244 
Remote from all but Zephyr’s gentle figh, 
And only vocal with the woodland ate 
Sure in this grove the lovely maid muft lie, 
See! yonder, where ae f{miling, 
glides along. 

Hail, long-loft pow’r! hail ch ey’d nymph 
divine! 
Lo, at thy feet, ai gapeliant vot’ry bend! 
O deign to view him with aa eye benign, 
So dying Hope fhall find in thee a friend. 
Ah! turn not thy angelic face away ! 
If thou’lt be mine, no more I'll quit this 
vale, 
But fit befide thee all the live-long day, 
And lift in filence to thy rural tale. 
Hail ! thou meek fifter cf Felicity! 
O heed my pray’r, and lead me to thy cell! 
Forgot, forgetting, all the world but thee, 
Far from the world with thee alone to 
dwell. 
There may we live, unfought for, and un- 
feen 
By Fortune’s train, fantaftic, cold, and rude; 
Nor let the fons of Comus mark the green, 
Nor lounging triflers on our hours intrude. 
Should fome fair nymph by chance our paths 
pervade, 
Deep in the foreft hide me from her charms! 
Beauty might win e’en hermits from the 
thade ; 5 
Her {miles would tear me from thy gentle 
arms! 
If aught be welcome to our fylvan fhed, 
Be it the traveller who has loft his way, 
Who knows not where ihall reft his anxious 
head, 
Who knows not where his wearied limbs 
to lay. 
Be it the age-worn peafant, if, at eve, 
Far from his herd or bleating fiock he 
roam, 
To feek fome frighted\lamb, or ftragg 
beeve 5 
—Our gueft, till morn recalls his foot- 
fteps home. 
gling 
Or fhould fome lover, who had lof his love, 
Stray near our cot, with hopelefs paffion 
wild, 
Be ours to foothe his care, his pangs remove, 
For every care is due to Sorrow’s child. 
When the fun peeps from out the orient fky, 
Ort may we, loitering from our humble 
bow’r, 
Find out fome funny bank whereon to lie, 
And twine a wreath of every new-blown 
flow’r. 
Or oft, be‘ide fome rev’rend oak-tree laid, 
With eyes half clos’d, to hear the woodland 
fong 3 ‘ 
Or roving, thoughtlefs, through the chequer’d 
fhade, 
‘Tomark the fun- beams as they glide along 
thai Poetry. , 
FOGober r, 
Or wandering down the margin of the ftream, 
To caft the light bough tothe playful wave 5 
Or, paufing, watch the moon’s refleéted beam, 
Dance on the ripling waters as they lave. 
Calm fcenes! for which I bid the world fare~ 
well ; 
For which fron friends, from focial life 
depart ! ; 
For which I filence e’en my ruftic fhell, 
The kindeft foother of my wounded heart? 
All hail, fweet Peace, hail dove-eyed maid 
divine ! 
See at thy feet a humble votary bend! 
O look upon me with an eye benign, 
So dying Hope fhall find in thee a friend. 
(To be continued.) 
—_— 
LINES 
On the DEATH of the Rev. MR. STEVENSON 
Vicar of Fordwich, in Kent, wha dropt down 
and expired immediately after performing tbe 
Morning Service. 
(BY THE SAME.) 
WHILST yet upon his Maker’s praife he 
hung, 
Whilft yet the trains of virtue graced his 
tongue, 
Heav’n call'd from earth his gentle foul away, 
To thare the glories of immortal day. 
He fpoke! he fell! and, fmiling in his fall, 
Prepared to go whene’er his God might call, 
He caft one glance around, then foftly fighed, 
Upraifed his hopeful eyes to Heav’n and died ! 
To pitying Heav’n! which made him all its 
own, 
Without one pang, or one expiring groan! 
Farewell, meek fpirit! pious, juft,.and kind ! 
Farewell thy feeling heart, and polith’d mind! 
Farewell from him, who, in his humble fhed, 
Revered thee living, and laments thee dead! 
EE 
To the Editor cf ithe Monthly Magazine. 
SIR, 
S there are probably few of your readers 
wholly vnacquainted with the French 
language, the following fpecimen of the 
Patois, or dialect of the province of Pattow, 
may not be an improper article fer your Mil- 
cellany. The fubje@t, which is the conver- 
fion of a Huguenot Pattor to the eftablifhed 
faith, though at a time his fet were much 
perfecuted, was thought a matter of great ' 
triumph, as many other pieces in profe and 
verfe were written on the occafion. 
3th Fuly. Your’s, &c. 
| J j. @ 
ODE EN POICTEVIN. 
Sur ce qui Sef? paffé a la Converfion de M. COTT- 
BI, Minifre de Poiétiers, le Feudy de la Cone 
& le four de Pajgues, 1660. 
IEU gard Monfu Cotibi. 
Qui vedrion l’ave tou vi. 
pate, ; 
Et routy don l’hite. 
Dos Alouby, 
Pretri querne 
Gl 
