A POEM. 123 



As our slow steps retrace the morning's path, 

 Thro' which for centuries some Brother hath 

 Upon this day, on the same mission stray'd, 

 The self-same pleasures known, and doubts betray 'd ; 

 The mind contemplative will wisdom store 

 From thoughts therefrom arising, nor deplore, 

 Aye, for a moment, their result ; the calm 

 Of Autumn's even shall a grateful balm 

 To dreary thoughts dispense : the day well spent, 

 The bag well furnish'd ; no ill-timed dissent, 

 Like venom'd serpent, having caus'd regret : 

 Throughout the day, the trifling crosses met, 

 Such as miss'd shots and foils opposeless, dwell 

 Not on the mind an instant : to excel, 

 Worthless vexations must be thrown aside 

 As soon as form'd, the practis'd, such deride. 



The curling smoke yon little copse enclouds, 

 Which for a shelter's planted, and enshrouds 

 The cottage neat, unconsciously reveals 

 The ramble's limit, and the gunner feels 



