[About 1776.] Ah! blest be the days when with Mira I took The learning of Love.... When we pluck'd the wild blossoms that blush'd in the grass, And I taught my dear maid of their species and class; For Conway, the friend of mankind, had decreed That Hudson should show us the wealth of the mead. YE GENTLE GALES. Woodbridge, 1776. Ye gentle Gales, that softly move, Go whisper to the Fair I love; Tell her I languish and adore, And pity in return implore. But if she's cold to my request, Ye louder Winds, proclaim the rest-- My sighs, my tears, my griefs proclaim, And speak in strongest notes my flame. Still, if she rests in mute disdain, And thinks I feel a common pain-- 10 Wing'd with my woes, ye Tempests, fly, And tell the haughty Fair I die. MIRA. Aldborough, 1777. A wanton chaos in my breast raged high, A wanton transport darted in mine eye; False pleasure urged, and ev'ry eager care, That swell the soul to guilt and to despair. My Mira came! be ever blest the hour, That drew my thoughts half way from folly's power; She first my soul with loftier notions fired; I saw their truth, and as I saw admired; With greater force returning reason moved, And as returning reason urged, I loved; 10 Till pain, reflection, hope, and love allied My bliss precarious to a surer guide-- To Him who gives pain, reason, hope, and love, Each for that end that angels must approve. One beam of light He gave my mind to see, And gave that light, my heavenly fair, by thee; That beam shall raise my thoughts, and mend my strain, Nor shall my vows, nor prayers, nor verse be vain. HYMN. Beccles, 1778. Oh, Thou! who taught my infant eye To pierce the air, and view the sky, To see my God in earth and seas, To hear him in the vernal breeze, To know him midnight thoughts among, O guide my soul, and aid my song! Spirit of Light! do thou impart Majestic truths, and teach my heart; Teach me to know how weak I am, How vain my powers, how poor my frame; 10 Teach me celestial paths untrod-- The ways of glory and of God. No more let me, in vain surprise, To heathen art give up my eyes-- To piles laborious science rear'd For heroes brave, or tyrants fear'd; But quit Philosophy, and see The Fountain of her works in Thee. Fond man! yon glassy mirror eye-- Go, pierce the flood, and there descry 20 The miracles that float between The rainy leaves of wat'ry green; Old Ocean's hoary treasures scan; See nations swimming round a span. Then wilt thou say--and rear no more Thy monuments in mystic lore-- My God! I quit my vain design, And drop my work to gaze on Thine: Henceforth I'll frame myself to be, Oh, Lord! a monument of Thee. 30 THE WISH. Aldborough, 1778.