Dear Edward, when we stroll'd along
Beneath the waving corn,
And both confess'd the power of song,
And bless'd the dewy morn;
Your eye o'erflow'd, "How sweet," you cried.
(My presence then could move)
"How sweet, with Mary by my side,
"To gaze and talk of love"
Thou art not false! that cannot be;
Yet I my rivals deem
Each woodland charm, the moss, the tree,
The silence, and the stream;
Whate'er my love, detains thee now,
I'll yet forgive thy stay;
But with to-morrow's dawn come thou,
We'll brush the dews away.
GOOD TIDINGS OR, _NEWS FROM THE FARM_.
How vain this tribute; vain, this lowly lay;
Yet nought is vain which gratitude inspires!
The Muse, besides, her duty thus approves
To virtue, to her country, to mankind!
_Thomson._
ADVERTISEMENT
To the few who know that I have employed my thoughts on the importance of
Dr. Jenners's discovery, it has generally and almost unexceptionably
appeared a subject of little promise; peculiarly unfit indeed for poetry.
My method of treating it has endeared it to myself, for it indulges in
domestic anecdote.
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