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youth, of talents rare,

GRECIAN
Whom Plato's philofophic care
Had form'd for virtue's nobler view,
By precept and example too,

Would often boaft his matchlefs skill
To curb the fteed, and guide the wheel;
And as he pafs'd the gazing throng
With graceful eafe, and fmack'd the thong,
The idiot wonder they exprefs'd
Was praise and tranfport to his breast.

At length, quite vain, he needs would fhew
His mafter what his art could do;
And bade his flaves the chariot lead
To Academus' facred fhade.

The trembling grove confefs'd its fright,
The wood-nymphs ftarted at the fight;
The Mufes dropt the learned lyre,
And to their inmoft fhades retire.
Howe'er the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the fage, and mounts the car;
The lafh refounds, the courfers fpring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring;
And gath'ring crowds, with eager eyes,
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.

Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirft his bofom burn'd;
And now along th' indented plain
The felf-fame track he marks again;
Pursues with care the nice defign,
Nor ever deviates from the line.

Amazement feiz'd the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glow'd;
Ev'n bearded fages hail'd the boy,
And all but Plato gaz'd with joy.
For he, deep-judging fage, beheld
With pain the triumphs of the field:
And when the charioteer drew nigh,

And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye,
Alas! unhappy youth, he cried,
Expect no praife from me (and figh'd).
With indignation I furvey

Such fkill and judgment thrown away.
The time profufely fquander'd there
On vulgar arts, beneath thy care,
If well employ'd, at lefs expence,
Had taught thee honour, virtue, fense,
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate
To govern men, and guide the ftate.

$259. The Bee, the Ant, and the Sparrow. Addreffed to Phabe and Kitty C. at BoardingSchool. Dr. COTTON.

MY dears, 'tis faid in days of old,

Who reads my page will doubtlefs grant That Phe's the wife induftrious Ant; And all with half an eye may fee

That Kitty is the bufy Bee.

Here then are two-but where's the third?
Go fearch the fchool, you'll find the bird.
Your school! I ask your pardon, Fair;
I'm fure you'll find no fparrow there.

Now to my tale-One fummer's morn
A Bee rang'd o'er the verdant lawn;
Studious to hufband ev'ry hour,
And make the most of ev'ry flow'r.
Nimble from stalk to ftalk fhe flies,
And loads with yellow wax her thighs;
With which the artift builds her comb,
And keeps all tight and warm at home:
Or from the cowflip's golden bells
Sucks honey, to enrich her cells:
Or ev'ry tempting rofe pursues,
Or fips the lily's fragrant dews;
Yet never robs the thining bloom
Or of its beauty or perfume.
Thus the difcharg'd in ev'ry way
The various duties of the day.

It chanc'd a frugal Ant was near, Whole brow was wrinkled o'er by care: A great oeconomist was the,

Nor lefs laborious than the Bee;

On

By penfive parents often taught
What ills arife from want of thought;
That poverty on floth depends;
the lofs of friends.
poverty
Hence ev'ry day the Ant is found
With anxious fteps to tread the ground;
With curious fearch to trace the grain,
And drag the heavy load with pain.

The active Bee with pleasure faw
The Ant fulfil her parent's law.
Ah! fifter-labourer, fays the,

How very fortunate are we !
Who, taught in infancy to know
The comforts which from labour flow,
Are independent of the great,

Nor know the wants of pride and state.
Why is our food fo very fweet?
Because we earn before we eat.
Why are our wants so very few ?
Because we nature's calls purfue.
Whence our complacency of mind?
Because we act our parts affign'd.
Have we inceffant tasks to do?
Is not all nature busy too?
Doth not the fun, with conftant pace,
Perfift to run his annual race?
Do not the stars, which shine fo bright,
Renew their courfes ev'ry night?
Doth not the ox obedient bow

That beafts could talk, and birds could fcold: His patient neck, and draw the plough?

But now, it seems the human race
Alone engrofs the fpeaker's place.
Yet lately, if report be true,
(And much the tale relates to you)
There met a Sparrow, Ant, and Bee,
Which reafon'd and convers'd as we.

Or when did e'er the gen'rous fteed
Withhold his labour or his speed?
If you all nature's fyftem scan,
The only idle thing is man.

