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The lion tells him—“ I am monarch here"- That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the man.
And, if he spare him, spares him on the terms An ancient, not a legendary tale,
Of royal mercy, and through gen'rous scorn, By one of sound intelligence rehears'd,
To rend a victim trembling at his foot.

(If such who plead for Providence may seem In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, In modern eyes,) shall make the doctrine clear. Or by necessity constrain'd, they live

Where England, stretch'd towards the setting Sun, Dependent upon man ; those in his fields, Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, These at his crib, and some beneath his roof. Dwelt young Misagathus; a scorner he They prove too often at how dear a rate

Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent, He sells protection.— Witness at his foot

Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. The spaniel, dying for some venial fault

He journey'd ; and his chance was as he went Under dissection of the knotted scourge;

To join a trav'ller, of far different note, Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells Evander, fam'd for piety, for years Driv'n to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs, Deserving honor, but for wisdom more. To madness ; while the savage at his heels Fame had not left the venerable man Laughs at the frantic suff'rer's fury, spent

A stranger to the manners of the youth, Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown.

Whose face, too, was familiar to his view. He too is witness, noblest of the train

Their way was on the margin of the land, That wait on man, the flight-performing horse; O’er the green summit of the rocks, whose base With unsuspecting readiness he takes

Beats, back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. His murd'rer on his back, and, push'd all day The charity, that warm'd his heart, was mov'd With bleeding sides and flanks, that heave for life, At sight of the man-monster. With a smile, To the far-distant goal, arrives and dies.

Gentle, and affable, and full of grace, So little mercy shows who needs so much! As fearful of offending whom he wish'd Does law, so jealous in the cause of man,

Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths Denounce no doom on the delinquent? None. Not harshly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd, He lives, and o'er his brimming beaker boasts But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet. (As if barbarity were high desert)

" And dost thou dream,” th' impenetrable man Th' inglorious feat, and clamorous in praise Exclaim'd, “ that me the lullabies of age, Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose And fantasies of dotards such as thou, The honors of his matchless horse his own. Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me? But many a crime, deem'd innocent on Earth, Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave Is register'd in Heav'n; and these no doubt Need no such aids, as superstition lends, Have each their record, with a curse annex'd. To steel their hearts against the dread of death." Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, He spoke, and to the precipice at hand But God will never. When he charg'd the Jew Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, T'assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise ; And the blood thrills and curdles, at the thought And when the bush-exploring boy, that seiz'd Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave. The young, to let the parent bird go free; But, though the felon on his back could dare Prov'd he not plainly, that his meaner works The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed Are yet his care, and have an int'rest all, Declin'd the death, and wheeling swiftly round All, in the universal Father's love?

Or e'er his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge, On Noah, and in him on all mankind,

Based his rider, sav'd against his will. The charter was conferr'd, by which we hold The frenzy of the brain may be redressid The flesh of animals in fee, and claim

By med'cine well applied, but without grace O'er all we feed on pow'r of life and death. The heart's insanity admits no cure. But read the instrument, and mark it well : Enrag'd the more, by what might have reformd Th' oppression of a tyrannous control

His horrible intent, again be sought Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy'd, Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin, With sounding whip, and rowels dyed in blood. Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute ! But still in vain. The Providence, that meant The Governor of all, himself to all

A longer date to the far nobler beast,
So bountiful, in whose attentive ear

Spar'd yet again th' ignoble for his sake.
The unfledg'd raven, and the lion's whelp, And now, his prowess prov'd, and his sincere
Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs

Incurable obduracy evinc'd,
Of hunger unassuag'd, has interpos’d,

His rage grew cool; and pleas'd, perhaps, t' have earn d Not seldom, his avenging arm, to smite

So cheaply the renown of that attempt, Th' injurious trampler upon Nature's law,

With looks of some complacence he resum'd That claims forbearance even for a brute.

His road, deriding much the blank amaze
He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart; Of good Evander, still where he was left
And, prophet as he was, he might not strike Fix'd motionless, and petrified with dread.
The blameless animal, without rebuke,

So on they far'd. Discourse on other themes
On which he rode. Her opportune offence Ensuing seem'd t'obliterate the past ;
Sav'd him, or th' unrelenting seer had died. And tamer far for so much fury shown,
He sees that human equity is slack

(As is the course of rash and fiery men,) To interfere, though in so just a cause :

The rude companion smild, as if transform’d. And makes the task his own. Inspiring dumb But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near, And helpless victims with a sense so keen An unsuspected storm. His hour was come, of injury, with such knowledge of their strength, The impious challenger of Pow'r divine And such sagacity to take revenge,

Was now to learn, that Heav'n, though slow to wrath, Is never with impunity defied.

