Should unprovided man alone create,
And send him hither but to curse his fate?
Is this the being for whose use the earth
Sprung out of nought, and animals had birth?
This he whose bold imagination dares

Converse with heaven, and soar above the stars?
Poor reptile! wretched in an angel's form,
And wanting that which nature gives the worm.
Far other views our kind Creator knew,
When man, the image of himself, he drew.
So full the stream of nature's bounty flows,
Man feels no ill but what to man he owes.
The earth abundant furnishes a store
To sate the rich and satisfy the poor.
These would not want, if those did never hoard;
Enough for Irus falls from Dives' board,
And dost thou, common son of nature, dare
From thy own brother to withhold his share?
To vanity, pale idol, offer up

The shining dish and empty golden cup?
Or else in caverns hide the precious ore,
And to the bowels of the earth restore
What for our use she yielded up before?
Behold, and take example how the steed
Attempts not selfish to engross the mead.
See now the lowing herd and bleating flock
Promiscuous graze the valley or the rock:
Each tastes his share of nature's general good,
Nor strives from others to withhold their food.
But say, oh man, would it not strange appear
To see some beast (perhaps the meanest there)
For his repast the sweetest pastures choose,
And e'en the sourest to the rest refuse.
Wouldst thou not view with scornful wond'ring eye
The poor contented starving herd stand by?

All to one beast a servile homage pay,

And boasting think it honour to obey?

CLXIX. NATHANIEL COTTON, 1707--1788.

THE FIRE-SIDE.

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 has nothing to bestow;
From our own selves our joy 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,
A disappointed bird once more
Explored 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 minds 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 thus our fondest love 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 prudent to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.

To be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are denied,

And pleased 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.

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go;
Its chequer'd paths of joy and woe
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 Conscience, like a faithful friend,
Shall through the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath:
Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,
And smoothe the bed of death.

CLXX. SAMUEL BOYSE, 1708--1749.

TO THE REDEEMER.

O blest Redeemer! from thy sacred throne,
Where saints and angels sing thy triumphs won!
(Where from the grave thou raised thy glorious head,
Chain'd to thy car the powers infernal led)
From that exalted height of bliss supreme,
Look down on those who bear thy sacred name;
Restore their ways, inspire them by thy grace,
Thy laws to follow, and thy steps to trace;
Thy bright example to thy doctrine join,
And by their morals prove their faith divine!
Nor only to thy church confine thy ray;
O'er the glad world thy healing light display;
Fair sun of righteousness! in beauty rise,
And clear the mists that cloud the mental skies
To Judah's remnant, now a scatter'd train,
Oh great Messiah! show thy promised reign;
O'er earth as wide thy saving warmth diffuse,
As spreads the ambient air, or falling dews,
And haste the time when, vanquish'd by thy power
Death shall expire, and sin defile no more.

CLXXI. SAMUEL JOHNSON, 1709-1784
1. WOLSEY.

In full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand,
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand:

To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs consign,
Through him the rays of regal bounty shine;
Turn'd by his nod the stream of honour flows,
His smile alone security bestows;

Still to new heights his restless wishes tower,
Claim leads to claim, and power advances power;
Till conquest, unresisted, ceased to please,
And rights submitted left him none to seize.
At length his sovereign frowns-the train of state
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate.
Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye,
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly;
Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
The golden canopy, the glittering plate,
The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The liveried army, and the menial lord.

2. CHARLES XII.

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride,
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide;
A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire;
O'er love, o'er fear extends his wide domain,
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain;
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;
Behold surrounding kings their powers combine,

And one capitulate and one resign;

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain :
"Think nothing gained," he cries, " till nought remain,
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,
And all be mine beneath the polar sky."
The march begins in military state,
And nations on his eye suspended wait;
Stern Famine guards the solitary coast:
And Winter barricades the realms of Frost:
He

comes, nor want nor cold his course delay
Hid, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day!
The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,
And shows his miseries in distant lands;