There stands the messenger of truth: there stands Its thunders; and by him, in strains as sweet The sacramental host of God's elect! Are all such teachers would to Heaven all were! THE POPLAR FIELD. HE poplars are felled, farewell to the shade THE And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view my favourite field, and the bank where they grew : And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. The blackbird has fled to another retreat Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat; And the scene where his melody charmed me before Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, 'Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can, TO MARY UNWIN. THE twentieth year is well nigh past Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, But well thou playd'st the housewife's part Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language uttered in a dream; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, For could I view nor them nor thee, Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign, Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st And still to love, though pressed with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary! But ah! by constant heed I know And should my future lot be cast Anna Letitia Barbauld. HYMN TO CONTENT. THOU, the nymph with placid eye! Not all the storms that shake the pole O come, in simple vest arrayed, To bless my longing sight; No more by varying passions beat, Where in some pure and equal sky, The modest virtues dwell. Simplicity in Attic vest, And Innocence with candid breast, And Hope, who points to distant years, There Health, through whose calm bosom glide The temperate joys in even tide, That rarely ebb or flow; And Patience there, thy sister meek, Her influence taught the Phrygian sage But thou, O nymph retired and coy! The lowliest children of the ground, |