And figure of the man, his secret aim, His horse, as he bad caught his master's mood, That oft we owe our safety to a skill Snorting, and starting into sudden rage,

We could not teach, and must despair to learn. Unbidden, and not now to be controllid,

But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop
Rush'd to the cliff, and, having reach'd it, stood. To quadruped instructors, many a good
At once the shock unseated bim : he flew

And useful quality, and virtue too,
Sheer o'er the craggy barrier; and immers'd Rarely exemplified among ourselves.
Deep in the food, found, when he sought it not, Attachment, never to be wean'd, or chang'd
The death he had deserv'd, and died alone. By any change of fortune, proof alike
So God wrought double justice; made the fool Against unkindness, absence, and neglect;
The victim of his own tremendous choice,

Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat
And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. Can move or warp; and gratitude for small
I would not enter on my list of friends

And trivial favors, lasting as the life, (Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense, And glist’ning even in the dying eye. Yet wanting sensibility) the man,

Man praises man. Desert in arls or arms Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.

Wins public honor; and ten thousand sit An inadvertent step may crush the snail,

Patiently present at a sacred song, That crawls at ev'ning in the public path;

Commemoration mad; content to hear But he that has humanity, forewarn’d,

(0 wonderful effect of music's power!) Will tread aside and let the reptile live.

Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake. The creeping vermin, lothesome to the sight, But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serveAnd charg'd, perhaps, with venom, that intrudes, (For was it less? what heathen would have dar'd A visitor unwelcome, into scenes

To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath, Sacred to neatness and repose, th' alcove,

And hang it up in honor of a man?) The chamber, or resectory, may die :

Much less might serve, when all that we design A necessary act incurs no blame.

Is but to gratify an itching ear,
Not so when, held within their proper bounds, And give the day to a musician's praise.
And guiltless of offence, they range the air, Remember Handel! Who, that was not born
Or take their pastime in the spacious field: Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets,
There they are privileg’d; and he that hunts Or can, the more than Homer of his age ?
Or harins them there is guilty of a wrong,

Yes—we remember him ; and while we praise Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm,

A talent so divine, remember too
Who, when she form d, design'd them an abode. That His most holy book, from whence it came,
The sum is this. If man's convenience, health Was never meant, was never us'd before,
Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims

To buckram out the mem’ry of a man.
Are paramount, and musi extinguish theirs. But hush! the Muse perhaps is too severe ;
Else they are all the meanest things that are, And with a gravity beyond the size
As free to live, and to enjoy that life,

And measure of th' offence, rebukes a deed
As God was free to form them at the first,

Less impious than absurd, and owing more Who in his sov'reign wisdom made them all. To want of judgment than to wrong design. Ye, therefore, who li ve mercy, teach your sons So in the chapel of old Ely-House, To love it too. The spring-time of our years When wand'ring Charles, who meant to be the third, Is soon dishonor'd and defil'd in most

Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, By budding ills, that asl a prudent hand

The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce, To check them. But, alus! none sooner shoots, And eke did rear right merrily, two sta ves, If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth,

Sung to the praise and glory of King George! Than cruelty, most dev'lish of them all.

-Man praises man; and Garrick's mem'ry next, Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule

When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made And righteous limitation of its act,

The idol of our worship while he liv'd
By which Heav'n moves in pard'ning guilty man; The God of our idolatry once more,
And he that shows none, being ripe in years, Shall have its altar; and the World shall go
And conscious of the outrage he commits,

In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine.
Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn.

The theatre, 100 small, shall suffocate Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more Its squeez'd contents, and more than it admits By our capacity of Grace divine,

Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return From creatures, that exist but for our sake, Ungratified: for there some noble lord Which, having serv'd us, perish, we are held Shall stuff his shoulders with King Richard's bunch, Accountable; and God si ne future day

Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, Will reckon with us roundly for th' abuse

And strut, and storm, and straddle, starop and stare, Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust.

