Through vales of peace the dove-like Hope shall
And bear at eve her olive branch away,
In every scene some distant charm descry,
And hold it forward to the brightening eye;
While watchful Fear, if Fortitude maintain
Her trembling steps, shall ward the distant pain.
Should erring Nature casual faults disclose,
Wound not the breast that harbours your repose:
For every grief that breast from you shall prove,
Is one link broken in the chain of love.
Soon, with their objects, other woes are past,
But pains from those we love are pains that last.
Though faults or follies from Reproach may fly,
Yet in its shade the tender passions die.
Love, like the flower that courts the Sun's kind ray,
Will flourish only in the smiles of day;
Distrust's cold air the generous plant annoys,
And one chill blight of dire Contempt destroys.
Q shun, my friend, avoid that dangerous coast,
Where peace expires, and fair affection's lost;
By wit, by grief, by anger urg'd, forbear
The speech contemptuous, and the scornful air.
If heart-felt quiet, thoughts unmix'd with pain, While peace weaves flowers o'er Hymen's golden chain,
If tranquil days, if hours of smiling ease,
The sense of pleasure, and the power to please,
If charms like these deserve your serious care,
Of one dark foe, one dangerous foe beware!
Like Hecla's mountain, while his heart's in flame,
His aspect cold, and Jealousy's his name.
His hideous birth his wild disorders prove,
Begot by Hatred on despairing Love!
Her throes in rage the frantic mother bore,
And the fell sire with angry curses tore
His sable air-Distrust beholding smil❜d,
And lov'd her image in her future child.
With cruel care, industrious to impart
Each painful sense, each soul-tormenting art,
To Doubt's dim shrine her hapless charge she led,
Where never sleep reliev'd the burning head,
Where never grateful fancy sooth'd suspense,
Or the sweet charm of easy confidence.
Hence fears eternal, ever-restless care,
And all the dire associates of despair.
Hence all the woes he found that peace destroy,
And dash with pain the sparkling stream of joy.
When love's warm breast, from rapture's trem-
bling height,
Falls to the temperate measure's of delight;
When calm delight to easy friendship turns,
Grieve not that Hymen's torch more gently burns.
Unerring nature, in each purpose kind,
Forbids long transports to usurp the mind;
For, oft dissolv'd in joy's oppressive ray,
Soon would the finer faculties /decay.
True tender love one even tenor keeps;
'Tis reason's flame, and burns when passion
The charm connubial, like a stream that glides
Through life's fair vale, with no unequal tides;
With many a plant along its genial side,
With many a flower, that blows in beauteous
With many a shade, where peace in rapturous rest
Holds sweet affiance to her fearless breast;
Pure in its source, and temperate in its way,
Still flows the same, nor finds its urn decay.
O bliss beyond what lonely life can know,
The soul-felt sympathy of joy and woe!
That magic charm which makes e'en sorrow dear,
And turns to pleasure the partaken tear!
Long, beauteous friend, to you may Heaven
The soft endearments of the social heart!
Long to your lot may every blessing flow,
That sense, or taste, or virtue can bestow!
And oh, forgive the zeal your peace inspires,
To teach that prudence which itself admires.
Langhorne.
DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance;
Though singularity and pride
Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,
Nor join the giddy dance.
From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,
Where love our hours employs;
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,
To spoil our heart-felt joys.
If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,
And they are fools who roam;
The world hath nothing to bestow,
From our own selves our bliss must flow,
And that dear hut, our home.
Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left
That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursions o'er,
The disappointed bird once more
Explor'd the sacred bark.
Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know, That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good A paradise below,
Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
If tutor❜d right they'll prove a spring
Whence pleasures ever rise:
We'll form their mind with studious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,
And train them for the skies.
While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,
And crown our hoary hairs;
They'll grow in virtue every day,
And they our fondest loves repay,
And recompense 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 state,
We look with pity on the great,
And bless our humble lot.
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 suffice,
And make that little do.
We'll therefore relish with content,
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,
Nor aim beyond our power;
For, if our stock be very small,
"Tis prudence to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.
To be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are denied,
And pleas'd with favours given ;
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part,
This is that incense of the heart,
Whose fragrance smells to Heaven.
We'll ask no long-protracted treat,
Since winter-life is seldom sweet;
But, when our feast is o'er,
Grateful from table we'll arise,
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes,
The relics of our store.
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