Page:Poems (Barbauld).djvu/94

84 And meek Simplicity, neglected maid, Shall bid my fair in native graces hine: She, only he, hall lend her modet aid, Chate, ober prietes, at weet beauty's hrine!

How weet to mue by murmuring prings reclin'd; Or loitering careles in the hady grove, Indulge the gentlet feelings of the mind, And pity thoe who live to aught but love!

When 's hand unlocks her hining hair, And o'er her houlder preads the flowing gold, Bae were the man who one bright tres would pare For all the ore of India's coarer mold.

By her dear ide with what content I'd toil, Patient of any labour in her ight; Guide the low plough, or turn the tubborn oil, Till the lat, ling'ring beam of doubtful light. But