To show the world how Garrick did not act.
Superior as we are, they yet depend

For Garrick was a worshipper himself;
Not more on human help than we on theirs. He drew the liturgy, and fram'd the rites
Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, was giv'n And solemn ceremonial of the day,
In aid of our defects. In some are found

And call’d the world to worship on the banks
Such teachable and apprehensive parts,

Of Avon, fam'd in song. Ah, pleasant proof That man's attainments in his own concerns, That piety has still in human hearts March'd with th' experiness of the brutes in theirs, Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. Are oft-times vanquish'd and thrown far behind. The mulb'rry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths ; Some show that nice sagacity of smell,

The mulb'rry-tree stood centre of the dance ; And read with such discernment, in the port The mulb'rry-tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs;

And from his touchwood trunk the mulb'rry-tree That not l'attempt it, arduous as he deerns
Supplied such relics as devotion holds

The labor, were a task more arduous still.
Still sacred, and preserves with pious care.

O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, So 'twas a hallow'd time: decorum reign'd, Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can see And mirth without offence. No few return'd, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel Doubtless much edified, and all refresh'd.

His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy ! -Man praises man. The rabble all alive

Rivers of gladness water all the Earth, From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, And clothe all climes with beauty : the reproach Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean Some shout him, and some hang upon his car, Or fertile only in its own disgrace, To gaze in 's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave Exults to see its thistly curse repeald. Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy :

The various seasons woven into one, While others, not so satisfied, unhorse

And that one season an eternal spring, The gilded equipage, and turning loose

The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. For there is none to covet, all are full. Why? what has charm'd them? Hath he sav'd the The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, state ?

Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon, No. Doth he purpose its salvation ? No.

| Together, or all gambol in the shade Enchanting novelty, that moon at full,

Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. That finds out ev'ry crevice of the head,

Antipathies are none. No foe to man
That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs Lurks in the serpent now: the mother sees,
Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand
And his own cattle must suffice him soon.

Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm,
Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, To stroke his azure neck, or to receive
And dedicate a tribute, in its use

The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. And jusi direction sacred, to a thing

All creatures worship man, and all mankind Doom'd to the dust, or lodg'd already there. One Lord, one Father. Error has no place : Encomium in old time was poets' work;

That creeping pestilence is driv'n away: But poets, having lavishly long since

The breath of Heav'n has chas'd it. In the heart Exhausted all materials of the art,

No passion touches a discordant string, The task now falls into the public hand ;

But all is harmony and love. Disease And I, contented with an humble theme,

Is not: the pure and uncontaminate blood Have pour'd my stream of panegyric down

Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. The vale of Nature, where it creeps, and winds One song employs all nations; and all cry, Among her lovely works with a secure

Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us !" And unambitious course, reflecting clear,

The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks If not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes. Shout to each other, and the mountain-tops And I am recompens'd, and deem the toils From distant mountains catch the flying joy; Of poetry not losi, if verse of mine

Till, nation after nation taught the strain, May stand between an animal and woe,

Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge.

Behold the measure of the promise fillid; The groans of Nature in this nether world, See Salem built, the labor of a God! Which Heav'n has heard for ages, have an end. | Bright as a sun the sacred city shines; Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung,

All kingdoms and all princes of the Earth Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp, Flock to that light; the glory of all lands The time of rest, the promis'd sabbath, comes. Flows into her; unbounded is her joy, Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, Fulfill'd their tardy and disastrous course

Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there : * Over a sinful world; and what remains

The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, of this tempestuous state of human things And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. Is merely as the working of a sea

Praise is in all her gates: upon her walls,
Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest :

And in her streets, and in her spacious courts,
For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there
The dust, that waits upon his sultry march,

Kneels with the native of the farthest west;
When sin hath mov'd him, and his wrath is hot, And Æthiopia spreads abroad the hand,
Shall visit Earth in mercy ; shall descend

And worships. Her report has travel'd forth
Propitious in his chariot pav'd with love;

Into all lands. From ev'ry clime they come
And what his storms have blasted and defac'd To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy,
For man's revolt shall with a smile repair. O Sion! an assembly such as Earth

Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet Saw never, such as Heav'n stoops down to see. (once Not to be wrong’d by a mere mortal touch:

Thus Heav'nward all things tend. For all were Nor can the wonders it records be sung

Perfect, and all must be at length restor'd. To meaner music, and not suffer loss.