A wanton Sparrow long'd to hear
Their fage difcourfe, and straight drew near,

The bird was talkative and loud,
And very pert and very proud;
As worthlefs and as vain a thing,
Perhaps, as ever wore a wing.
She found, as on a fpray fhe fat,
The little friends were deep in chat;
That virtue was their fav'rite theme,
And toil and probity their scheme :
Such talk was hateful to her breast;
She thought them arrant prudes at best.
When to difplay her naughty mind,
Hunger with cruelty combin'd,
She view'd the Ant with favage eyes,
And hopt and hopt to fnatch her prize.
The Bee, who watch'd her op'ning bill,
And guess'd her fell design to kill,
Ak'd her from what her anger role,
And why the treated Ants as foes?
The Sparrow her reply began,
And thus the converfation ran :

Whenever I'm difpos'd to dine,
I think the whole creation mine;
That I'm a bird of high degree,
And ev'ry infect made for me.
Hence oft I fearch the emmet-brood
(For emmets are delicious food)
And oft, in wantonnefs and play,
I flay ten thousand in a day.
For truth it is, without disguise,
That I love mifchief as my eyes.

Oh! fie, the honeft Bee replied,
I fear you make base man your guide;
Of ev'ry creature fure the worst,
Though in creation's scale the first !
Ungrateful man! 'tis ftrange he thrives,
Who burns the Bees to rob their hives!
I hate his vile administration,
And to do all the emmet nation.
What fatal foes to birds are men,
Quite to the Eagle from the Wren!
O! do not men's example take,
Who mifchief do for mifchief's fake;
But fpare the Ant-her worth demands
Esteem and friendship at your hands.
A mind with ev'ry virtue bleft,
Muft raise compaflion in your breast.

Virtue! rejoin'd the fincering bird, Where did you learn that Gothic word? Since I was hatch'd, I never hear'd That virtue was at all rever'd. But fay it was the ancients claim, Yet moderns difavow the name; Unless, my dear, you read romances, I cannot reconcile your fancies. Virtue in fairy tales is feen To play the goddess or the queen; But what's a queen without the pow'r? Or beauty, child, without a dow'r? Yet this is all that virtue brags, At beft 'tis only worth in rags. Such whims my very heart derides: Indeed you make me burft my fides. Truft me, Mifs Bee-to fpeak the truth, I've copied men from earliest youth;

The fame our taste, the same our school,
Paffion and appetite our rule;
And call bird, or call me finner,
I'll ne'e forego my fport or dinner.

A prowling cat the mifcreant spies,
And wide expands her amber eyes:
Near and more near Grimalkin draws;
She wags her tail, protends her paws;
Then, fpringing on her thoughtless prey,
She bore the vicious bird away.

Thus, in her cruelty and pride, The wicked wanton Sparrow died.

$260. The Bears and Bees. MERRICK.

AS two young Bears in wanton mood,

Forth iffuing from a neighb'ring wood, Came where th'induftrious Bees had ftor'd In artful cells their lufcious hoard; O'erjoy'd they feiz'd with eager hafte Luxurious on the rich repaft. Alarm'd at this, the little crew About their ears vindictive flew. The beafts, unable to sustain Th'unequal combat, quit the plain; Half blind with rage, and mad with pain, Their native fhelter they regain; There fit, and now, difcreeter grown, Too late their rafhnefs they bemoan; And this by dear experience gain, That pleafure's ever bought with pain. So when the gilded baits of vice Are plac'd before our longing eyes, With greedy hafte we fnatch our fill, And fwallow down the latent ill; But when experience opes our eyes, Away the fancy'd pleasure flies: It flies, but oh! too late we find It leaves a real sting behind.

$261. The Camelion. MERRICK. OFT has it been my lot to mark

A proud conceited talking spark, With eyes, that hardly ferv'd at most To guard their mafter 'gainst a poft; Yet round the world the blade has been, To fee whatever could be feen : Returning from his finish'd tour, Grown ten times perter than before, Whatever word you chance to drop, The travell'd fool your mouth will stop: "Sir, if my judgment you'll allow"I've feen-and fure I ought to know”So begs you'd pay a due fubmiffion, And acquiefce in his decifion.

