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poetry. Dec. 26. 
And, fhiv’ring wild, their fhining pinions ply, 
While with their fea er’d loves they vernal gambols try. 
Oh spring ! I love thy gentle reign, 
Yet J could leave thee, gentle spring, 
What time his wisdom fhall ordain, 
Who reigns the sov’reign king. 
Yes! thy kind fhow’rs, thy fkies of silver hues, 
Thy meads and vales, soft gales and glofsy bloom, 
I'd leave them all, so friendly to the muse, 
And uncomplaining wait the chearlefs tomb, 
Where death’s cold season chills the poet’s tongue, 
Nor more the sylvan muse fhall wake the vesnal song. 
Yes, I must leave thee, spring tide fair; 
Yet there’s a brighter spring above, 
Gay smiles the sun the live long yeary 
Aod all is light and love. 
There, gales immortal, sweetnefs breathe around;]} 
There spring fair fhining fruits, and golden flow’rs, 
Cherifh’d luxuriant in the laughing ground, 
With heaven’s own dews, and pure ambrosial fhow’rs. 
There happy beings rest, their conquests won, 
And weave fiom heav'nly trees, a never with’ring crown. 
—SE[EIEyIyIIS>S>EIxUyy——————>>e>>>>>[—_———— —>L_L_L_L_L_______ a. 
WHAT IS HAPPINESS ? 
BY THE LATE DRLADD 
Tis an empty, fleeting thade, 
By imagination made}; 
?Tis a bubble, straw, or worse, 
>Tis a baby’s hobby horse. 
?Tis two hundred fhillings clear, 
»Tis ten thousand pounds a-year; 
Tis a title, "tis a name, 
Tis a puff of empty fame. 
Fickle as the breezes blow, 
Tis a lady’s yes orno! 
And when the description’s crown’d, 
Tis just no where to be found. 
Arouet fhews,. I must confefs, 
Says De/ia what is happinefs ? 
J with he now would tell us what 
This self same happinefs is not ; 
What happinefs isnot? I vow 
That Delia, you have pos’d me nowa 
What is it not ?—stay ! let me see, 
I think dear maid, ’tis not for me. 
