MISCELLANEOUS. o9 



And unconstrained to rove along 

 The bushy brakes and glens among ; 

 And woo the muse's gentle power 

 In unfrequented rural bower : 

 But ah ! such heaven-approaching joys 

 Will never greet my longing eyes 

 Still will they cheat in vision fine, 

 Yet never but in fancy shine. 



Oh, that I were the little wren 

 That shrilly chirps from yonder glen I 

 Oh, far away I then would rove, 

 To some secluded bushy grove ; 

 There hop and sing with careless glee, 

 Hop and sing at liberty ; 

 And till death should stop my lays, 

 Far from men would spend my days. 



ADDRESS TO CONTEMPLATION. 

 (WHtten at the Age of Fourteen.) 



Thee do I own, the prompter of my joys, 

 The soother of my cares, inspiring peace ; 

 And I will ne'er forsake thee. Men may rave, 

 And blame and censure me, that I don't tie 

 My ev'ry thought down to the desk, and spend 

 The morning of my life in adding figures 

 With accurate monotony, that so 

 The good things of the world may be my lot, 

 And I might taste the blessedness of wealth : 

 But, oh ! I was not made for money getting ; 

 For me no much-respected plum awaits. 

 Nor civic honour, envied. For as still 

 I tried to cast with school dexterity 

 The interesting sums, my vagrant thoughts 

 Would quick revert to many a woodland haunt, 

 Which fond remembrance cherish'd, and the pen 