Two travellers of fuch a caft, As o'er Arabia's wilds they pafs'd, And on their way in friendly chat Now talk'd of this, and then of that, Difcours'd a while, 'mongst other matter, Of the Camelion's form and nature. "A ftranger animal," cries one, "Sure never liv'd beneath the fun : "A lizard's body, lean and long, "A fith's head, a ferpent's tongue;

"Its foot with triple claw disjoin'd;
"And what a length of tail behind!
"How flow its pace! and then its hue-
"Who ever faw fo fine a blue?"

• Hold there,' the other quick replies,
"Tis green,-I faw it with thefe eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
• And warm'd it in the funny ray;
Stretch'd at its eafe the beaft I view'd,
And faw it eat the air for food.'
"I've feen it, Sir, as well as you,
"And must again affirm it blue.
At leifure 1 the beaft furvey 'd,
"Extended in the cooling fhade."

'Tis green, tis green, Sir, I affure ye.'— "Green!" cries the other in a fury"Why, Sir, d'ye think I've loft my eyes?" 'Twere no great lois,' the friend replies, For, if they always ferve you thus, You'll find them but of little ufe.' So high at laft the contest rofe, From words they almoft came to blows: When luckily came by a thirdTo him the queftion they referr'd; And begg'd he'd tell 'em, if he knew Whether the thing was green or blue. "Sirs," cries the umpire, "ceafe your pother, The creature's neither one nor t'other: I caught the animal last night, "And view'd it o'er by candle-light: "I mark'd it well-'twas black as jet"You ftare-but, Sirs, I've got it yet, "And can produce it." Pray, Sir, do: I'll lay my life, the thing is blue.'

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And I'll be fworn, that when you've seen The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." Well then, at once, to cafe the doubt,' Replies the man, I'll turn him out: And when before your eyes I've fet him, • If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.' He faid; then full before their fight Produc'd the beast, and lo-'twas white. Both ftar'd; the man look'd wondrous wife"My children," the Camelion cries (Then first the creature found a tongue) You all are right, and all are wrong: When next you talk of what you view, Think others fee as well as you : "Nor wonder, if you find that none "Prefers your eye-fight to his own."

§ 262. The Monkeys. A Tale. MERRICK. WHOE'ER, with curious eye, has rang'd Through Ovid's tales, has feen How Jove, incens'd, to Monkeys changed A tribe of worthless men. Repentant foon, th' offending race Întreat the injur'd pow'r

To give them back the human face,

And reafon's aid restore.

Jove, footh'd at length, his ear inclin'd,
And granted half their pray'r!
But t'other half he bade the wind
Difperfe in
empty air.

Scarce had the thund'rer giv'n the nod
That thook the vaulted fkies,
With haughtier air the creatures ftrode,
And ftretch'd their dwindled fize.
The hair in curls luxuriant now
Around their temples fpread;
The tail, that whilom hung below,
Now dangled from the head.
The head remains unchang'd within,.
Nor alter'd much the face;
It still retains its native grin,
And all its old grimace.

Thus half transform'd, and half the fame,
Jove bade them take their place
(Reftoring them their ancient claim)
Among the human race.

Man with contemnpt the brute furvey`d, ̧
Nor would a name beftow;
But woman lik'd the motley breed,
And call'd the thing a beau.

§ 263. Know Thyself. ARBUTHNOT. WHAT am I? how produc'd? and for what

end?

Whence drew I being to what period tend?.
Am I th' abandon'd orphan of blind chance,
Dropp'd by wild atoms in diforder'd dance?
Or from an endlefs chain of caufes wrought,
And of unthinking fubftance, born with thought
By motion which began without a cause,
Supremely wife, without defign or laws?
Am I but what I feem, mere flesh and blood
A branching channel, with a mazy flood?
The purple ftream that through my veffels glides,
Dull and unconfcious flows, like common tides;
The pipes through which the circling juices fti ay,
Are not that thinking I, no more than they:
This frame, compacted with tranfcendant skill
Of moving joints obedient to my will,
Nurs'd from the fruitful glebe, like yonder tree,
Waxes and waftes; I call it mine, not me...
New matter ftill the mould'ring mass sustains;*
The manfion chang'd, the tenant ftill remains,
And from the fleeting ftream, repair'd by food,
Diftinct, as is the fwimmer from the flood.

