There often wanders one, whom better days And terrible to sight, as when she springs Saw better clad, in cloak of salin trimm'd

(If e'er she springs spontaneous) in remote With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound. And barb'rous climes, where violence prevails, A serving-maid was she, and fell in love

And strength is lord of all; but, gentle, kind, With one who left her, went to sea, and died. By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd, Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves And all her fruits by radiant truth matur'd. To distant shores ; and she would sit and weep War and the chase engross the savage whole ; At what a sailor suffers; fancy too,

War follow'd for revenge, or to supplant Delusive most where warmest wishes are,

The envied tenants of some happier spot : Would oft anticipate his glad return,

The chase for sustenance, precarious trust! And dreain of transports she was not to know. His hard condition with severe constraint She heard the doleful tidings of his death

Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth And never smil'd again! and now she roams of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns The dreary waste ; there spends the livelong day, Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, And there, unless when charity forbids,

Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. The livelong night. A taller'd apron bides, Thus fare the shiv’ring natives of the north, Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown And thus the rangers of the western world, More tatter'd still; and both but ill conceal Where it advances far into the deep, A bosom heav'd with never-ceasing sighs.

Tow'rds the antarctic. Even the favor'd isles She begs an idle pin of all she meets,

So lately found, although the constant Sun And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food, Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, Can boast but little virtue ; and, inert Though pinch'd with cold, asks never.—Kate is Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain craz'd.

In manners-victims of luxurious ease. I see a column of slow-rising smoke

These therefore I can pity, placed remote O'ertop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild. From all that science iraces, art invents, A vagabond and useless tribe there eat

Or inspiration teaches; and inclos'd Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung

In boundless oceans never to be pass'd Between two poles upon a stick transverse, By navigators uninform’d as they, Receives the morsel-fesh obscene of dog, Or plow'd perhaps by British bark again : Or vermin, or at best of cock purloin'd

But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race! Thee, gentle savage!* whom no love of thee They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge,

Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves un- Or else vain-glory, prompted us to draw quench'd

Forth from thy native bow'rs, to show thee here The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide With what superior skill we can abuse Their flutt'ring rags, and shows a tawny skin, The gifts of Providence, and squander life. The vellum of the pedigree they claim.

The dream is past; and thou hast found again Great skill have they in palmistry, and more Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, To conjure clean away the gold they touch, And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou Conveying worthless dross into its place;

found Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. Their former charms ? And, having seen our state, Strange! that a creature ranonal, and cast Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp In human mould, should brutalize by choice of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, Ilis nature ; and, though capable of arts,

And heard our music; are thy simple friends, By which the world might profit, and himself, Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, Self-banish'd from society, prefer

As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys
Such squalid sloth to honorable toil!

Lost nothing by comparison with ours ?
Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft Rude as thou art, (for we return'd thee rude
They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, And ignorant, except of outward show,)
And vex their flesh with artificial sores,

I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart
Can change their whine into a mirthful note, And spiritless, as never to regret
When safe occasion offers; and with dance, Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known.
And music of the bladder and the bag,

Methinks I see thee straying on the beach,
Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot,
Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy

If ever it has wash'd our distant shore.
The houseless rovers of the sylvan world ; I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears,
And, breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring much, A patriot's for his country: thou art sad
Need other physic none to heal th' effects

At thought of her forlorn and abject state,
Of lothesome diet, penury, and cold.

From which no pow'r of shine can raise her up. Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd Thus Fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure, Perhaps errs liule, when she paints thee thus. Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside She tells me too, that duly ev'ry morn His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, Thon climb'st the mountain-top, with eager eye The manners and the arts of civil life.

Exploring far and wide the wat’ry waste His wants indeed are many; but supply

For sight of ship from England. Ev'ry speck
Is obvious, plac'd within the easy reach

Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale
Of temp'rate wishes and industrious hands. With conflict of contending hopes and fears.
Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil;
Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns,

• Omai.

But comes at last the dull and dusky eve,

Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, And sends thee to thy cabin, well-prepar'd That, through profane and infidel contempt To dream all night of what the day denied. Of Holy Writ, she has presum'd t'annul Alas! expect it not. We found no bait

And abrogate, as roundly as she may,
To templ us in thy country. Doing good, The total ordinance and will of God;
Disinterested good, is not our trade.

Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth,
We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought; And cent'ring all authority in modes
And must be brib'd to compass Earth again And customs of her own, till sabbath-rites
By other hopes and richer fruits than yours. Have dwindled into unrespected forms,

But though true worth and virtue in the mild And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorc'd. And genial soil of cultivated life

God made the country, and man made the town. Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts Yet not in cities oft; in proud, and gay,

That can alone make sweet the bitter draught And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow,

That life holds out to all, should most abound As to a common and most noisome sewer,

And least be threaten’d in the fields and groves ? The dregs and feculence of ev'ry land.

Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about In cities foul example on most minds

In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, But that of idleness, and taste no scenes In gross and pamper'd cities, sloth, and lust, But such as art contrives, possess ye still And wantonness, and gluttonous excess.

Your element; there only can ye shine ; In cities, vice is hidden with most ease,

There only min like yours can do no harm. Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught Our groves were planted to console at noon By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there The pensive wand'rer in their shades. At eve, Beyond th' achievement of successful flight. The moonbeam, sliding softly in between I do confess them nurs’ries of the arts,

The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, In which they flourish most; where, in the beams Birds warbling all the music. We can spare Of warm encouragement, and in the eye

The splendor of your lamps; they but eclipse of public note, they reach their perfect size. Our softer satellite. Your songs confound Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd Our more harmonious notes; the thrush departs The fairest capital of all the world,

Scard, and th' offended nightingale is mute. By riot and incontinence the worst.

There is a public mischief in your mirth; There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees

Grac'd with a sword, and worthier of a fan, All her reflected features. Bacon there

Has made what enemies could ne'er have done,
Gives more than female beauty to a stone, Our arch of empire, stedfast but for you,
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips.

A mutilated structure, soon to fall.
Nor does the chisel occupy alone
The pow'rs of sculpture, but the style as much ;
Each province of ber art her equal care.
With nice incision of her guided steel

Воок ІІ.
She plows a brazen field, and clothes a soil
So sterile with what charms soe'er she will,

THE TIME-PIECE.
The richest scen’ry and the loveliest forms.
Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye,

Argument.
With which she gazes at yon burning disk
Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots?

Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the for. In London. Where her implements exact,

mer book. Peace among the nations recommended With which she calculates, computes, and scans,

on the ground of their common fellowship in sor. All distance, motion, magnitude, and now

row. Prodigies enumerated. Sicilian carthquakes. Measures an atom, and now girds a world ?

Man rendered obnoxious to these calamities by In London. Where has commerce such a mart,

sin. God the agent in them. The pbilosophy So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied,

that stops at secondary causes reproved. Our own As London-opulent, enlarg'd, and still

late miscarriages accounted for. Satirical notice Increasing, London? Babylon of old

taken of our trips to Fontaine-Bleau. But the Not more the glory of the Earth than she,

pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of reformaA more accomplish'd world's chief glory now.

tion. The reverend advertiser of engraved serShe has her praise. Now mark a spot or two,

Petit-maître parson. The good preacher. That so much beauty would do well to purge;

Picture of a theærical clerical coxcomb. StoryAnd show this queen of cities, that so fair

tellers and jesters in the pulpit reproved. A posMay yet be foul; so witty, yet not wise.

trophe to popular applause. Retailers of ancient It is not seemly, nor of good report,

philosophy expostulated with. Sum of the whole That she is slack in discipline; more prompt

matter. Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement on T'avenge than to prevent the breach of law;

the laity. Their folly and extravagance. The That she is rigid in denouncing death

mischiefs of profusion. Profusion itself, with all On petty robbers, and indulges life

its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its principal And liberty, and oft-times honor too,

cause, to the want of discipline in the universities. To peculators of the public gold; That thieves at home must hang; but he, that puts O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Into his over-gorg'd and bloated purse

Some boundless conuguity of shade, The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.

