Another s welfare, or his right invade; Their int'rest, like a lion, lives on prey. 6. They kindle at the shadow of a wrong; Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on heav'n, Naught, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his peace. While their broad foliage testifies their fall! His glorious course was, yesterday, complete : SECTION VIII. The pleasures of Retirement. 1.O KNEW he but his happiness, of men The happiest he! who, far from public rage, YOUNG 2. What though the dome be wanting, whose proud gate Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd? Vile intercourse! What though the glitt'ring robe, Or floated loose, or stiff with mazy gold, The pride and gaze of fools, oppress him not? Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps With luxury and death? What though his bowl Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state? In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the spring, When summer reddens, and when autumn beams: Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap : These are not wanting; nor the milky drove, Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale; Nor bleating mountains, nor the chide of streams, And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade, Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay; Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song, Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountains clear. 4. Here too dwells simple truth; plain innocence; Unsullied beauty; sound unbroken youth, Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd; Health ever blooming; unambitious toil; Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.-' THOMSON. SECTION IX. The pleasure and benefit of an improved and well-directe Imagination. 1. OH! blest of Heaven, who not the languid songs Of luxury, the siren! not the bribes 2 Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils Those ever blooming sweets, which, from the store To charm th' enliven'd soul! What though not all His the city's pomp', With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. 3. Not a breeze Flies o'er the meadow; not a cloud imbibes Will be the change, and nobler. Would the torms Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down AKENSIDE. CHAPTER V. PATHETIC PIECES. SECTION I. The Hermit. 1. AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove; When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill, And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove. 'Twas thus by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began; No more with himself or with nature at war', He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man. Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. 4. "'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: Kind nature the embryo blossom will save: O pity, great Father of light, then I cried, Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee! Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free. 6. "And darkness and doubt, are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn: So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending And beauty immortal, awakes from the tomb." BEATTIE. SECTION II. The Beggar's Petition. 1. PITY the sorrows of a poor old man Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store. 2. These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak; These hoary locks, proclaim my lengthen'd years; And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek, Has been the channel to a flood of tears. 3. Yon house, erected on the rising ground, With tempting aspect drew me from my road; For plenty there a residence has found, And grandeur a magnificent abode. 4. Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor! Here, as I crav'd a morsel of their bread, A pamper'd menial drove me from the door, To seek a shelter in an humbler shed. 5. Oh! take me to your hospitable deme; Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold' 6. Should I reveal the sources of my grief, 7. Heav'n sends misfortunes; why should we repine? The child of sorrow and of misery. 8. A little farm was my paternal lot; Then, like the lark, I sprightly hail'd the morn} But ah! Oppression forc'd me from my cot My cattle died, and blighted was my corn 9. My daughter, once the comfort of my age, Lur'd by a villain from her native home, Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage. And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam. 10. My tender wife, sweet soother of my care! Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, |