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And, while the wings of Fancy still are free,

But will sincerity suffice? And I can view this mimic show of thee,

It is indeed above all price, Time has but half succeeded in his theft

And must be made the basis;
Thyself remov d, thy pow'r to soothe me left.

But ev'ry virtue of the soul
Must constitute the charming whole,

All shining in their places.

A fretful temper will divide

The closest knot that may be tied, What virtue, or what mental grace

By ceaseless sharp corrosion ;
But men unqualified and base

A temper passionate and fierce
Will boast it their possession ?

May suddenly your joys disperse
Profusion apes the noble part

At one immense explosion.
Of liberality of heart,
And dulness of discretion.

In vain the talkative unite

In hopes of permanent delight If every polish'd gem we find

The secret just committed,
Illuminating heart or mind,

Forgetting it's important weight,
Provoke to imitation ;

They drop through mere desire to prate, No wonder friendship does the same

And by themselves outwitted.
That jewel of the purest flame,
Or rather constellation.

How bright soe'er the prospect seems

All thoughts of friendship are but dreams, No knave but boldly will pretend

If envy chance to creep in ; The requisites that form a friend,

An envious man, if you succeed, A real and a sound one;

May prove a dang 'rous foe indeed, Nor any fool, he would deceive,

But not a friend worth keeping. But prove as ready to believe, And dream that he had found one.

As envy pines at good possessid,

So jealousy looks forth distress'd Candid, and generous, and just,

On good, that seems approaching; Boys care but little whom they trust,

And, if success his steps attend,
An errour soon corrected -

Discerns a rival in a friend,
For who but learns in riper years,

And hates him for encroaching. That man, when smoothest he appears, Is most to be suspected ?

Hence authors of illustrious name,

Unless belied by common fame, But here again a danger lies,

Are sadly prone to quarrel, Lest, having misapplied our eyes,

To deem the wit a friend displays And taken trash for treasure,

A tax upon their own just praise,
We should unwarily conclude

And pluck each other's laurel.
Friendship a false ideal good,
A mere Utopian pleasure.

A man renown'd for repartee

Will seldom scruple to make free An acquisition rather rare

With friendship's finest feeling; Is yet no subject of despair ;

Will thrust a dagger at your breast,
Nor is it wise complaining,

And say he wounded you in jest,
If either on forbidden ground,
Or where it was not to be found

By way of balm for healing.
We sought without attaining.

Whoever keeps an open ear
No friendship will abide the test,

For tattlers will be sure to hear
That stands on sordid interest,

The trumpet of contention;
Or mean self-love erected;

Aspersion is the babbler's trade,
Nor such as may awhile subsist,

To listen is to lend him aid,
Between the sot and sensualist,

And rush into dissension.
For vicious ends connected.

A friendship, that in frequent fits
Who seek a friend should come dispos'd,

Of controversial rage emits
T exhibit in full bloom disclos'd

The sparks of disputation,
The graces and the beauties,

Like Hand in Hand insurance plates

, That form the character he seeks,

Most unavoidably creates
For 't is a union, that bespeaks

The thought of conflagration.
Reciprocated duties.

Some fickle creatures boast a soul
Mutual attention is implied,

True as a needle to the Pole,
And equal truth on either side,

Their humour yet so various
And constantly supported :

They manifest their whole life through 'T is senseless arrogance t'accuse

The needle's deviations too,
Another of sinister views,

Their love is so precarious.
Our own as much distorted.

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But 't is not timber, lead, and stone, An architect requires alone,

To finish a fine building The palace were but half complete, If he could possibly forget

The carving and the gilding.

HACKNEY'D in business, wearied at that oar,
Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more,
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego ;
The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,
Where, all his long anxieties forgot
Amid the charıns of a sequester'd spot,
Or recollected only to gild o'er,
And add a smile to what was sweet before,
He may possess the joys he thinks he sees,
Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease,
Improve the remnant of his wasted span,
And, having liv'd a trifler, die a man.

The man that hails you Tom or Jack,
And proves by thumps upon your back

How he esteems your merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,

To pardon or to bear it.

Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, | At such a sight to catch the poet's flame,
Though long rebellid against, not yet suppress'd, And with a rapture like his own exclaim,
And calls a creature form'd for God alone, “ These are thy glorious works, thou source of good
For Heav'n's high purposes, and not his own, How dimly seen, how faintly understood!
Calls him away from selfish ends and aims, Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care,
From what debilitates, and what inflames,

This universal frame, thus wondrous fair ; From cities humming with a restless crowd, Thy pow'r divine, and bounty beyond thought, Sordid as active, ignorant as loud,

Ador'd and prais'd in all that thou hast wrough Whose highest praise is that they live in vain

Absorb'd in that immensity I see, The dupès of pleasure, the slaves of gain,

I shrink abas'd, and yet aspire to thee; Where works of man are cluster'd close around, Instruct me, guide me to that hearinly day, And works of God are hardly to be found, Thy words, more clearly than thy works, display, To regions where, in spite of sin and woe,

That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refire, Traces of Eden are still seen below,

I may resemble thee, and call thee mine.” Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove,

o blest proficiency! surpassing all, Remind him of his Maker's pow'r and love. That men erroneously their glory call, "T is well if, look'd for at so late a day,

The recompense that arts or arms can yield, In the last scene of such a senseless play,

The bar, the senate, or the tented field. True wisdom will attend his feeble call,

Compar'd with this sublimest life below, And grace his action ere the curtain fall.

Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to słow? Souls, that have long despis'd their heav'nly birth, Thus studied, us'd and consecrated thus, Their wishes all impregnated with Earth,

On Earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us: For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care Not as the plaything of a froward child, In catching smoke and feeding upon air,

Fretful unless diverted and beguild, Conversant only with the ways of man,

Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires Rarely redeem the short remaining ten.

Of pride, ambition, or impure desires, Invet'rate habits choke th' unfruitful heart,

But as a scale, by which the soul ascends Their fibres penetrate it's tend'rest part,

From mighty means to more important ends And, draining it's nutritious pow'rs to feed Securely,

though by steps but rarely trod, Their noxious growth, starve ev'ry better seed. Mounts from inferior beings up to God,

Happy, if full of days— but happier far, And sees by no fallacious light or dim, If, ere we yet discern life's ev'ning star,

Earth made for man, and man himself for him Sick of the service of a world, that feeds

Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce It's patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds, A superstitious and monastic course : We can escape from Custom's idiot sway,

Truth is not local, God alike pervades To serve the Sov'reign we were born t' obey, And fills the world of traffic and the shades, Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes, (Infinite skill) in all that he has made !

Or scorn'd where business never intervencs. To trace in Nature's most minute design

But 't is not easy with a mind like ours, The signature and stamp of power divine,

Conscious of weakness in it's noblest pow'rs, Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease,

And in a world, where, other ills apart, Where unassisted sight nu beauty sees,

The roving eye misleads the careless heart, The shapely limb and lubricated joint,

To limit thought, by nature prone to stray Within the small dimensions of a point,

Wherever freakish Fancy points the way; Muscle and nerve miraculously spun,

To bid the pleadings of Self-love be still, His mighty work, who speaks and it is done, Resign our own, and seek our Maker's will; Th' invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd, To spread the page of Scripture, and compare To whom an atom is an ample field;

Our conduct with the laws engraven there; To wonder at a thousand insect forms,

To measure all that passes in the breast,
These hatch'd and those resuscitated worms, Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test;
New life ordain'd and brighter scenes to share,

To dive into the secret deeps within,
Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, (size, To spare no passion and no fav’rite sin,
Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and And search the themes, important above all,
More hideous foes than fancy can devise;

Ourselves, and our recov'ry from our fall.
With helmet-heads, and dragon-scales adorn'd, But leisure, silence, and a mind releas'd
The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd, From anxious thoughts how wealth may be increas',
Would mock the majesty of man's high birth, How to secure in some propitious hour,
Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth : The point of int'rest, or the post of pow'r,
Then with a glance of fancy to survey,

A soul serene, and equally retir'd Far as the faculty can stretch a way,

From objects too much dreaded or desir'd, Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command Safe from the clamours of perverse dispute, From urns, that never fail, through ev'ry land; At least are friendly to the great pursuit These like a deluge with impetuous force,

Up'ning the map of God's extensive plan, Those winding modestly a silent course;

We find a little isle this life of man; The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales ; Eternity's unknown expanse appears Seas, on which ev'ry nation spreads her sails; Circling around and limiting his years The Sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, The busy race examine and explore The crescent Moon, the diadem of night;

Each creek and cavern of the dang'rous shore Stars countless, each in his appointed place, With care collect what in their eyes excels, Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space –

Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells;

"hus laden, dreain that they are rich and great, In sighs he worshóps his supremely fair, And happiest he that groans beneath his weight; And weeps a sad libation in despair ; he waves o'ertake them in their serious play, Adores a creature, and, devout in vain, and ev'ry hour sweeps multitudes away;

Wins in return an answer of disdain. They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep, As woodbine weds the plant within her reach, Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. Rough elm, or smooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech,

few forsake the throng; with lifted eyes In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays sk wealth of Heav'n, and gain a real prize,

Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays, 'ruth, wisdom, grace, and peace, like that above,

But does a mischief while she lends a grace, eal'd with his signet, whom they serve and love ; Strait'ning it's growth by such a strict embrace ; corn'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait So love, that clings around the noblest minds, kind release from their imperfect state,

Forbids th' advancement of the soul he binds; ind, unregretted, are soon snatch'd away

The suitor's air, indeed, he soon improves, 'rom scenes of sorrow into glorious day.

