Independence.

HAIL! Independence, hail! Heaven's

next beft gift,

To that of life and an immortal foul !
The life of life! that to the banquet high
And fober meal gives tafte; to the bow'd
roof

Fair-dream'd repofe, and to the cottage

charms.

Of public Freedom, hail, thou fecret Source! Whofe ftreams from every quarter confluent form

My better Nile, that nurfes human life.
By rills from thee deduc'd, irriguous, fed,
The private field looks gay, with Nature's
wealth

Abundant flows, and blooms with each de

light

That nature craves. Its happy mafter there, The only Freeman, walks his pleasing round: Sweet

D 2

Sweet-featur'd Peace attending; fearless

Truth;

Firm Refolution; Goodness, bleffing all That can rejoice; Contentment, surest friend; And, ftill fresh ftores from nature's book deriv'd,

Philofophy, companion ever-new.

These cheer his rural, and fuftain or fire,
When into action call'd, his busy hours.
Mean-time true judging moderate defires,
Oeconomy and Tafte, combin'd, direct
His clear affairs, and from debauching fiends
Secure his little kingdom. Nor can those
Whom Fortune heaps, without these Vir-
tues, reach

That truce with pain, that animated ease
That felf-enjoyment fpringing from within;
That Independence, active, or retir'd,
Which make the foundeft blifs of man be-

low:

But, loft beneath the rubbish of their means, And drain'd by wants to Nature all un

known,

A wandering, taftelefs, gaily-wretched train,

The'

Tho' rich, are beggars, and tho' noble,

flaves.

THOMSON.

IT

A Winter Piece.

T was a winter's evening, and faft came down the fnow,

And keenly o'er the wide heath the bitter blast did blow,

When a damfel all forlorn, quite bewilder'd in her way,

Preft her baby to her bofom, and fadly thus did fay:

"Oh cruel was my father, that shut his

door on me,

And cruel was my mother, that fuch a fight

could fee,

And cruel is the wintry wind that chills my heart with cold,

But crueller than all, the lad that left my love for gold!

Hufh, hush my lovely baby, and warm thee in my breast ;

Ah little thinks thy father how fadly we're diftreft;

For cruel as he is, did he know but how we

fare,

He'd fhield us in his arms from this bitter piercing air.

Cold, cold my dearest jewel thy little life is gone:

Oh let my tears revive thee, fo warm that trickle down :

My tears that gush fo warm, oh they freeze before they fall :

Ah wretched, wretched mother! thou'rt now bereft of all."

Then

Then down fhe funk defpairing upon the

drifted fnow,

And wrung with killing anguish, lamented loud her woe;

She kifs'd her baby's pale lips, and laid it by her fide;

Then caft her eyes to heaven, then bow'd her head, and died.

[From the inimitable unimitated manner in which Mr. Palmer recites and acts the Paffions, together with the excellence of the Ode, 'twas fuppofed the infertion would be highly agreeable, efpecially to those who have had the fatisfaction in feeing that truly great performer.]

WHEN Mufic, heavenly maid, was

While

young,

yet in early Greece the fung,

The