Where rumor of oppression and deceit,

a

mons.

a

Of unsuccessful or successful war,

Sull they are frowning signals, and bespeak Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd, Displeasure in His breast, wbo smites the Earth My soul is sick, with ev'ry day's report

Or beals it, makes it languish or rejoice. of wrong and outrage, with which Earth is fill'd. 'And 'tis but seemly, that, abere all deserve There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; And stand erpos'd by common peccancy It does not feel for man; the nat'ral bond To what no few have felt, there should be peace, Of brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax

And brethren in calamity should love. That falls asunder at the touch of fire.

Alas for Sicily! rude fragments now He finds his fellow guilty of a skin

Lie scatter'd, where the shapely column stood. Not color'd like his own; and, having pow's Her palaces are dust. In all her streets T enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause The voice of singing and the sprightly cbord Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show Lands intersected by a narrow frith

Suffer a syncope and solemn pause; Abhor each other. Mountains interpos'd

While God performs upon the trembling stage Make enemies of nations, who had else

of his own works his dreadful part alone. Like kindred drops been mingled into one. How does the Earth receive him!-with what signs Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys; Of gratulation and delight her king! And, worse than all, and most to be deplor'd Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,

Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums, Chains bim, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads ? With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding heart She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb, Weeps, when she sees inflicted on a beast. Conceiving thunders through a thousand deeps Then what is man? And what man, seeing this, And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot. And having human feelings, does not blush, The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke, And hang his head, to think himself a man! For he has touch'd them. From th' extremest point I would not have a slave to till my ground, of elevation down into the abyss, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,

His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise, That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. The rivers die into offensive pools, No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's And, charg'd with putrid verdure, breathe a gross Just estimation priz'd above all price,

And mortal nuisance into all the air.
I had much rather be myself the slave,

What solid was, by transformation strange,
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. Grows fluid ; and the fix'd and rooted earth,
We have no slaves at home-Then why abroad? Tormented into billows, heaves and swells,
And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl
That parts us, are emancipate and loos'd.

Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense
Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs
Receive our air, that moment they are free; And agonies of human and of brute
They touch our country, and their shackles fall. Multitudes, fugitive on ev'ry side,
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, Migrates uplified; and with all its soil
And let it circulate through ev'ry vein

Alighting in far-distant fields, finds out
Of all your empire ; that, where Britain's pow'r A new possessor, and survives the change.
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.

Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought Sure there is need of social intercourse, To an enormous and o'erbearing height, Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid,

Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice Between the nations, in a world that seems

Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore To toll the death-bell of its own decease,

Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, And by the voice of all its elements

Upridg'd so high, and sent on such a charge, To preach the gen'ral doom.* When were the winds Possess'd an inland scene. Where now the throng Let slip with such a warrant to destroy ?

That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap

Look'd to the sea for safety? They are gone, Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry ?

Gone with the refluent wave into the deep, Fires from beneath, and meteors † from above, A prince with half his people! Ancient tow'rs, Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd,

And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes, Hare kindled beacons in the skies; and th' old Where beauty oft and letter'd worth consume And crazy Earth has had her shaking fits

Life in the unproductive shades of death, More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. Fall prone: the pale inhabitants come forth, Is it a time to wrangle, when the props

And, happy in their unforeseen release And pillars of our planet seem to fail,

From all the rigors of restraint, enjoy And Nature with a dim and sickly eye

The terrors of the day, that sets them free. To wait the close of all ? But grant her end

Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee, More distant, and that prophecy demands

Freedom! whom they that lose thee so regret, A longer respite, unaccomplish'd yet;

That ev'n a judgment, making way for thee,

Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake? * Alluding to the calamities in Jamaira.

Such evil Sin hath wrought; and such a flame † August 18, 1783.

Kindled in Heav'n, that it burns down to Earth, i Alluding to the fog, that covered both Europe and And in the furious inquest, that it makes Asia during the whole summer of 1783.

On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works.

The very elements, though each be meant

England, with all thy faults, I love thee stillThe minister of man, to serve his wants,

My country! and, while yet a nook is left, Conspire against him. With his breath he draws Where English minds and manners may be found, A plague into his blood ; and cannot use

Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime Lise's necessary means, but he must die.

