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Tell, when affrighted Nature shook,
How Sinia kindled at his look,

And trembled at his frown.
Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale;
Ye insects flutt'ring on the gale,

In niutual concourse rise;
Crop the gay rose's vermil bloom,
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume,

In incense to the skies.
Wake all ye mounting tribes, and sing ;
Ye plumy warblers of the spring,

Harmonious anthems raise.
To him who shap'd your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glitt'ring wings with gold,

And tun'd your voice to praise.
Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging heads

In heavenly praise employ ;
Spread his tremendous name around,
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the sound,

The gen'ral burst of joy.
Ye whom the charms of grandeur please,
Nurs'd on the downy lap of ease,

Fall prostrate at his throne:
Ye princes, rulers, all adore ;
Praise him, ye kings, who makes your pow'r

An image of his own.
Ye fair, by nature form’d to move,
O praise th' eternal SOURCE OF LOVE,

With youth's enliv'ning fire:
Let age take up the tuneful lay,
Sigh his bless'd name; then söar away,
And ask an angel's lyre.

OGILYDE.
SECTION XV.

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.
FATHER OF ALL! in ev'ry age,

In ev'ry clime ador'd,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou GREAT FIRST CAUSE, least understood,

Who all my sense confin'd
To know but this, that Thou art good,

And that myself am blind;

Yet gave me, in this dark estate,

To see the good from ill;
And binding nature fast in fate;

Left free the human will;
What conscience dictates to be done,

Or warns me not to do,
This teach me more than hell to shun,

That more than heayen pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives

Let me not cast away;
For God is paid when man receives;
S T'enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span

Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think thee Lord alone of man,

When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand

Presume thy bolts to throw ;
And deal damnation round the land,

On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart,

Still in the right to stay ;
IfI am wrong, Oh teach my heart

To find that better way!
Save me alike from foolish pride,

Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has denied,

Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,

To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to other's show,

That mercy show to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly so,

Since quicken'd by thy breath;
O lead me wheresoe'er I go,

Through this day's life or death! This day, be bread and peace my

lot: All else beneath the sun Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not

And let thy will be done.

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To thee, whose temple is all space,

Whose altar, earth, sea, skies!
One chorus let all beings raisc !
All Nature's incense rise.

YOPE.
SECTION XVI.

CONSCIENCE. O TREACH'Rous conscience ! while she seems to sleep On rose and myrtle, lulld with syren song; While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein, And give us up to license, unrecall's, Unmark'd; see, from behind her secret stand, The sly informer minutes every fault, And her dread diary with horror fills. Not the gross act alone employs her pen; She reconnoitres fancy's airy band, A watchful foe! the formidable spy, List’ning, o'erhears the whispers of our camp; Our dawning purposes of heart explores, And steals our embryos of iniquity. As all-rapacious usurers conceal Their doomsday book from all consuming heirs; Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats Us spendthrifts of inestimable time; Unnoted, notes each moment misapply'd; In leaves more durable than leaves of brass, Writes our whole history; which death shall read" In ev'ry pale delinquent's private ear; And judgment publish ; publish to more worlds Than this, and endless age in groan's resound. YOUNG

SECTION XVII.

ON AN INFANT.
To the dark and silent tomb,
Soon I hasted from the womb :
Scarce the dawn of life began,
Ere I measur'd out my span.
I no smiling pleasures knew;
I no gay delights could view :
Joyless sojourner was I,
Only born to weep and die.
Happy infant, early bless'd!
Rest, in peaceful slumber, rest;

Early rescu'd from the cares,
Which increase with growing years.
No delights are worth thy stay,
Smiling as they seem, and gay;
Short and sickly are they all,
Hardly tasted ere they pall.
All our gaiety is vain,
All our laughter is but pain :
Lasting only, and divine,
Is an innocence like thine.

SECTION XVIII.

THE CUCKOO.
Hail, beauteous stranger of the wood,

Attendant on the spring!
Now heaven repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.
Soon as the daisy decks the greeng

Thy certain voice we hear: Hast thou a star to guide thy pathg.

Or mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flow'rs,
When heaven is fill'd with music sweet

Of birds among the bow'rs.
"he school-boy wand'ring in the wood,

To pull the flow'rs so gay,
Starts, thy curious voice to hear,

And imitates thy lay.
Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fly'st thy vocal vale,
An annual guest, in other lands,

Another spring to hail.
Sweet bird! thy bow'r is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year.
could I fly, I'd fly with thee:

We'd make, with social wing,
Qur annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the spring.

LOGAN

SECTION XIX.
A STORAL IN THREE PARTS.

NORNING.
In the barn the tenant cock,

Close to Partlet perch'd on high,
Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock !)

Jocund that the morning's nigh.
Swiftly from the mountain's brow,

Shadows nurs'd by night, retire ;
And the peeping sun-beam, now,

Paints with gold the village spire.
Philomel forsakes the thorn,

Plaintive where she prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,

Soars beyond the shepherd's sight,
From the low roof'd cottage ridge,

See the chatt'ring swallow spring;
Darting through the one arch'd bridge,

Quick she dips her dappled wing:
Now the pine-tree's waving top

Gently greets the morning gale ;
Kidlings, now, begin to crop

Daisies, on the dewy dale.
From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd,

(Restless till her task be done,)
Now the busy bee's employ'd,

Sipping dew before the sun.
Trickling through the crevic'd rock,

Where the limped stream distils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock,

When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.
Colin's for the promis'd corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe)
Anxious; whilst the huntsman's horn,

Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe.
Sweet; O sweet, the warbling throng,
On the white emblossom'd

spray y!
Nature's universal song
Echoes to the rising

day.

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