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THE midnight moon ferenely finiles
O'er nature's foft repose;

No low'ring cloud obfcures the sky,
No ruffling tempeft blows.

Now ev'ry paffion finks to reft,
The throbbing heart lies ftill;
And varying fchemes of life no more
Distract the lab'ring will.

In filence hufh'd, to REASON's voice
Attends each mental pow'r:
Come, dear EMILIA, and enjoy
Reflection's fav'rite hour.

Come! while the peaceful fcene invites,
Let's fearch this ample round,
Where fhall the lovely fleeting form
Of HAPPINESS be found?

Does it amidft the frolic mirth
Of gay affemblies dwell?

Or, hide beneath the folemn gloom,
That fhades the hermit's cell.

How oft the laughing brow of JOY
A fick'ning heart conceals!
And through the cloifter's deep recefs,
Invading SORROW fieals.

In vain through beauty, fortune, wit,
The fugitive we trace;

It dwells not in the faithlefs fmile,
That brightens CLODIO's face.

Perhaps the joy to these deny'd,

The heart in FRIENDSHIP finds;
Ah! dear delufion, gay conceit,
Of vis'onary minds!


Howe'er our varying notions rove,
Yet all agree in one,

To place its being in some state
At diftance from our own.
O blind to each indulgent aim,
Of pow'r fupremely wife;
Who fancy HAPPINESS in ought
The hand of heav'n denies!

Vain is alike the joy we feek,
And vain what we poffefs,
Unless harmonious REASON tunes
The paffions into peace.

To temper'd wishes, juft defires,
IS HAPPINESS confin'd;
And, deaf to FOLLY's call, attends
The mufic of the mind.



HATE that DRUM'S difcordant found, Parading round, and round, and round: To thoughtless youth it pleafure yields, And lures from cities and from fields, To fell their liberty for charms

Of tawdry lace, and glitt'ring arms; And when AMBITION's voice commands, To march, and fight, and fall, in foreign lands. I hate that DRUM's difcordant found, Parading round, and round, and round: To me it talks of ravag'd plains,

And burning towns, and ruin'd fwains, And mangled limbs, and dying groans, And WIDOWS' tears, and ORPHANS' moans; And all that mis'ry's hand bestows, To fill the catalogue of human woes.


HAIL to thy living light,

Ambrofial MORN! all hail thy rofeate ray!

That bids gay nature all her charms display
In varied beauty bright!

That bids each dewy-fpangled flow'ret rife,
And dart around its vermeil eyes;

Bids filver luftre grace yon' fparkling tide,
That winding warbles down the mountain's fide.
Away, ye goblins all!

Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt;
Whofe vagrant feet have trac'd your secret haunt
Befide fome lonely wall,

Or fhatter'd ruin of a mofs-grown tow'r,
Where, at pale midnight's stillest hour,
Through each rough chink the folemn orb of night
Pours momentary gleams of trembling light.

Away, ye elves, away!

Shrink at ambrofial morning's living ray :*

That living ray, whofe pow'r benign

Unfolds the fcene of glory to our eye,

Where, thron'd in artlefs majefty,

The cherub beauty fits on nature's ruftic fhrine.

NO plate had JOHN and JOAN to hoard,
Plain folk, in humble plight;

One only tankard crown'd their board,
And that was fill'd each night.

Along whofe inner bottom sketch'd,
In pride of chubby grace,

Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd
A baby angel's face.

JOHN fwallow'd firft a mod'rate fup;
But JOAN was not like JOHN ;

For when her lips once touch'd the cup,
She fwill'd till all was gone.

JOHN often urg'd her to drink fair,
But the ne'er chang'd a jot;
She lov'd to fee the angel there,
And therefore drain'd the pot.

When JOHN found all remonstrance vain,
Another card he play'd,

And, where the angel food fo plain,
He got a devil pourtrayed.

JOAN faw the horns, JOAN-faw the tail,
Yet JOAN as ftoutly quaff'd!
And ever, when the feiz'd her ale,
She clear'd it at a draught.

JOHN ftar'd, with wonder petrify'd,
His hairs rofe on his pate;

And "why doft guzzle now" he cry'd,
"At this enormous rate?"

'O JOHN!' faid fhe, am I to blame?
'I can't in conscience stop:
For fure 'twould be a burning fhame
To leave the devil a drop!'


PENSIVE paffenger! do not refuse

To paufe awhile, and weep upon this tomb,
For here the cold remains of CAMPBELL lie,
This narrow fpot, the vernal maiden's doom.
Yes! he was gentle as the twilight breeze,
Which o'er the fainting violet's bofom blows;
Patient the bow'd beneath the ftroke of death,
In faded femblance of the filver rofe.

And oft low bending o'er this hallow'd tomb,
Shall the pure angel INNOCENCE appear;
And FRIENDSHIP, like an hermit, fhall be found
To bathe the circling fod with many a tear.


FRE SATURN's fons were yet disgrac'd,
And heathen gods were all the tafte,
Full oft (we read) 'twas JOVE's high will
To take an air on IDA's hill.

It chanc'd, as once with ferious ken
He view'd from thence the ways of men,
He faw (and pity touch'd his breaft)
The world by three foul fiends poffeft:
Pale DISCORD there, and FOLLY vain,
With haggard VICE, upheld their reign.
Then forth he fent his fummons high,
And call'd a fenate of the sky.
Round as the winged orders preft,
JOVE thus his facred mind expreft:
"Say! which of all this fhining train
“Will VIRTUE's conflict hard sustain ?
"For fee! fhe drooping takes her flight,
"While not a god fupports her right."
He paus'd-when from amidft the sky,
With one united zeal arofe,

The tripple tyrants to oppofe.
That inftant from the realms of day,
With gen'rous fpeed, they took their way;
TO BRITAIN's ifle direct their car,
And enter'd with the ev'ning ftar.

Befide the road a manfion stood,
Defended by a circling wood:

Hither, difguis'd, their steps they bend,
In hopes, perchance, to find a friend :
Nor vain their hope, for records fay,
WORTH ne'er from thence was turn'd away.
They urge the trav'ller's common chance,
And ev'ry pit'ous plea advance:
The artful tale that wIT had feign'd,
Admittance, eafy, foon obtain'd.

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