To diftant caves the lonely wand'rer flies,
To feek that peace a tyrant's frown denies.
Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice,
Hear him o'erwhelm'd with forrow yet rejoice,
No womanish or wailing grief has part,
No, not a moment in his royal heart,
'Tis manly mufic, fuch as martyrs make,
Suff'ring with gladness for a Saviour's fake;
His foul exults, hope animates his lays,
The fenfe of mercy kindles into praise,
And wilds familiar with the lion's roar,
Ring with extatic founds unhear'd before;
'Tis love like his that can alone defeat

The foes of man, or make a defart sweet.
Religion does not cenfure or exclude
Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly purfu'd,
To study culture, and with artful toil

To meliorate and tame the stubborn foil,
To give diffimilar yet fruitful lands

The grain or herb or plant that each demands,

To

To cherish virtue in an humble state,
And share the joys your bounty may create,
To mark the matchlefs workings of the pow'r
That fhuts within its feed the future flow'r,
Bid these in elegance of form excell,

In colour thefe, and thofe delight the fmell,
Sends nature forth the daughter of the skies,
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes
To teach the canvass innocent deceit, ·
Or lay the landscape on the fnowy fheet,
Thefe, these are arts purfu'd without a crime,
That leave no stain upon the wing of time.
Me, poetry (or rather, notes that aim
Feebly and vainly at poetic fame)

Employs, fhut out from more important views,
Faft by the banks of the flow winding Oufe;
Content, if thus fequefter'd I may raise
A monitor's though not a poet's praise,
And while I teach an art too little known,
To close life wifely, may not wafte, my own.

THE

THE DOVES.

RE

I..

EAS'NING at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,

While meaner things, whom instinct leads,

Are rarely known to stray.

II.

One filent eve I wander'd late,

And heard the voice of love,

The turtle thus addrefs'd her mate,
And footh'd the lift'ning dove;

III.

Our mutual bond of faith and truth,

No time fhall difengage,

Those bleffings of our early youth,

Shall cheer our latest age:

VII.

'Tis then I feel myself a wife,

And prefs thy wedded fide,

Refolv'd an union form'd for life,

Death never fhall divide.

VIII.

But oh! if fickle and unchafte

(Forgive a tranfient thought)

Thou could become unkind at laft,'

And scorn thy prefent lot,

IX.

No need of light'nings from on high,

Or kites with cruel beak,

Denied th' endearments of thine eye

This widow'd heart would break.

X.

Thus fang the sweet fequefter'd bird

Soft as the paffing wind,

And I recorded what I heard,

A leffon for mankind,