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ODE on SOLITUDE'.

APPY the man, whofe with and care

acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whofe herds with milk, whofe fields with bread,
Whofe flocks fupply him with attire,
Whofe trees in fummer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years flide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound fleep by night; ftudy and ease,
Together mix'd; fweet recreation;
And innocence, which moft does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,

Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

5

10

15

20

b This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twelve years old.

The dying Chriftian to his SouL.

O D E.

I.

VIT

ITAL fpark of heav'nly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond Nature, cease thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whisper; Angels fay,
Sifter Spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite ?`
Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight,.
Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?

III.
The world recedes; it difappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With founds feraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy Victory?

O Death! where is thy Sting?

5

10

15

AN

ESSAY

ΟΝ

CRITICISM.

Written in the Year M DCC.IX.

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