Of life and being; to be great like Him,
Beneficent and active. Thus the men
Whom nature's works inftruct, with God himself
Hold converfe; grow familiar, day by day,
With his conceptions; act upon his plan;
And form to his, the relish of their fouls.
AT the clofe of the day, when the hamlet is ftill,
And mortals the fweets of forgetfulness 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 abandon'd 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, fweeteft 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 moon half extinguifh'd her crefcent difplays: But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high
She fhone, and the planets were loft in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladnefs purfue The path that conducts thee to splendour again : But man's faded glory what change fhall renew! Ah fool! to exult in à glory fo vain!
""Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more : I mourn ; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew. Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind nature the embryo bloffom will fave: But when shall spring vifit the mould'ring urn!
O when fhall day dawn on the night of the grave! ""Twas thus by the glare of falfe fcience betray'd, That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind; My tho'ts wont to roam, from fhade onward to fhade, Deftruction before me, and forrow behind. O pity, great Father of light, then I cry'd,
Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee! Lo, humbled in duft, I relinquifh my pride;
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free. "And darkness and doubt are now flying away ; 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."
THE BEGGAR'S PETITION.
PITY the forrows of a poor old man,
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your door;
Whofe days are dwindled to the shortest span;
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.
Thefe tatter'd clothes my poverty befpeak,
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.
Yon houfe, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting afpect drew me from my road;
For plenty there a refidence has found,
And grandeur a magnificent abode.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor !
Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,
To feek a fhelter in a humbler shed.
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 touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be repreft.
Heav'n fends misfortunes, why fhould we repine?
'Tis Heav'n has brought me to the state you see
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 hail'd the morn;
But ah! Oppreffion forc'd me from my cot,
My cattle dy'd, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is caft abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!
Struck with fad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair !
And left the world to wretchednefs and me.
old man,
Pity the forrows of a poor
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whofe days are dwindled to the shortest span,
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.
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 unfurnifh'd for the world to come l
In that dread moment, how the frantic fouł
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement;
Runs to each avenue, and fhrieks for help;
But fhrieks in vain! How wishfully the looks
On all fhe's leaving, now no longer her's!
A little longer; yet a little longer;
O might she stay to wash away her stains;
And fit her for her paffage! Mournful fight!
Her very eyes weep blood; and ev'ry groan
She heaves is big with horror. But the foe,
Like a ftaunch murd'rer, steady to his purpose,
Purfues her close thro' ev'ry lane of life;
Nor miffes once the track, but preffes on,
Till, forc'd at laff to the tremendous verge,
At once the finks to everlasting ruin.
HAIL, lovely pow'r! whofe bofom heaves the figh,
When fancy paints the scene of deep distress;
Whofe tears fpontaneous cryftallize the eye,
When rigid fate denies the pow'r to bless.
Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey
From flow'ry meads, can with that figh compare ;
Not dew drops glitt'ring in the morning ray,
Seemn near fo beauteous as that falling tear.
Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play;
Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies;
No blood ftain'd traces mark thy blameless way;
Beneath thy feet no hapless infect dies.
Come, lovely nymph, and range the mead with me,
To fpring the partridge from the guileful foe;
From fecret fnares the ftruggling bird to free;
And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow.
And when the air with heat meridian glows,
And nature droops beneath the conquering gleam,
Let us, flow wandering where the current flows,
Save finking flies that float along the stream.
Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,
To me thy fympathetic gifts impart ;
Teach me in friendfhip's griefs to bear a fhare,
And justly boaft the gen'rous feeling heart.
Teach me to footh the helpless orphan's grief;
With timely aid the widow's woes affuage;
To mis'ry's moving cries to yield relief;
And be the fure refource of drooping age.
So when the genial fpring of life fhall fade,
And finking nature own the dread decay,
Some foul congenial then may lend its aid,
And gild the clofe of life's eventful day.
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEX. SELKIRK, DURING H
SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ,
I AM monarch of all I furvey,
My right there is none to difpute;
From the centre all round to the fea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Oh folitude! where are the charms,
That fages have feen in thy face ?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone;
Never hear the fweet music of speech;
I ftart at the found of my own.
The beafts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference fee,
They are fo unacquainted with man,
Their tamenefs is fhocking to me.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely beftow'd upon man,
Oh had I the wings of a dove,
How foon would I tafte you again!
My forrows I then might affuage
In the ways of religion and truth
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the fallies of youth
Religion! what treasure untold
Refides in that heav'nly word!
More precious than filver or gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
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