With Awe, Around These Silent

Beauties, When Disposed To Sleep, Should From The Eye Of Keen Inspector Keep: The Lovely Nymph Who Would Her Swain Surprise, May Close Her Mouth, But Not Conceal Her Eyes; Sleep From The Fairest Face Some Beauty Takes, And All The Homely Features Homelier Makes.

The Wife Was Pretty, Trifling, Childish, Weak; She Could Not Think, But Would Not Cease To Speak.

Genius! Thou Gift Of Heav'n! Thou Light Divine! Amid What Dangers Art Thou Doom'd To Shine! Oft Will The Body's Weakness Check Thy Force, Oft Damp Thy Vigour, And Impede Thy Course; And Trembling Nerves Compel Thee To Restrain Thy Noble Efforts, To Contend With Pain; Or Want (sad Guest!) Will In Thy Presence Come, And Breathe Around Her Melancholy Gloom: To Life's Low Cares Will Thy Proud Thought Confine, And Make Her Sufferings, Her Impatience, Thine.

O Days Remember'd Well! Remember'd All! The Bitter Sweet, The Honey And The Gall; Those Garden Rambles In The Silent Night, Those Trees So Shady, And That Moon Se Bright, That Thickset Alley By The Arbor Clos'd, That Woodbine Seat Where We At Last Repos'd; And Then The Hopes That Came And Then Were Gone, Quick As The Clouds Beneath The Moon Past On.

Our Farmers Round, Well Pleased With Constant Gain, Like Other Farmers, Flourish And Complain.