Wherever dimpling Falfhood, pert and vain,
Presents her cup of ftate profeffion's froth,
And pale Disease, with all his blafted train,
Torments the fons of Gluttony and Sloth.

STROPHE.

In Fortune's car behold that minion ride,
With either India's glittering spoils opprefs'd:
So moves the fumpter-mule, in harnefs'd pride,
That bears the treasure which he cannot taste.
For him let venal bards difgrace the bay,

And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string;
Her fenfual fnares let faithlefs Pleafure lay,

And all her gingling bells fantastick Folly ring;
Difquiet, doubt, and dread fhall intervene ;
And Nature, ftill to all her feelings juft,
In vengeance hang a damp on every scene,
Shook from the baleful pinions of Difguft.

ANTISTROPHE.

Nature I'll court in her fequefter'd haunts,

By mountain, meadow, ftreamlet, grove, or cell,
Where the pois'd lark his evening ditty chaunts,
And Health and Peace, and Contemplation, dwell.
There Study shall with Solitude recline,

And Friendship pledge me to his fellow-fwains;
And Toil and Temperance fedately twine

The flender chord that fluttering life fuftains; And fearless Poverty shall guard the door,

And Tafte unspoil'd the frugal table spread;
And Industry supply the humble ftore,

And Sleep unbrib'd his dews refreshing shed:
White-mantled Innocence, etherial sprite,
Shall chafe far off the goblins of the night,
And Independence o'er the day prefide,
Propitious power! my patron and my pride!

ODE

ODE TO A SINGING BIRD.

BY MR. RICHARDSON.

Thou that glad'ft my lonesome hours
With many a wildly warbled fong,
When Melancholy round me lours,
And drives her fullen ftorms along;
When fell Adverfity prepares
To lead her delegated train,

Pale Sickness, Want, Remorse, and Pain,
With all her host of carking cares ;

The fiends ordain'd to tame the human foul,
And give the humbled heart to Sympathy's controul!

Sweet foother of my mifery, say,

Why doft thou clap thy joyous wing?
Why dost thou pour that artless lay?
How canft thou, little prifoner, fing?
Haft thou not cause to grieve

That man, unpitying man! has rent
From thee the boon which Nature meant

Thou should'ft, as well as he, receive?

The power to woo thy partner in the grove; To build where inftin&t points; where chance directs, to rove.

Perchance, unconfcious of thy fate,

And to the woes of bondage blind,
Thou never long'ft to join thy mate,
Nor wifheft to be unconfin'd;

Then how relentless he,

And fit for every foul offence,
Who could bereave fuch innocence

Of life's best bleffing, Liberty!

Who lur'd thee, guileful, to his treacherous fnare,

To live a tuneful flave, and diffipate his care!

But

But why for thee this fond complaint?
Above thy master thou art bless'd!
Art thou not free?—Yes; calm Content,
With olive fceptre, fways thy breast:
Then deign with me to live;

The falcon with infatiate maw,

With hooked bill and griping claw,
Shall ne'er thy destiny contrive;

And every tabby foe fhall mew in vain,
While penfively demure fhe hears thy melting ftrain.

The limpid fount, and temp'rate meal :
And when the blooming spring

In chequer'd liv'ry robes the fields,
The faireft flow'rets Nature yields

To thee officious will I bring;

A garland rich thy dwelling fhall entwine,
And Flora's fresheft gifts, thrice happy bird! be thine.

From drear Oblivion's gloomy cave

The powerful Muse shall wreft thy name,

And bid thee live beyond the grave;

This meed she knows thy merits claim :

She knows thy liberal heart

Is ever ready to difpenfe

The tide of bland Benevolence,

And Melody's foft aid impart ;

Is ready ftill to prompt the magick lay,

Which hushes all our griefs, and charms our pains away.

Erewhile,

Erewhile, when brooding o'er my foul
Frown'd the black demons of Defpair,
Did not thy voice that power controul,
And oft fupprefs the rifing tear?

If Fortune fhould be kind,
If e'er with affluence I'm blefs'd,
I'll often feek fome friend distress'd;

And when the weeping wretch I find,

Then, tuneful moralift, I'll copy thee, And folace all his woes with focial fympathy!

E LEGIES.

BY DR. DELAP.

ELEGY I.

H, ftay!-Thy wand oblivious o'er my eyes
Yet wave, mild power of fleep!-My prayer is vain!

She flies; the partial nurfe of Nature flies,

With all her foothing, vifionary train !

Then let me forth, and near yon flowering thorn

Tafte heaven's pure breath; while, rob'd in amber veft,

Fresh from her watery couch, the youthful morn

Steals on the flumbers of the drowzy east.

Lo! at her prefence, the ftrong arm of toil,

With glittering fickle mows the prime of May; While yon poor hirelings, for the mine's rude foil, Leave to their fleeping babes their cots of clay.

With sturdy ftep, they chearly whistle o'er
The path that flings across the reedy plain,
To the deep caverns of that yawning moor,
Whose shaggy breast abhors the golden grain.

There,

There, in her green drefs, Nature never roves,

Spreads the gay lawn, nor lifts the lordly pine;
They fee no melting clouds refresh the groves,
No living landscape drawn by Hands Divine:

But many a fathom from the funny breeze,

Their painful way in central night they wear;
Heave the pik'd axes on their bended knees,
Or, fide-long, the rough quarry slowly tear.

Yet while damp vapours chill each reeking brow,
How loudly laughs the jovial voice of mirth;
Pleas'd that the wages of the day allow

A focial blaze to chear their evening hearth!

There the chaste housewife, with maternal care,
Her thrifty distaff plies, in grave attire ;
Blefs'd to behold her ruddy offspring wear
The full refemblance of their sturdy fire.

To spread with fuch coarfe fare their homely board
As fits the genius of their little fate,

Free from thofe ills that haunt their pamper'd lord:
To be unhappy, we must first be great.

In these dark caves, where Heav'n's paternal hand,
Far from the world their private cradle laid,
They toil fecure; the ftorms that ftrike the land
With wild dismay, roll harmlefs o'er their head.

For who, the load of weary life to bear,

Wou'd from these murky manfions chase the flave ? Who cease to breathe Heav'n's pure and chearful air,

To be but living tenants of the grave ?