This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1810 edition. Excerpt: ...taste a thousand pains unfelt at home. We fondly think the land of happiness Is any where but here. And thus we quit The little bliss we own for less, and learn From painful circumstance, the more we stray, The more we want relief. The troubled heart Which harbours discontent, feeds a disease No change of place, no medicine, can cure. Happy the man who truly loves his home, And never wanders further from his door Than we have stray'd to-day; who feels his heart. Still drawing homeward, and delights, like us, Once more to rest his foot on his owa threshold. Alcanor, Julia, Isabel, Eliza, Here let us pause, and ere still night advance To shut the books of heav'n, look back and see What commendable act has sprung to-day. Ah! who can boast? The little good we do In all the years of life will scarce outweigh The follies of an hour. Adieu, ye fair We leave you to your task, nor give you aid As wont. Rear'd by your hands alone, the flow'r Shall have a ruddier blush, a sweeter fragrance. Alcanor, come, and let us once again Descend into the valley, and enjoy The sober peace of the still summer's eve. We have no blush to lose; our freckled cheek The sun not blisters, nor the night-dew blasts.. Such is the time the musing poet loves. Now vigorous imagination teems, And, warm with meditation, brings to birth Her admirable thought. I love to hear The silent rook to the high wood make way With rustling wing; to mark the wanton mouse, And see him gambol round the primrose head, Till the still owl comes smoothly sailing forth, And with a shrill tu-whit breaks oft his dance, And sends him scouring home; to hear the cur Of the night-loving partridge, or the swell Of the deep curfew from afar. And now It pleases me to mark the hooting owl Perch'd on the...

Excerpt from The Village Curate: A Poem Half way between the fummit and a brook: That idly' Wanders at the foot, it Hands, And looks intoawalley woodsbefprent. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.