And forms it to the taste of her he loves, Nor these alone prefer a life recluse,

Teaches his eyes a language, and no less Vho seek retirement for it's proper use ;

Refines his speech, and fashions his address ; he love of change, that lives in ev'ry breast, But farewell promises of happier fruits, enius and temper, and desire of rest,

Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits ; Discordant motives in one centre meet,

Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break. ind each inclines it's vot'ry to retreat.

His only bliss is sorrow for her sake; ome minds by nature are averse to noise, Who will may pant for glory and excel, ind hate the tumult half the world enjoys, Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell! The lure of av'rice, or the pompous prize,

Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name hat courts display before ambitious eyes;

May least offend against so pure a flame, - he fruits that hang on pleasure's flow'ry stem, Though sage advice of friends the most sincere hate'er enchants them, are no snares to them. Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear, So them the deep recess of dusky groves,

And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild, 'r forest, where the deer securely roves,

Can least brook management, however mild, he fall of waters, and the song of birds,

Yet let a poet (poetry disarms nd hills that echo to the distant herds,

The fiercest animals with magic charms) re luxuries excelling all the glare

Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood, "he world can boast, and her chief fav'rites share. And woo and win thee to thy proper good. 7ith eager step, and carelessly array'd,

Pastoral images and still retreats, or such a cause the poet seeks the shade,

Umbrageous walks and solitary seats, rom all he sees he catches new delight,

Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams, Pleas'd Fancy claps her pinions at the sight, Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day dreams, ; "he rising or the setting orb of day,

Are all enchantments in a case like thine, The clouds that flit, or slowly float away,

Conspire against thy peace with one design, ature in all the various shapes she wears,

Soothe thee to make thee but a surer prey, browning in storms, or breathing gentle airs,

And feed the fire, that wastes thy pow'rs away. Che snowy robe her wintry state assumes,

Up— God has form'd thee with a wiser view, Ier summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes, Not to be led in chains, but to subdue ; $ 11, all alike transport the glowing bard,

Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first uccess in rhyme his glory and reward.

Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst. Nature! whose Elysian scenes disclose

Woman indeed, a gift he would bestow lis bright perfections, at whose word they rose, When he design'd a Paradise below, Text to that pow'r, who form'd thee and sustains, The richest earthly boon his hands afford, le thou the great inspirer of my strains.

Deserves to be belov’d, but not ador'd. till, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand

Post away swiftly to more active scenes,
hy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand, Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans,
That I may catch a fire but rarely known,

Mix with the world, but with its wiser part,
sive useful light, though I should miss renown, No longer give an image all thine heart;
Ind, poring on thy page, whose ev'ry line It's empire is not hers, nor is it thine,
Bears proof of an intelligence divine,

'T is God's just claim, prerogative divine. Tay feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays,

Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill That builds it's glory on it's Maker's praise.

Attempts no task it cannot well fulfil, Voe to the man, whose wit disclaims it's use, Gives melancholy up to Nature's care, Flitt'ring in vain, or only to seduce,

And sends the patient into purer air. Vho studies nature with a wanton eye,

Look where he comes — in this embower'd alcove Admires the work, but slips the lesson by;

Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move: lis hours of leisure and recess employs

Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow, in drawing pictures of forbidden joys,

Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below, Retires to blazon his own worthless name,

Interpret to the marking eye distress, Or shoot the careless with a surer aim.

Such as it's symptoms can alone express. The lover, too, shuns business and alarms, That tongue is silent now ; that silent tongue sender idolater of absent charms.

Could argue once, could jest or join the song, Saints offer nothing in their warmest pray’rs, Could give advice, could censure or commend, That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs ; Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. T is consecration of liis boart, soul, time,

Renounc'd alike it's office and it's sport, And ev'ry thousin linders is a crime.

It's brisker and it's graver strains full short;

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Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway,

Ye groves, (the statesman at his desk celains And like a summer-brook are past away.

