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ODE on SOLITUDE'.
APPY the man, whofe with and care
Content to breathe his native air,
Whofe herds with milk, whofe fields with bread,
Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find
Sound fleep by night; ftudy and ease,
Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
b This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twelve years old.
The dying Chriftian to his SouL.
O D E.
ITAL fpark of heav'nly flame!
Hark! they whisper; Angels fay,
O Death! where is thy Sting?