To difappointment, and fallacious hope:
"Rich in content, in nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the fpring,
When heaven descends in showers; or bends the bough
When fummer reddens, and when autumn beams;
Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies
Concealed and fattens with the richest sap;
These are not wanting; nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant, fpread o'er all the lowing vale ;
Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams
And hum of bees, inviting fleep fincere
Into the guiltlefs breaft, beneath the fhade,
Or, thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor aught befides of profpect, grove, or fong,
Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear.
Here too dwells fimple truth; plain innocence;
Unfullied beauty; found unbroken youth,
Patient of labour, with a little pleased;
Health ever blooming; unambitious toil s
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease
The Pleasure and Benefit of an Improved and well Directed
OH! bleft of Heaven, who not the languid fongs.
Of luxury, the firen! not the bribes
Of fordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant Honour, can feduce to leave
Thofe ever blooming fweets, which, from the ftore
Of nature, fair imagination culls,
To charm th' enlivened foul! What tho' not all:
Of mortal offspring can attain the height
Of envyed life: tho' only few poffefs
Patrician treafures, or imperial state;
Yet nature's care, to all her children juft,
With richer treasures, and an ampler state,
Endows at large whatever happy man
Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp,
The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns
The princely dome, the column and the arch,
The breathing marble and the sculptured gold,
Beyond the proud poffeffor's narrow claim,
His tuneful breaft enjoys. For him, the fpring
Diftils her dews, and from the filken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds: for him, the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn
Each paffing hour fheds tribute from her wings;
And ftill new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow; not a cloud imbibes
The fetting fun's effulgence; not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling fhade
Afcends; but whence his bofom can partake
Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partakes
Fresh pleasure only; for th' attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her powers,
Becomes herfelf harmonious; wont fo oft
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of facred order, foon fhe feeks at home,
To find a kindred order; to exert
Within herfelf this elegance of love,
This fair infpired delight: her tempered pow'rs
Refine at length, and ev'ry paffion wears
A chafter, milder, more attractive mein.
But if to ampler profpects, if to gaze
On nature's form, where, negligent of all!
Thefe leffer graces, fhe affumes the port
Of that eternal Majefty that weighed
The world's foundations, if to thefe the mind
Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far
Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms
Of fervile cuftom cramp her gen'rous pow'rs?
Would fordid policies, the barb'rous growth
Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down
To tame purfuits, to indolence and fear?
Lo! fhe appeals to nature, to the winds
And rolling waves, the fun's unwearied courfe,
The elements and feafons: all declare
For what th' eternal MAKER has
The pow'rs of inan: we feel within ourselves
His energy divine: he tells the heart,
He meant, he made us to behold and love
What he beholds and loves, the general orb
Of life and being; to be great like Him,
Beneficient and active. Thus the men
Whom nature's works inftruct, with God himfelf
Hold converfe; grow familiar, day by day,
With his conceptions; act upon his plan;
And form to his, the relifh of their fouls,
AT the clofe of the day, when the hamlet is ftill,
And mortals the fweets of forgetfulnefs prove;
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's fong in the grove :
'Twas thus by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung fymphonious, a hermit began;
No more with himfelf or with nature at war,
He thought as a fage, tho' he felt as a man
Ah! why, all abandoned to darknefs and wo;
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall?
For fpring fhall return, and a lover bestow,
And forrow no longer thy bofom inthral
But, if pity infpire thee, renew the fad lay,
Mourn, fweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn;
O footh him, whofe pleasures like thine pafs away :
Full quickly they pafs-but they never return.
Now gliding remote, on the verge of the fky,
The moor, half extinguished her crefcent difplays :
But lately I marked, when majestic on high
She fhone, and the planets were loft in her blaze-
Roll o, thou fair orb, and with gladness purfue
The path that conducts thee to fplendour again :
But man's faded glory what change fhall renew!
Ah fool to exult in a glory fo vain!
"Tis might, and the landscape is lovely no more:
Luthern but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you :
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind nature the embryo bloffom will fave:
But when shall spring vifit the mouldering urn!
O when fhall day dawn on the night of the grave !
"Twas thus by the glare of false fcience betrayed,
That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind;
My tho'ts wont to roam, from fhade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and forrow behind.
O pity, great Father of light, then I cryed,
Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee !
Lo, humbled in duft, I relinquifh my pride;
From doubt and from darkness thou only canft free.
And darkness and doubt are now flying away i
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn;
So breaks on the traveller, faint and aftray,.
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph defcending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!
On the cold cheek of death fmiles and rofes are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." BEATTIK.
SECTION II.
The Beggar's Petition.
PITY the forrows of a poor old man,
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your door ;
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span;
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will blefs your ftore.
Thefe tattered clothes my poverty befpeak,
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened years;
And many a furrow in my grief worn cheek,
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.
Yon house, erected on the rifing ground,
With tempting afpect drew me from my road; .
For plenty there a refilence has found,
And grandeur a magnificent abode.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here, as I craved a morfel of their bread,
A pampared menial drove me from the door,
To feek a fhelter in a humbler fhed.
Oh! take me to your hofpitable dome;
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my paffage to the friendly tomb;
For I am poor, and miferably old.
Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity e'er touched your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be represt.
Heav'n fends misfortunes, why fhould we repine?
?Tis Heav'n has brought me to the ftate you fee;
And
your condition may be foon like mine,
The child of forrow and of mifery.
A little farm was my paternal lot;
Then like the lark I fprightly hailed the morn;
But ah! Oppreffion forced me from my cot,
My cattle dyed, and blighted was my corn,
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lured by a villian from her native home,
Is caft abandoned on the worlds wide ftage,
And doomed in fcanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!
Struck with fad anguish at the ftern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair !
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
Pity the forrows of a poor old man,
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your door;
Whofe days are dwindled to the fhorteft fpan,
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will blefs your ftore.
SECTION III.
Unhappy close of Life.
How fhocking muft thy fummons be, O Death!'
To him that is at eafe in his poffeffions!
Who counting on long years of pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnished for the world to come!
In that dread moment, how the frantic foul
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