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Of moral pride to bow the lofty head,

Oh! guilt inglorious! not for wealth, but bread;
Obliged to dun, and fawn, and lie, and swear,
And count an oath a trifle light as air;

To such a man, what boon has Nature given,
What recompense, to make the balance even?

Yet here, even here is Nature's bounty shown;
The wrong is Fortune's, the redress her own.
Full well she knew the baseness of mankind,
What various woes assail the tender mind,
That, like a wild-flower mid the ripening corn,
By peasant hands is rudely pluck'd and torn;
And formed the country with mysterious art
One great asylum for the human heart.
The sufferer, here released from city strife,
Imbibes new patience for the ills of life;
Nobly erect beneath the frown of fate,

He views the world with sorrow, not with hate;
And calmly weighing luxury with health,
The pride of feeling with the pomp of wealth,
Returns appeased, nor writhing calls again
The power of dulness to protect from pain.
Yet think, my friend, how vain were Nature's
care,

Her waving groves and blossom-scented air,
Her fields with verdure green, or gay with flowers,
Did not Religion make these blessings ours?
What boots it to the wretch, who, sunk in mines
Of central depth, in midnight darkness pines,
That o'er his head the glancing sunbeams play,
Or long remember'd moonlight's softer ray?
Did no sweet interval of rest and peace,
No stated breathing time and short release
Break the sad dulness of this irksome scene,
And cheer with hope the tedious time between,

Nature might give her embryos to the waves, And leave the sleeping flowerets in their graves; No eye undimm'd with tears nor heart at ease, For rural grace and simple charms to please.

Have you not seen a youth, whose liberal mind For brighter hopes and higher aims design'd, Was snatch'd from science, by a hapless doom, To plod with Traffic in his dungeon gloom? Waked from the sullen lethargy of grief, That seeks entire despair, and spurns relief, Alarm'd he sees the wings of Dulness spread To wrap for ever his devoted head;

And dead to Hope, yet still alive to Shame,
Defrauds of needful rest his weary frame,
Struggling with sleep and whelming cares to save
Some wrecks of knowledge from Oblivion's wave.
In vain! in vain! no efforts can control

The creeping torpor that subdues his soul.
As some lost mariner who strives to hail,
Stretch'd on the billowy deep, a passing sail;
While swift before the wind the vessel flies,
Unseen his signals, and unheard his cries;
And oft despairs, but still renews the strife,
Upheld by buoyant hope and love of life;
At length he sinks, no friendly succour near,
The knell of death resounding in his ear—
So sinks the mind with noblest ardour fraught,
When labour presses down the spring of thought.
Around his couch no wonted visions smile;
Deep are the slumbers of the sons of toil.
Imagination, that in happier days,

Still as declining Reason veil'd his rays,

Rose like the queen of heaven with brow serene, And threw a trembling radiance o'er the scene,

VOL. I.

GG

No more shines forth amid the clouds of night, Or sheds a broken melancholy light.

Welcome then, Sunday! to the wretched given ; A boon to misery, most worthy Heaven! A resting-place beside life's weary road, To ease the groaning pilgrim of his load; To raise his drooping head, surcharged with years, And give him time to wipe away his tears. By labour brutalized, the people then Start up, and reassume the shape of men; To social bliss unlock the feeling heart, And for a time perform a human part. The soul athirst for knowledge takes her fill, And drinks from Learning's antique vase at will. The banish'd worshipper at nature's shrine, Again admitted, views her face divine; And hears her soothing, soft, maternal voice Bid him go forth, and in her smile rejoice; Glad he obeys, and wandering far and wide Follows some wooded stream's descending tide; Or climbs where yon clear ridgy summits rise, With sharp blue edge, along the northern skies, To some bold peak, superior and alone, To swiftest wing and wildest foot unknown; Whence the strain'd eye with wonder stoops to trace The insect dwellings of the human race.

ANONYMOUS.

THE ONLY WISH.

Fiat voluntas tua?

VAIN restless man! who, with presumptuous eye,
Wouldst into Heaven's eternal counsels pry;
Wouldst measure Wisdom with the line of sense,
And reason arm against Omnipotence!
Inquiring worm! pursue the pathless road,
And try by searching to arrive at God:
For ages on bewilder'd mayst thou

run,

Nor leave the point where first thy quest begun : As well the clay might, in the potter's hand, The reason of its various form demand

As thou presume to cavil his decree

Who gave thee first to move and think and see!
He still the same, exalted and sublime,

Nor bound by space, nor limited by time,
O'er all commands: -with life informs the whole:
Gives different suns to shine, and worlds to roll!
Obedient still, and mindful of their place,
Through the immense their shining rings they trace,
And with united voice proclaim the force

That spoke their birth and mark'd their steady course!

Thee, great omniscient omnispective Power! Thee first and last, thee only I adore! Let others, vainly curious in the schools, Judge of their maker ;-by their narrow rules Thy essence and thy attributes define; To love, to serve, to worship thee be mine!

Thy laws to follow, and thy voice to hear,
And with submissive awe thy ways revere !
Dispose then, Lord, of this devoted frame,
The creature from thy forming fiat came!
Pleased I obey!-since best thou only knowst
How to proportion what thy hand bestows;
And let my wishes all conspire in one,

'In earth, as heaven, thy will supreme be done!'

BOYSE.

THE FOUR AGES OF HUMAN LIFE.

LIFE-the dear precarious boon!
Soon we lose-alas-how soon!
Fleeting vision-falsely gay,
Grasp'd in vain, it fades away,
Mixing with surrounding shades,
Lovely vision! how it fades!
Let the Muse in Fancy's glass
Catch the phantoms as they pass;
See they rise! a nymph behold,
Careless, wanton, young, and bold,
Mark her devious hasty pace,
Antic dress and thoughtless face,
Smiling cheeks and roving eyes,
Causeless mirth and vain surprise,
Tripping at her side, a boy
Shares her wonder and her joy;
This is Folly, Childhood's guide,
This is Childhood at her side!
What is he succeeding now,
Myrtles blooming on his brow,
Bright and blushing as the morn,
Not on earth a mortal born?

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