So God has greatly purpos’d; who would else
But when a poet, or when one like me,

In his dishonor'd works himself endure
Happy to rove among poetic flow'rs,
Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last

* Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progeni. On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair,

tors of the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture bere alluded Such is the impulse and the spur he feels,

to, may be reasonably considered as representatives of the To give it praise proportion'd to its worth,

Gentiles at large.

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Dishonor, and be wrong'd without redress. To wand'ring sheep, resolv'd to follow none. Haste then, and wheel away a shatter'd world, Two gods divide them all—Pleasure and Gain : Ye slow-revolving seasons! we would see

For these they live, they sacrifice to these, (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) And in their service wage perpetual war A world, that does not dread and hate his laws, With Conscience and with thee. Lust in their hearts, And suffer for its crime ; would learn how fair And mischief in their hands, they roam the Earth, The creature is, that God pronounces good, To prey upon each other: stubborn, fierce, How pleasant in itself what pleases him.

High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. Here ev'ry drop of honey hides a sting;

Thy prophets speak of such; and, noting down Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flow'rs; The features of the last degen'rate times, And ev’n the joy, that haply some poor heart Exhibit ev'ry lineament of these Derives from Heav'n, pure as the fountain is, Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint

Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest, From touch of human lips, at best impure. Due to thy last and most effectual work, O for a world in principle as chaste

Thy word fulfill'd, the conquest of a world! As this is gross and selfish! over which

He is the happy man, whose life e'en now Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway,

Shows somewhat of that happier life to come ;
That govern all things here, should'ring aside Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state,
The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her Is pleas'd with it, and, were he free to choose,
To seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the
In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men;

Where Violence shall never lift the sword, Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,
Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong, Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one
Leaving the poor no remedy but tears :

Content indeed to sojourn while he must
Where he, that fills an office, shall esteem

Below the skies, but having there his home.
Th'occasion it presents of doing good

The World o'erlooks him in her busy search
More than the perquisite : where Law shall speak of objects, more illustrious in her view;
Seldom, and never but as Wisdom prompts And, occupied as earnestly as she,
And Equity; not jealous more to guard

Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the World. A worthless form, than to decide aright.

She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not ; Where Fashion shall not sanctify abuse,

He seeks not hers, for he has prov'd them vain; Nor smooth Good-breeding (supplemental grace) He cannot skim the ground like summer birds With lean performance ape the work of Love! Pursuing gilded flies; and such he deems

Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, Her honors, her emoluments, her joys. Receive yet one, the crown of all the Earth, Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, Thou who alone art worthy! It was thine

Whose pow'r is such, that whom she lifts from Earth By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth;

She makes familiar with a Heav'n unseen, And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd. And overpaid its value with thy blood.

Not slothful he, though seeming unemploy'd, Thy saints proclaim thee King; and in their hearts and censur'd oft as useless. Stillest streams Thy title is engraven with a pen

Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird
Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love.

That flutters least, is longest on the wing.
Thy saints proclaim thee King; and thy delay Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has rais’d,
Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see Or what achievements of immortal fame
The dawn of thy last advent, long desir'd, He purposes, and he shall answer-None.
Would creep into the bowels of the hills,

His warfare is within. There, unfatigu'd,
And flee for safety to the falling rocks.

His fervent spirit labors. There he fights, The very spirit of the world is tir'd

And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long, And never-with’ring wreaths, compar'd with which “Where is the promise of your Lord's approach ?" The laurels that a Cæsar reaps are weeds. The infidel has shot his bolts away,

Perhaps the self-approving haughty World, Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none,

That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks He gleans the blunted shafts, that have recoil'd, Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see, And aims them at the shield of Truth again. Deems him a cipher in the works of God, The veil is rent, rent, too, by priestly hands, Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, That hides divinity from mortal eyes ;

Of what she little dreams. Perhaps she owes And all the mysteries to faith propos'd,

Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring Insulted and traduc'd, are cast asid,

And plenteous harvest, to the pray'r he makes, As useless, to the moles and to the bats.

When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint They now are deem'd the faithful, and are prais’d, Walks forth to meditate at eventide, Who, constant only in rejecting thee,

And think on her, who thinks not for herself.
Deny thy Godhead with a mai tyr’s zeal,

Forgive him then, thou bustler in concerns
And quit their office for their error's sake. Of little worth, an idler in the best,
Blind, and in love with darkness! yet ev’n these If, author of no mischief and some good,
Worthy, compar'd with sycophants, who kneel He seeks his proper happiness by means,
Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man! That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine.
So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare, Nor, though he tread the secret path of life,
The world takes little thought. Who will may Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease,

Account him an encumbrance on the state,
And what they will. All pastors are alike Receiving benefits, and rend'ring none.