Be fickle, and thy year most part deform’d Storms rise t'o'erwhelm him: or if stormy winds With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, And, needing none assistance of the storm,

And fields without a flow'r, for warmer France Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bow'rs. Or make his house his grave: nor so content, To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime Shall counterfeit the motions of the food,

of patriot eloquence to Nash down fire And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. Upon thy foes, was never meant my task : What then! were they the wicked above all, But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor'd isle Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart Mov'd not, while theirs was rock'd, like a light As any thund'rer there. And I can feel The sport of ev'ry wave? No: none are clear, Thy follies too, and with a just disdain And none than we more guilty. But, where all Frown at effeminates, whose very looks Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts Reflect dishonor on the land I love. Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark; How, in the name of soldiership and sense, May punish, if he please, the less, to warn Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth The more malignant. If he spar'd not them, And tender as a girl, all essenc'd o'er Tremble and be amaz'd at thine escape,

With odors, and as profligate as sweet; Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee! Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,

Happy the man, who sees a God employ'd And love when they should fight; when such as these In all the good and ill, that chequer life!

Presume to lay their hand upon the ark Resolving all events, with their effects

Or her magnificent and awful cause ? And manifold results, into the will

Time was when it was praise and boast enough And arbitration wise of the Supreme.

In ev'ry clime, and travel where we might, Did not his eye rule all things, and intend

That we were born her children

Praise enough The least of our concerns (since from the least To fill th' ambition of a private man, The greatest oft originate); could chance

That Chatham's language was his mother's tongue Find place in his dominion, or dispose

And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. One lawless particle to thwart his plan;

Farewell those honors, and farewell with them Then God might be surpris'd, and unforeseen The hope of such hereafter; they have fall'n, Contingence might alarm him, and disturb Each in his field of glory; one in arms, The smooth and equal course of his affairs. And one in council-Wolfe upon the lap This truth Philosophy, though eagle-ey'd

Of smiling Victory that moment won, In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks;

And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame!
And, having found his instrument, forgets, They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still
Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still,

Consulting England's happiness at home,
Denies the pow'r that wields it. God proclaims Secur'd it by an unforgiving frown,
His hot displeasure against foolish men,

If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought,
That live an atheist life ; involves the Heav'ns Put so much of his heart into his act,
In tempests ; quits his grasp upon the winds, That his example had a magnet's force,
And gives them all their fury; bids a plague And all were swift to follow whom all lov'd.
Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin,

Those suns are set. O rise some other such !
And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. Or all that we have left is empty talk
He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend of old achievements, and despair of new.
Blows mildew from between his shrivel'd lips,

Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float
And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines, Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck
And desolates a nation at a blast.

With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweels,
Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells That no rude savor maritime invade
Of homogeneal and discordant springs

The nose of nice nobility! Breathe soft,
And principles : of causes, how they work Ye clarionets; and softer still, ye flutes;
By necessary laws their sure effects;

That winds and waters, lulld by magic sounds, Of action and reaction: he has found

May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore ! The source of the disease that nature feels, True, we have lost an empire-let it pass. And bids the world take heart and banish fear. True; we may thank the perfidy of France, Thou fool! will thy discov'ry of the cause That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown, Suspend th' effect, or heal it? Has not God With all the cunning of an envious shrew. Still wrought by means since first he made the world? And let that pass—' was but a trick of state ! And did he not of old employ his means,

A brave man knows no malice, but at once To drown it? What is his creation less

Forgets in peace the injuries of war, Than a capacious reservoir of means,

And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. Form'd for his use, and ready at his will?

And, sham'd as we have been, to th' very beard Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve; ask of him, Brav'd and defied, and in our own sea prov'd Or ask of whomsoever he has taught;

Too weak for those decisive blows, that once And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. Insur'd us mast'ry there, we yet relain

Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast And, arm'd himself in panoply complete
At least superior jockeyship, and claim

Of heav'nly temper, furnishes with arms
The honors of the turf as all our own!

