MRS. STUART'S RETIREMENT.

FROM the Court, to the Cottage convey me away! For I'm weary of grandeur, and what they call 'gay'; Where Pride without measure,

And Pomp without pleasure,

Make life, in a circle of hurry, decay.

Far remote and retired from the noise of the Town; I'll exchange my brocade for a plain russet gown! My friends shall be few,

But well chosen and true;

And sweet recreation, our evening shall crown!

With a rural repast, a rich banquet to me,
On a mossy green bank, near some shady old tree,
The river's clear brink

Shall afford me my drink;

And Temp'rance, my friendly Physician shall be!

Ever calm and serene, with contentment still blest, Not too giddy with joy, or with sorrow deprest, I'll neither invoke,

Nor repine at, Death's stroke!

But retire from the world, as I would to my rest,

'АH! gaze not on those eyes! Forbear
That soft enchanting voice to hear!
Not looks of basilisks give surer death;
Nor Sirens sing with more destructive breath!

'Fly! if thy freedom thou'dst maintain!
Alas! I feel th' advice is vain!

A heart, whose safety but in flight does lie, Is far too lost, to have the power to fly!'

SOFT kisses may be innocent;

But, ah! too easy Maid, beware! Though that is all thy kindness meant; 'Tis Love's delusive fatal snare!

No Virgin e'er, at first, designed

Through all the Maze of Love to stray; But each new path allures her mind, Till, wand'ring on, she lose her way!

'Tis easy, ere set out, to stay;

But who the useful art can teach,
When sliding down a steepy way,
To stop, before the end we reach?

Keep ever something in thy power,
Beyond what would thy honour stain!
He will not dare to aim at more,
Who for small favours sighs in vain!

If those who live in Shepherd's bower,
Press not the rich and stately bed;
The new-mown hay and breathing flower
A softer couch beneath them spread!

If those who sit at Shepherd's board,
Soothe not their taste by wanton art;
They take what Nature's gifts afford,
And take it with a cheerful heart!

If those who drain the Shepherd's bowl,
No high and sparkling wines can boast;
With wholesome cups they cheer the soul,
And crown them with the village Toast!

If those who join in Shepherd's sport,
Gay dancing on the daisied mead,
Have not the splendour of a Court;
Yet Love adorns the merry Round!

UNLESS with my AMANDA blest,

In vain, I twine the woodbine bower! Unless to deck her sweeter breast,

In vain, I wreathe the breathing flower!

Awakened by the genial year,

In vain, the birds around me sing! In vain, the fresh'ning fields appear! Without my Love, there is no Spring!