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Article LINES TO THOMSON, THE IMMORTAL POET OF THE SEASONS. Page 1 of 1 Article EPIGRAM. Page 1 of 1
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Lines To Thomson, The Immortal Poet Of The Seasons.
LINES TO THOMSON , THE IMMORTAL POET OF THE SEASONS .
By T . P . A PILGRIM poor of Life's unhonor'd vale , I seek the spot where-rests his mould ' ring clay , Belov'd of every Muse , whom all bewail ! Who taught my steps Content ' s untroubled way . For who that Nature's various Works can charm , Whose spirit drinks the breeze or sunny beam ; in the
Joys landscape , boundless , bright , and warm , Or Cynthia's rays , where trembling kiss the stream : Whose bosom to the sky-lark ' s chearful note Responsive beats , and when night ' s shade prevail ,-With pity swells , as her sad songstress throat Pours its soft plaint along the dusky vale : Whose hunger ields well leas'd to humblest faro
y p . And thirst by earth ' s pure bev ' rage is controll'd ; Would envy joys so intermix'd with care , As those which guilt too highly rents of gold ? And who , once having seen thy polish'd page , Where Fancy , Reason , Virtue , are combin'd With Nature , . ease and elegance t ' engage , Deli
ght , improve , and elevate the mind , Would hesitate his ling ' ring heart to tear From tinsel state , which vice and folly love , To breathe with thee of downs the healthful air . Or musing wander thro' the mazy grove ? If the world ' s pomp and pleasure I forego , If I enjoy , tho' poor , a state like this , To thee
, O THOMSON , bard divine I I owe Th' extensive pleasure and the mighty bliss ! Thy fame the wreck of nature shall survive , Whose lovely progeny around the wave Ot baiher Thames , with endless verdure strive lo grace the town which owns her Poet ' s grave ,. The pilgrim ' s trinket on our lad vest
y's Suspended peers around with feeble glare Mid ghtt ' ring gems and gold , which well attest Ihe patron's merit , and the vofry's care . Though small the boon he on the shrine bestow , Twas given freely from a heart sincere ; hoi , my rev'rence for the dead to show , 'Tis ail I have , these Lines alone can bear
Epigram.
EPIGRAM .
NOL MARTEXT , who never the pulpit could grace , As he warp'd every accent quite out of it-, place 'Stead of " Hebrews the Tenth and Twelfth , " right announcing ! He BREWS Ten and Twelve" was his mode of pronouncing f He BREWS len and T elve , " then repeating ince more , An old drowsy toper , wuose nap was just o'er Rubb'd his eyes and roar'd out , " Ten and Twelve , Master Vicar ?" T « o or three bushels more , and he'd BREW humming : liquor I
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Lines To Thomson, The Immortal Poet Of The Seasons.
LINES TO THOMSON , THE IMMORTAL POET OF THE SEASONS .
By T . P . A PILGRIM poor of Life's unhonor'd vale , I seek the spot where-rests his mould ' ring clay , Belov'd of every Muse , whom all bewail ! Who taught my steps Content ' s untroubled way . For who that Nature's various Works can charm , Whose spirit drinks the breeze or sunny beam ; in the
Joys landscape , boundless , bright , and warm , Or Cynthia's rays , where trembling kiss the stream : Whose bosom to the sky-lark ' s chearful note Responsive beats , and when night ' s shade prevail ,-With pity swells , as her sad songstress throat Pours its soft plaint along the dusky vale : Whose hunger ields well leas'd to humblest faro
y p . And thirst by earth ' s pure bev ' rage is controll'd ; Would envy joys so intermix'd with care , As those which guilt too highly rents of gold ? And who , once having seen thy polish'd page , Where Fancy , Reason , Virtue , are combin'd With Nature , . ease and elegance t ' engage , Deli
ght , improve , and elevate the mind , Would hesitate his ling ' ring heart to tear From tinsel state , which vice and folly love , To breathe with thee of downs the healthful air . Or musing wander thro' the mazy grove ? If the world ' s pomp and pleasure I forego , If I enjoy , tho' poor , a state like this , To thee
, O THOMSON , bard divine I I owe Th' extensive pleasure and the mighty bliss ! Thy fame the wreck of nature shall survive , Whose lovely progeny around the wave Ot baiher Thames , with endless verdure strive lo grace the town which owns her Poet ' s grave ,. The pilgrim ' s trinket on our lad vest
y's Suspended peers around with feeble glare Mid ghtt ' ring gems and gold , which well attest Ihe patron's merit , and the vofry's care . Though small the boon he on the shrine bestow , Twas given freely from a heart sincere ; hoi , my rev'rence for the dead to show , 'Tis ail I have , these Lines alone can bear
Epigram.
EPIGRAM .
NOL MARTEXT , who never the pulpit could grace , As he warp'd every accent quite out of it-, place 'Stead of " Hebrews the Tenth and Twelfth , " right announcing ! He BREWS Ten and Twelve" was his mode of pronouncing f He BREWS len and T elve , " then repeating ince more , An old drowsy toper , wuose nap was just o'er Rubb'd his eyes and roar'd out , " Ten and Twelve , Master Vicar ?" T « o or three bushels more , and he'd BREW humming : liquor I