Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: TO A YOUNG ARTIST, Who told the Author that she could not feel the charm of Rural Scenery, Ah ! who, with impious language bold, Shall say that Laura's heart is cold ; Shall say she cannot feel ? That nature owns no poVrful charm, No lovely scene whose glow can warm That rigid breast of steel ? They never mark'd her eager gaze, Ere age had check'd each childish joy,, Or stole the lustre from her eye, Deep penetrate the woodland maze To view the brown o'er-hanging shade, Where stole the riv'let thro' the glade. Where antique oaks their branches threw Across the little limpid stream, And shelter'd from the solar beam Each timid flower of tend'rest hue. The foliage pendent o'er thebrook Reflected from its wave serene, The peaceful shadow still and green Of some dark alder-skirted nook : Dear was the solemn silence there; And dear the slow wave gliding bye: But dearer still the tender tear Soft stealing from the downcast eye! Then Laura lov'd the mountain's brow; For then, with airy footsteps light, She gainM bold Rydal's woody height To view the clear blue lake below. Its wide expanse, its varied shore, Of massy rock or verdant hill, The near cascades' resounding roar, The distant echoing mountain rill ; Enrapt in faucy's dream sublime She paus'd romantic o'er the scene, Till darkness mark'd the lapse of time, And evening spread her hues serene. Then as night cast her shady stole O'er the wide landscape calm and still, Deep solemn visions touch'd her soul, Of bold Poussin's majestic skill. Of Wilson's classic pencil, true To all that Strikes the Feeling heart That breathes, o'er each enchanting view Pure nature's soul, the pride of art. Or stray'd'she through the hedge-row'd lane To some still...