His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere
Shine with his fair example, and though small

His influence, if that influence all be spent
In soothing sorrow, and in quenching strife,
In aiding helpless indigence, in works,

From which at least a grateful few derive
Some taste of comfort in a world of woe;

Κεφαλαιον δη παιδειας ορθη τροφη.-Plato
Then let the supercilious great confess

Αρχη πολιτειας απασης νεων τροφα.-Dieg. Laert He serves his country, recompenses well The state, beneath the shadow of whose vine It is not from his form, in which we trace He sits secure, and in the scale of life

Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace, Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. That man, the master of this globe, derives The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen, His right of empire over all that lives. Must drop indeed the hope of public praise ;

That form, indeed, th' associate of a mind But, he may boast, what few that win it can, Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind, That, if his country stand not by his skill,

That form, the labor of Almighty skill, At least his follies have not wrought her fall.

Fram'd for the service of a free-born will, Polite Refinement offers him in vain

Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control, Her golden lube, through which a sensual World But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. Draws gross impurity, and likes it well,

Hers is the state, the splendor, and the throne The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. An intellectual kingdom, all her own. Not that he peevishly rejects a mode,

For her the Mem’ry fills her ample page Because that World adopts it. If it bear

With truths pour'd down from ev'ry distant age; The stamp and clear impression of good sense,

For her amasses an unbounded store, And be not costly more than of true worth,

The wisdom of great nations, now no more; He puts it on, and for decorum sake

Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil; Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she.

Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil; She judges of refinement by the eye,

When, copiously supplied, then most enlarg d; He, by the test of conscience, and a heart

Still to be fed, and not to be surcharg'd.
Not soon deceiv'd; aware, that what is base For her the Fancy, roving unconfin'd,
No polish can make sterling; and that vice, The present muse of ev'ry pensive mind,
Though well perfum'd and elegantly dress d, Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue
Like an unburied carcass trick'd with flow'rs,

To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew.
Is but a garnish'd nuisance, fitier far

At her command winds rise, and waters roar, For cleanly riddance, than for fair attire.

Again she lays them slumb'ring on the shore; So life glides smoothly and by stealth away,

With flow'r and fruit the wilderness supplies, More golden than that age of fabled gold

Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise. Renown'd in ancient song; not vex'd with care For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife, Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent, approv'd

That Grace and Nature have to wage through life, of God and man, and peaceful in its end.

Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill, So glide my life away! and so at last,

Appointed sage preceptor to the Will, My share of duties decently fulfillid,

Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice May some disease, not tardy to perform

Guides the decision of a doubtful choice. Its destin'd office, yet with gentle stroke,

Why did the fiat of a God give birth
Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat,


fair Sun, and his attendant Earth? Beneath the turf, that I have often trod.

And, when descending he resigns the skies, It shall not grieve me then, that once when callid Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise, To dress a Sofa with the flow'rs of verse,

Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair,

And owns her pow'r on ev'ry shore he laves ? With that light task; but soon, to please her more, Why do the seasons still enrich the year, Whom flow'rs alone I knew would little please, Fruitful and young as in their first career? Let fall ih' unfinish'd wreath, and rov'd for fruit;

Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rov'd far, and gather'd much : some harsb, 'tis true, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze ; Pick'd from the thorns and briers of reproof,

Summer in haste the thriving charge receives But wholesome, well-digested ; grateful some

Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, To palates, that can taste immortal truth ;

Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews Insipid else, and sure to be despis'd.

Dye them at last in all their glowing hues.But all is in his hand, whose praise I seek. 'T were wild profusion all, and bootless waste, In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, Pow'r misemploy'd, munificence misplacid, If he regard not, though divine the theme. Had not its author dignified the plan, "Tis not in artful measures, in the chime

And crownd it with the majesty of man. And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre,

Thus form’d, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught, To charın his ear, whose eye is on the heart;

Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought
Whose frown can disa ppoint the proudest strain, The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws
Whose approbation, prosper even mine.

Finds in a sober moment time to pause,
To press th' important question on his heart,
“Why form’d at all, and wherefore as thou art 1"
If man be what he seems, this hour a slave,
The next mere dust and ashes in the grave;

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