Tho' fools fpurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs,
We, who improve his golden hours,
By fweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good
A paradife below.

Our babes fhall richeft comforts bring;
If tutor❜d right, they'll prove a fpring
Whence pleasures ever rife;

We'll form their minds, with studious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,
And train them for the skies.

While they our wifeft hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, fupport our age,
And crown our hoary hairs:
They'll grow in virtue ev'ry day,
And thus our fondeft loves repay,
And recompenfe our cares.

No borrow'd joys! they're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,
Or by the world forgot:
Monarchs! we envy not your
We look with pity on the great,
And blefs our humbler lot.

ftate ;

Our portion is not large, indeed;
But then how little do we need!
For nature's calls are few:
In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may fuffice,
And make that little do.

We'll therefore relish, with content,
Whate'er kind Providence has fent,
Nor aim beyond our pow'r ;
For, if our stock be very fmall,
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.

To be refign'd, when ills betide,
Patient when favours are deny'd,
And pleas'd with favours giv'n :

Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part;
'This is that incenfe of the heart,
Whofe fragrance fmells to heav'n.
We'll afk no long protracted treat,
Since winter life is feldom fweet;
But, when our feaft is o'er,
Grateful from table we'll arife,
Nor grudge our fons, with envious eyes,
The relics of cur store.

Thus hand in hand, thro' life we'll go :
Its checker'd paths of joy and wo,
With cautious steps, we'll tread ;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear,.
Without a trouble or a fear,

And mingle with the dead.

While confcience, like a faithful friend,
Shall thro' the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;

Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel whifper peace,
And smooth the bed of Death.

SECTION IX.

COTTON.

OVIDENCE VINDICATED IN THE STATE OF MAN, HEAV'N from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prefcrib'd, their prefent ftate; From brutes what men, from men what fpirits know, Or who could fuffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? Pleas'd to the laft, he crops the flow'ry food, And licks the hand just rais'd to fhed his blood. Oh blindnefs to the future! kindly giv'n, That each may fill the circle mark'd by heav'n ;. Who fees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perifh, or a sparrow fall;

Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,

And now a bubble burit, and now a world.

Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions foar; Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore.

What future blifs he gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy bleffing now.
Hope fprings eternal in the human breast:
Man never is, but always To BE bleft :
The foul, uneafy and confin'd from home,
Refts and expatiates in a life to come.

Lo, the poor Indian ! whofe untutor'd mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind
His foul proud fcience never taught to stray
Far as the Solar Walk or Milky Way;
Yet fimple nature to his hope has giv'n,
Behind the cloud-topt hill, a humbler heav'n;
Some fafer world in depth of woods embrac❜d,
Some happier ifland in the wat❜ry wafte;
Where flaves once more their native land behold,
No fiends torment, no Chriftians thirst for gold,
TO BE, contents his natural defire;

He afks no angel's wing, no feraph's fire:
But thinks, admitted to that equal fky,
His faithful dog fhall bear him company..

Go, wifer, thou! and in thy fcale of fenfe,
Weigh thy opinion against Providence ;
Call imperfection what thou fancieft fuch,
Say here he gives too little, there too much.
In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies;
All quit their fphere and rufh into the skics.
Pride ftill is aiming at the bleft abodes,
Men would be angels, angels would be gods.
Afpiring to be gods, if angels fell,
Afpiring to be angels, men rebel:
And who but wishes to invert the laws
Of ORDER, fins against th' ETERNAL CAUSE.

SECTION X.

SELFISHNESS REPROVED.

HAS God, thou fool! work'd folely for thy good,
Thy joy, thy paftime, thy attire, thy food?
Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn,
For him as kindly fpread the flow'ry lawn.
Is it for thee the lark afcends and fings?
Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings.
Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat?

POPE

Loves of his own, and raptures fwell the note.
The bounding feed you pompously beftride,
Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride.
Is thine alone the feed that strews the plain?
The birds of heav'n fhall vindicate their grain.
Thine the full harvest of the golden year?
Part pays, and justly, the deferving feer.
The hog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call,
Lives on the labours of this lord of all.

Know, nature's children all divide her care;
The fur that warms a monarch, warm'd a bear.
While man exclaims, " See all things for my ufe !"
" See man for mine !" replies a pamper'd goofe.
And just as short of reason he must fall,
Who thinks all made for one, not one for all.
Grant that the pow'rful ftill the weak control;
Be man the wit and tyrant of the whole;
Nature that tyrant checks; he only knows,
And helps another creature's wants and woes.
Say, will the falcon, ftooping from above,
Smit with her varying plumage spare the dove?
Admires the jay, the infects gilded wings?
Or hears the hawk when Philomela fings?
Man cares for all: to birds he gives his woods,
To beafts his pastures, and to fish his floods;
For fome his int'reft prompts him to provide,
For more his pleasure, yet for more his pride.
All feed on one vain patron, and enjoy
Th' extenfive bleffing of his luxury.
That very life his learned hunger craves,
He faves from famine, from the favage faves;
Nay, feafts the animal he dooms his feaft;
And, till he ends the being, makes it bleft:
Which fees no more the stroke, not feels the pain,
Than favour'd man by touch etherial flain.
The creature had his feast of life before;
Thou too muft perish, when thy feast is o'er !

SECTION XI.

POPE

HUMAN FRAILTY.

WEAK and irrefolute is man ;
The purpose of today,

Woven with pains into his plan,

Tomorrow rends away.

The bow well bent, and fmart the fpring,

Vice feems already flain;

But paffion rudely fnaps the ftring,

And it revives again.

Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part;
Virtue engages his affent,

But pleafure wins his heart.

'Tis here the folly of the wife,
Through all his art, we view;
And while his tongue the charge denies,
His confcience owns it true.

Bound on a voyage of awful length,
And dangers little known,
A ftranger to fuperior strength,
Man vainly trufts liis own.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail
To reach the diftant coaft;

The breath of heav'n mult fwell the fail,

Or all the toil is loft.

SECTION XII.

ODE TO PEACE.

COME, peace of mind, delightful guest !
Return, and make thy downy neft.
Once more in his fad heart :
Nor riches I, nor pow'r purfue,
Nor hold forbidden joys in view ;
We therefore need not part.

Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,"
From av'rice and ambition free,

And pleafure's fatal wiles;
For whom, alas! doft thou prepare
The fweets that I was wont to flare,
The banquet of thy fmiles?

The great, the gay, fhall they partake
The heav'n that thou alone canft make ;

COWPER