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Through rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs;
Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour;
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings;
Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower,
And shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tour.

Oh! how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms which nature to her votary yields?
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven,

Oh! how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?

Nor have our poets confined their descriptions to a mere relation of the beauties of morning scenery; they have endeavoured to persuade their readers to experience them, and have expostulated with them on the criminal indulgence, which, from the loss of real pleasure which it occasions, might, perhaps, be more properly styled, however paradoxical it may sound, criminal self-denial.

Falsely luxurious, will not man awake;

And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy

The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour,
To meditation due, and sacred song?

For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise?
To lie in dead oblivion, losing half

The fleeting moments of too short a life;
Total extinction of th' enlighten'd soul!

Or else to feverish vanity alive,

Wildered, and tossing through distemper'd dreams.
Who would in such a gloomy state remain
Longer than nature craves; when every muse
And every blooming pleasure wait without,
To bless the wildly devious morning walk?

THOMSON'S SUMMER.

Do you recollect these lines of Herrick's? If some parts are rather homely, you must attribute it to the debasing nature of the conduct he is reprobating.

Get up get up, for shame! the blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn;

See how Aurora throws her fair

Fresh quilted colours through the air.

Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see

The dew-bespangling herb and tree,

Each flow'r has wept, and bow'd toward the east,
Above an hour since, and yet you are not drest,
Nay, not so much as out of bed,

When all the birds have matins said

And sung their thankful hymns-'tis sin,

Nay, profanation to keep in !—

But I will conclude these quotations with one piece of advice, and I can only say-do follow it.

"Rise before the sun,

Then make a breakfast of the morning dew,
Served up by nature on some grassy hill,

You'll find it nectar."

Yours, &c.

LETTER IX.

To the same.

MY DEAR CHARLOTTE,

In writing to you upon the beauties of those scenes which the morning presents, and in endeavouring to render that "sweet hour of prime" a part of the day in which you shall feel the greatest interest, and experience the highest satisfaction; it serves as a great addition to the pleasure which I should have otherwise felt, that I am not obliged to stop at the point which I have already reached, lest, if I went beyond it, you would no longer be able to sympathize in my feelings, or be willing to coincide with my sentiments. Nature at all times affords a pleasing subject for description, and, connected with those delicate susceptibilities of mind which it frequently excites, it cannot fail to produce a very peculiar interest in the man who is pos

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sessed of a refined taste, and whose habits have been favourable for intellectual acquirements. But if we can go no further than this, though we may arrogate to ourselves the title of philosophers, we shall have no claim to the nobler and more distinguished appellation of Christians. There are very few who do not feel some peculiar sensations of pleasure in contemplating the beauties of nature on a morning. whole of its scenery is calculated to inspire them, and the exhilarated state of the spirits, and the liveliness both of the mental and corporeal faculties, produce that self-complacency and internal satisfaction, which would render inferior charms, and less powerful attractions, capable of exciting admiration and securing regard. The dawning of day, and the gradual dissipation of the clouds; the rising of the sun, and the reflection of his beams upon the summits of the hills; the spangled dew, and the harmony of the feathered choir, regale the senses, and invite the beholder to join with all around him in hailing the

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