born down by fome tempeftuous fky,,

"And many a lumbering cottage round
"Startles-how ftill their hearts will lie!

"Of them who wrapt in earth fo cold,

"No more the finiling day fhall view, "Should many a tender tale be told;

"For many a tender thought is due.

"Haft thou not seen some lover pale,
"When evening brought the pensive hour,
"Step flowly o'er the fhadowy vale,

"And stop to pluck the frequent flower?
"Thofe flowers he furely meant to strew
"On loft affection's lowly cell;

"Though there, as fond remembrance grew,

Forgotten, from his hand they fell.

"Has not for thee the fragrant thorn
"Been taught her first rose to refign?
"With vain but pious fondness borne
"To deck thy Nancy's honour'd shrine?
"'Tis Nature pleading in the breast,
"Fair memory of her works to find;
"And when to fate fhe yields the rest,
"She claims the monumental mind.

"Why, elfe, the o'er-grown paths of time,
"Would thus the letter'd fage explore,
"With pain these crumbling ruins climb,
"And on the doubtful fculpture pore?

"Why feeks he with unwearied toil,

"Through Death's dim walks to urge his way,

"Reclaim his long-afferted spoil

"And lead Oblivion into day?

"'Tis Nature prompts, by toil or fear

"Unmov'd, to range through Death's domain: "The tender parent loves to hear

"Her children's story told again.

"Treat not with scorn his thoughtful hours,
"If haply near these haunts he stray;
"Nor take the fair enlivening flowers
"That bloom to cheer his lonely way."

OGILVIE.

ODE,

TO MELANCHOLY.

HAIL, queen of thought fublime! propitious pow's!

Who o'er th' unbounded waste art joy'd to roam,
Led by the moon, when at the midnight hour
Her pale rays tremble at the dusky gloom.

O bear me, goddefs, to thy peaceful feat!
Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd,
Or lodg'd where mountains screen thy deep retreats
Or wandering wild through Chili's boundless shade.

Say, rove thy fteps o'er Lybia's naked waste?
Or feek fome diftant folitary shore ;

Or, on the Andes' topmost mountain plac'd,
Doft fit, and hear the folemn thunder roar?

Fix'd on fome hanging rock's projected brow,
Hear'ft thou low murmurs from the diftant dome ?
Or ftray thy feet where pale dejected Woe

Pours her long wail from fome lamented tomb >