Bright as his own, and trains, by ev'ry rule Go then, well worthy of the praise ye seek, Of holy discipline, to glorious war And show the shame, ye might conceal at home, The sacramental host of God's elect! In foreign eyes !-be grooms, and win the plate, Are all such teachers ?-Would to Heaven all were ! Where once your nobler fathers won a crown! But hark—the doctor's voice! fast wedg'd between "Tis gen'rous to communicate your skill

Two empirics he stands, and with swoln cheeks To those that need it. Foily is soon learn'd: Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far And under such preceptors who can fail ?

Than all invective is his bold harangue, There is a pleasure in poetic pains,

While through that public organ of report Which only poets know. The shifts and turns, He hails the clergy; and, defying shame, Th' expedients and inventions multiform,

Announces to the world his own and theirs! To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms He teaches those to read, whom schools dismiss'd, Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win

And colleges, untaught; sells accent, tone,
T'arrest the feeting images, that fill

And emphasis in score, and gives to pray'r
The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast, Th' adagio and andante il demands.
And force them sit, till he has pencil'd off

He grinds divinity of other days
A faithful likeness of the forms he views ; Down into modern use ; transforms old print
Then to dispose his copies with such art,

To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes
That, each may find its most propitious light, Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.
And shine by situation, hardly less

Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware? Than by the labor and the skill it cost;

O name it not in Gath it cannot be, Are occupations of the poet's mind

That grave and learned clerks should need such aid So pleasing, and that steal away the thought He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll, With such address from themes of sad import, Assuming thus a rank unknown beforeThat lost in bis own musings, happy man! Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church! He feels th' anxieties of life, denied

I venerate the man, whose heart is warm, Their wonted entertainment, all retire.

Whose bands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life Such joys has he that sings. But ah! not such, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof, Or seldom such, the hearers of his song.

That he is honest in the sacred cause. Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps

To such I render more than mere respect, Aware of nothing arduous in a task

Whose actions say, that they respect themselves They never undertook, they little note

But loose in morals, and in manners vain,
His dangers or escapes, and haply find

In conversation frivolous, in dress
Their least amusement where he found the most. Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse ;
But is amusement all ? Studious of song,

Frequent in park, with lady at his side,
And yet ambitious not to sing in vain,

Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes ; I would not trifle merely, though the world But rare at home, and never at his books, Be loudest in their praise, who do no more. Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card; Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay? Constant at routs, familiar with a round It may correct a foible, may chastise

Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor; The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress,

Ambitious of preferment for its gold,
Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch; And well prepar'd, by ignorance and sloth,
But where are its sublimer trophies found ?

By infidelity and love of world,
What vice has it subdued ? whose heart reclaim'd To make God's work a sinecure; a slave
By rigor, or whom laugh'd into reform?

To his own pleasures and his patron's pride.
Alas! Leviathan is not so tam'd :

From such apostles, O ye mitred heads, Laugh'd al, he laughs again; and, stricken hard Preserve the church! and lay not careless hands Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales,

On skulls, that cannot teach, and will not learn. That fear no discipline of human hands.

Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, The pulpit, therefore, (and I name it fillid Were he on Earth, would hear, approve, and own, With solemn awe, that bids me well beware Paul should himself direct me. I would trace With what intent I touch that holy thing)

His master-strokes, and draw from his design. The pulpit, (when the sal’rist has at last,

would express him simple, grave, sincere; Strutting and vap'ring in an empty school,

In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, Spent all his force, and made no proselyte,)- And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste, I say the pulpit (in the sober use

And natural in gesture; much impress'd or its legitimate, peculiar pow'rs.)

Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, Must stand acknowledg'd, while the world shall stand, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds The most important and effectual guard,

May feel it too; affectionate in look, Support, and ornament, of virtue's cause.

And tender in address, as well becomes There stands the messenger of truth : there stands A messenger of grace to guilty men. The legate of the skies --His theme divine, Behold the picture !- Is it like ?-Like whom? His office sacred, his credentials clear.

The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, By him the violated law speaks out

And then skip down again ; pronounce a text; Its thunders, and by him, in strains as sweet Cry—Hem ; and reading what they never wrote As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace.

Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak,

And with a well-bred whisper close the scene! Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart, In man or woman, but far most in man,