Page:1808 Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne.pdf/83



But let my sportive lyre resume again The purpos'd theme, to hail another's strain. Yes, heavenly Genius, I have heard thee raise The note of truth, of gratitude, and praise. 'Twas thine with modest indigence to dwell, And warble sweetly in the lowly cell; To rove with Bloomfield thro' the woodland shade, And hail the calm seclusion of the glade: Beneath the greenwood canopy reclin'd, 'Twas thine to elevate his artless mind. While in the lovely scene "to him so dear," He trac'd the varied beauties of the year; And fondly loiter'd in the summer bower, To hail the incense of the morning hour; Or thro' the rich autumnal landscape rov'd, And rais'd a grateful hymn for all he lov'd.

Oh! Genius, ever with thy favour'd band May Piety be seen with aspect bland; And conscious Honour with an eye serene, And Independence with exalted mein. Ah! may'st thou never to Ambition bend, Nor at the shrine of Luxury attend; But rather consecrate some tranquil home, And in the vale of peace and pleasure bloom. There may'st thou wander from the world retir’d, And court the dreams by poesy inspir'd;