Sivut kuvina


Wake you with her solemn strain,
And teach pleas'd echo to complain.

With you roses brighter bloom,
Sweater every sweet perfumé ;
Purer every fountain flows,
Stronger every wilding grows.

Let those toil for gold who please,
Or, for fame renounce their ease.
What is fame ? An empty bubble ;
Gold ? a shining, constant trouble.
Let them for their country bleed !
What was Sidney's, Raleigh's meed ?
Man's not worth a moment's pain ;
Base, ungrateful, fickle, vain.
Then let me, sequester'd fair,
To your sibyl grot repair ;
On yon hangin; cliff it stands,
Scoop'd by nature's plastic hands,
Bosom'd in the gloomy shade
Of cypress not with age decar
Where tlie bat incessant 3
There in hoftier strains I'll sing
Whence the changing seasons suns ;
Tell how storms deform the skie
Whence the waves subside and ie,
Trace the comet's blazing tail,
Weigh the planets in a scale;
Dend, great God, before thy shri;
The bournless macrocosm's thing

Since in each scheme of life 1 fail'd,
And disappointment seems ental;
Since all on earth I valued mog
My guide, my stay, my friend isst;
o Solitude, now give me rest,
And hush the tempest in my byt.
() gently deign to guide my fee
To your hermit-trodden seat ;
Where I may live at last my
Where I at last may die nnl.
I spoke : she turn’d her magi
Audshus she said, or seem'da

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Youth, you're mistaken, if you think to find In shades, a med'cine for a troubled mind: Wan grief will haunt you wberesoe’er you go, Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow. Thiere, pale inaction pines his life away; And satiate mourns the quick return of day: There, naked frenzy laughing wild pain, Or bears the blade, or plunges in the main : There, superstition broods o'er all her fears, And yells of demons in the zephyr hears. But if a hermit you're resolv'd to dwell, And bid to social life a last farewell; 'Tis impious.-God never made an independent man; 'Twould jar the concord of his general pian. See every part of that stupendous whole, " Whose body nature is, and God the soul ;" To one great end the general good conspire, From matter, brute, to man, to seraph, fire. Should man through nature solitary roam, His will his sovereign, every where his home, What force would guard him from the lion's jaw! What swiftness wing him from the panther's paw! Or should fate lead him to some safer shore, Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar, Where liberal nature all her charms bestows, Suns shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water flows, Fool, dost thou think he'd revel on the store, Absolve the care of Heaven, nor ask for more ? T'ho'waters flow'd, show'rs bloom'd, and Phæbus shones He'd sigh, he'd murmur, that he was alone. For know, the Maker on the human breast A sense of kindred, country, nan, impress’d.

Though nature's works the ruling mind declare, And well deserve inquiry's serious care, The God (whate'er misanthropy may say,) Shines. beams in man with most unclouded ray. What boots it thee to fly froin pole to pole ? Hang o’er the sun, and with the planets roll ? What boots through space's furthest bourns to roam ? If thou, O man, a stranger art at home. Then know thyself, the human mind survey ; The use, the pleasure, will the toil repay.

Nor study only, practise what you know ; Your life, your knowledge, to mankind you owe. With Plato's oli wreath the bays entwine ; Those who in s4* j, should in practice shine. Say, does the learned lord of Hagley's shade, Charm ma'yo much by mossy fountains laid, As when a'ger d he stems corruption's course, And shakes wie senate with a Tully's force ? When freedom gasp'd beneath a Cæsar's feet, Then public virtue might to shades retreat : But where she breaths, the least may useful be, And freedom, Britain, still belongs to thee, Though man's ungrateful, or though fortune frown; Is the rewarıl of worth a song, or crown ? Nor yet unrecompens'd are virtue's pains ; Good Allen lives, and bounteous Brunswick reigns. On each condition disappointments wat“, Enter the hut, and force the guarded gaie. Nor dare repine, through early friendship seed; From love. the world, and all its cares he's freed. But know, adversity's the child of God: Whom heaven approves of most, must feel h , rod. When smooth old ocean, and each storm's asleep, Then ignorance may plough the watery deep ; But when the demons of the tempest rave, Skill must conduct the vessel through the wave, Sidney, what good man envies not thy blow Who would not wish Anytos* for a foe ? Intrepid virtue triumphs over fate : The good can never be unfortunate. And be this maxim graven in thy mind; The height of virine is, to serve mankind.

But when old age has silver do'er thy head, When memory fails and all thy vigour's fed, Then may’st thou seek the stillness of retreat, Then hear aloof the human teinpest beat; hon will I greet thee to my woodland cave, Allay the paizs of age, and smooth thy grave.


* One of the accustis of Socrates.


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