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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.
SECTION XVI.

CONSCIENCE.

UTREACH ROus conscience! while she seems to sleep
On rose and myrtle, lull'd 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'd,
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 groans resound.

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;
Ino gay delights could view :
Joyless sojourner was I,
Only born to weep and die.
Happy infant, early bless'd!
Rest, in peaceful slumber, rest;

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POPE.

YOUNG,

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SECTION XIX.

A PASTORAL IN THREE PARTS..
MORNING

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 ! Nature's universal song

Echoes to the rising day.

X

NOON.

FERVID On the glitting flood,
Now the noontide radiance glows.
Drooping o'er its infant bud,.
Not a dew drop's left the rose.
By the brook the shepherd dines,

From the fierce meridian heat,
Shelter'd by the branching pines,

Pendant o'er his grassy seat. Now the flock forsakes the glade, Where uncheck'd the sun-beams fall, Sure to find a pleasing shade By the ivy'd abbey wall. Echo, in her airy round,

O'er the river, rock, and hill, Cannot catch a single sound,

Save the clack of yonder mill.
Cattle court the zephyrs bland,

Where the streamlet wanders cool,
Or with languid silence stand
Midway in the marshy pool.

But from mountain, dell, or stream,
Not a flutt'ring zephyr springs;
Fearful lest the noontide beam

Scorch its soft its silken wings.
Not a leaf has leave to stir,

Nature's lull'd, serene, and still!
Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur,

Sleeping on the heath-clad hill,
Languid is the landscape round,

Till the fresh descending show'r,
Grateful to the thirsty ground,

Raises ev'ry fainting flower.

Now the hill, the hedge, are green,
Now the warbler's throat's in tune;
scene,
Blithesome is the verdant
Brighten'd by the beams of Noon!

EVENING.

O'ER the heath the heifer strays
Free, (the furrow'd task is done,
Now the village windows blaze,
Burnish'd by the setting sun.
Now he sets behind the hill,

Sinking from a golden sky;
Can the pencil's mimic skill

Copy the refulgent dye? Trudging as the ploughmen go,

(To the smoaking hamlet bound,) Giant like their shadow's grow,

Lengthen'd o'er the level ground. Where the rising forest spreads

Shelter for the lordly dome! To their high built airy beds,

See the rooks returning home!
As the lark with vary'd tune,

Carols to the ev'ning loud;
Mark the mild resplendent moon,
Breaking through a parted cloud.
Now the hermit howlet peeps

From the barn or twisted brake; And the blue mist slowly creeps,

Curling on the silver lake.

As the trout in speckled pride,
Playful from its bosom springs;
To the banks a ruffled tide

Verges in successive rings.
Tripping through the silken grassy
O'er the path divided dale,
Mark the rose complexion'd lass
With her well pois'd milking pail!
Linnets with unnumber'd notes,

And the cuckoo bird with two, Tuning sweet their mellow throats, Bid the setting sun adieu.

CUNNINGHAY.

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