Sick of a thousand disappointed aims) This is a sight for Pity to peruse,

My patrimonial treasure and my pride, Till she resemble faintly what she views,

Beneath your shades your gray possessor hide

, Till Sympathy contract a kindred pain,

Receive me languishing for that repose, Pierc'd with the woes that she laments in vain. The servant of the public never knows

. This, of all maladies that man infest,

Ye saw me once (ah those regretted days, Claims most compassion and receives the least : When boyish innocence was all my praise!) Job felt it, when he groan'd beneath the rod Hour after hour delightfully allot And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God; To studies then familiar, since forgot, And such emollients as his friends could spare, And cultivate a taste for ancient song, Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare. Catching it's ardour as I mus'd along ; Blest, rather curst, with hearts that never feel, Nor seldom, as propitious Heav'n might send, Kept snug in caskets of close-hammer'd steel, What once I valu'd and could boast, a friend, With mouths made only to grin wide and eat, Were witnesses how cordially I pressid And minds, that deem derided pain a treat, His undissembling virtue to my breast; With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire, Receive me now, not uncorrupt as then, And wit that puppet-prompters might inspire, Nor guiltless of corrupting other men, Their sov'reign nostrum is a clumsy joke, But vers’d in arts, that, while they seern to stay Or pangs enforc'd with God's severest stroke. A falling empire, hasten it's decay. But with a soul, that ever felt the sting

To the fair haven of my native home, Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing :

The wreck of what I was, fatigued I come ; Not to molest, or irritate, or raise

For once I can approve the patriot's voice, A laugh at his expense, is slender praise;

And make the course he recommends my choice: He, that has not usurp'd the name of man, We meet at last in one sincere desire, Does all, and deems too little all, he can,

His wish and mine both prompt me to retire T'assuage the throbbings of a fester'd part, 'T is done — he steps into the welcome chaise

, And stanch the bleedings of a broken heart. Lolls at his ease behind four handsome bays, 'T is not, as heads that never ache suppose, That whirl away from business and debate Forg'ry of fancy, and a dream of woes;

The disencumber'd Atlas of the state. Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of morn Each yielding harmony dispos'd aright;

First shakes the glitt'ring drops from ev'ry thera The screws revers’d, (a task which, if he please, Unfolds his flock, then under bank or busha God in a moment executes with ease,)

Sits linking cherry stones, or platting rush

, Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose, How fair is freedom ? — he was always free: Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use. To carve bis rustic name upon a tree, Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair To snare the mole, or with ill-fashion'd look As ever recompens'd the peasant's care,

To draw th' incautious minnow from the brand, Nor soft declivities with tufted hills,

Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view, Nor view of waters turning busy mills,

His flock the chief concern he ever knew; Parks in which Art preceptress Nature weds, She shines but little in his heedless eyes, Nor gardens interspers’d with flow'ry beds, The good we never miss we rarely prize: Nor gales, that catch the scent of blooming groves, But ask the noble drudge in state affairs, And waft it to the mourner as he roves,

Escap'd from office and it's constant cares, Can call up life into his faded eye,

What charms he sees in Freedom's smile express, That passes all he sees unheeded by;

In Freedom lost so long, now repossess'd; No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels, The tongue, whose strains were cogent as coNo cure for such, till God who makes them heals.

mands, And thou, sad suffører under nameless ill,

Rever'd at home, and felt in foreign lands That yields not to the touch of human skill, Shall own itself a stamm'rer in that cause, Improve the kind occasion, understand

Or plead it's silence as it's best applause. A Father's frown, and kiss his chast'ning hand. He knows indeed that whether dress'd or rude, To thee the dayspring, and the blaze of noon, Wild without art, or artfully subdued, The purple ev'ning, and resplendent Moon, Nature in ev'ry form inspires delight, The stars, that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night, But never mark'd her with so just a sight. Seem drops descending in a show'r of light, Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store, Shine not, or undesir'd and hated shine,

With woodbine and wild roses mantled o’er, Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine: Green balks and furrow'd lands, the stream Yet seek him, in his favour life is found,

spreads All bliss beside a shadow or a sound :

It's cooling vapour o'er the dewy meads, Then Heav'n, eclips'd so long, and this dull Earth, Downs, that almost escape th' inquiring eye, Shall seem to start into a second birth;

That melt and fade into the distant sky, Nature, assuming a more lovely face,

Beauties he lately slighted as he passid, Borr'wing a beauty from the works of grace, Seem all created since he travelld last. Shall be despis'd and overlook'd no more, Master of all th' enjoyments he design'd; Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before, No rough annoyance rankling in his mind, Impart to things inanimate a voice,

What early philosophic hours he keeps, And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice;

How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps! The sound shall run along the winding vales,

Not sounder he, that on the mainmast-bead, And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails.

While morning kindles with a windy red,

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