Page images
PDF
EPUB

Purging from noxious herbs the grain,

Oh! may
I learn to purge my mind
From fin, rank weed of deepest stain,
Nor leave one baneful root behind.

When blight deftroys the opening ear,
Life, thus replete with various woe,
Warns me to fhun, with studious care,
Pride, my most deadly latent foe.

When harvest comes, the yellow trop
Prone to the reaper's fickle yields;
And I beneath Death's fcythe must drop,
And foon or late forfake thefe fields.

When future crops, in filent hoards,
Sleep for awhile, to service dead i
Thy emblem this, Oh Grave! affords
The path of life, which all must tread.

ANON.

A THOUGHT IN A GARDEN.

DELIGHTFUL manfion! bleft retreat,
Where all is filent, all is fweet!

Here Contemplation prunes her wings,
The raptur'd Mufe more fweetly fings,
While May leads on the cheerful hours,
And opens a new world of flowers,
Gay Pleasure here all dreffes wears,
And in a thousand fhapes appears.
Purfu'd by Fancy, how the roves
Thro' airy walks, and museful groves;
Springs in each plant and blossom'd tree,
And charms in all I hear and fee!

In this Elyfium while I ftray,

And Nature's faireft face furvey,

Earth feems new-born, and life more bright;
Time fteals away, and fooths his flight,
And Thought's bewilder'd in delight.
Where are the crowds I faw of late?
What are those tales of Europe's fate?
Of marching armies, distant wars;
Of factions and domeftic jars ?

Sure thefe are last night's dreams, no more;
Or fome romance, read lately o'er ;

Like Homer's antique tale of Troy,
And powers confederate to destroy
Prian's proud House, the Dardan name,
With him that ftole the ravifh'd dame,
And to poffefs another's right,

Durft the whole world to arms excite.
Come, gentle fleep, my eye-lids close,
Thefe dull impreffions help me lofe
Let Fancy take her wing, and find
Some better dream to foothe my mind
Or waking let me learn to live;
The profpect will instruction give.
For fee, where beauteous Thames does glide
Serene, but with a fruitful tide;

Free from extremes of ebb and flow,

Not fwell'd too high, nor funk too low:
Such let my life's fmooth current be,
Till from Time's narrow fhore fet free,
It mingle with th' eternal fea;
And, there enlarg'd, fhall be no more
That trifling thing it was before.

HUGHES.

THE MAN OF ROSS.

-ALL our praises why fhould Lords engrofs?
Rife, honeft Mufe! and fing the man of Ross;
Pleas'd Vaga echoes thro' her winding bounds,
And rapid Severn hoarfe applause resounds.
Who hung with woods yon mountain's fultry brow?
From the dry rock who bade the waters flow?
Not to the fkies in ufelefs columns toft,
Or in proud falls magnificently loft.

But clear and artlefs, pouring through the plain
Health to the fick, and folace to the fwain.
Whofe caufeway parts the vale with fhady rows?
Whofe feats the weary traveller repose?
Who taught that Heaven-directed fpire to rife?
"The Man of Rofs," each lifping babe replies.
Behold the market-place with poor o'erfpread!
The Man of Rofs divides the weekly bread:
He feeds yon Alms Houfe, neat, but void of state,
Where age and want fit fmiling at the gate :
Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans bleft,
The young who labour, and the old who reft.
Is any fick; the Man of Rofs relieves,

Prefcribes, attends, the med’cine makes, and gives.
Is there a variance? Enter but his door,

Balk'd are the courts, and conteft is no more.

Defpairing quacks with curfes fled the place,
And vile attornies, now an useless race.
Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue
What all fo wish, but want the power to do!
Oh fay, what fums that gen'rous hand supply?
What mines, to swell that boundless charity?

Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, This Man poffefs'd-five hundred pounds a year. Blush, Grandeur, blush! proud Courts, withdraw your blaze!

Ye little stars? hide your diminish'd rays.

And what! no monument, inscription, stone,
His race, his form, his name almost unknown!
Who builds a church to God, and not to fame,
Will never, mark the marble with his name :
Go fearch it there, where to be born and die,
Of rich and poor makes all the history;
Enough, that Virtue fill'd the space between';
Prov'd by the ends of being to have been.

POPE.

« PreviousContinue »