What am I then? fure of a noble birth;
By parents right, I own as mother, Earth;
But claim fuperior lineage by my fire,
Who warm'd th' unthinking clod with heavenly
Effence divine, with lifeless clay allay'd, [fire;
By double nature, double inftinct fway'd:
With lock erect, I dart my longing eye,
Secm wing'd to part, and gain my native skys
I ftrive to mount, but ftrive, alas! in vain,
Tied to this maffy globe with magic chain.
Now with fwift thought I range from pole to polę,
View worlds around their flaming centres roll:
What fteady pow'rs their endless motions guide
Through the fame tracklefs paths of boundless
I trace the blazing comet's fiery tail, [void J
And weigh the whirling planets in a scale;
Thefe godlike thoughts while eager I pursue,
Some glitt'ring trifle offer'd to my view,

A gnat,

A gnat, an infect of the meaneft kind,
Erafe the new-born image from my mind:
Some beaftly want, craving, importunate,
Vile as the grinning maftiff at my gate,
Calls off from heavenly truth this reas'ning me,
And tells me I'm a brute as much as he.
If, on fublimer wings of love and praife,
My foul above the ftarry vault I raife,
Lur'd by fome vain conceit, or shameful luft,
I flag, I drop, and flutter in the duft.
The towing lark thus, from her lofty ftrain,
Stoops to an emmet, or a barley grain.
By adverse gufts of jarring inftincts toft,
I rove to one, now to the other coaft;
To bli's unknown my lofty foul afpires,
My lot unequal to my vaft defires.

As mongst the hinds a child of 1oyal birth
Finds his high pedigree by conscious worth;
So man, amongft his fellow brutes expos'd,
Sees he's a king, but 'tis a king depos'd.
Piry him, beafts! you by no law confin'd,
And barr'd from devious paths by being blind;
Whilft man, through op'ning views of various

ways

Confounded, by the aid of knowledge ftrays;
Too weak to choose, yet choofing ftill in hafte,
One moment gives the pleafure and diftafte;
Bilk'd by paft minutes, while the prefent cloy,
The flatt'ring future ftill must give the joy :
Net happy, but amus'd upon the road,
And (like you) thoughtless of his last abode,
Whether next fun his being fhall restrain
To endless nothing, happiness, or pain.
Around me, lo! the thinking thoughtless crew
(Bewilder'd each) their diffrent paths purfue;
Of them I ask the way; the first replies,
Thou art a god; and fends me to the fkies:

Offspring of God, no lefs thy pedigree, [be,
What thou once wert, art now, and ftill may
Thy God alone can tell, alone decree;
Faultlefs thou dropp'dft from his unerring skill,
With the bare pow'r to fin, fince, free of will:
Yet charge not with thy guilt his bounteous love,
For who has pow'r to walk has pow'r to rove :
Who acts by force impell'd can nought deferve;
And witdom fhort of infinite may fwerve.
Borne on thy new-imp'd wings, thou took'ft thy
Left thy Creator, and the realms of light; [flight,
Difdain'd his gentle precept to fulfil,

And thought to grow a god by doing ill:
Though by foul guilt thy heav'nly form defac'd,
In nature chang'd, from happy manfions chas'd,
Thou ftill retain ft fome fparks of heavenly fire,
Too faint to mount, yet restless to aspire;
Angel enough to feek thy blifs again,
And brute enough to make thy fearch in vain.
The creatures now withdraw their kindly use,
Some fly thee, fome torment, and fome feduce;
Repaft ill-fuited to such diff'rent guests,
For what thy fenfe defires, thy foul diftaftes;
Thy luft, thy curiofity, thy pride,

Curb'd, or deferv'd, or baulk'd, or gratified,
Rage on, and make thee equally unblefs'd [fefs'd.
In what thou want'ft, and what thou haft pos
In vain thou hop'ft for blifs on this poor clod;
Return and feek thy Father and thy God;
Yet think not to regain thy native fky,
Borne on the wings of vain philofophy! .
Myfterious paffage! hid from human eyes;
Soaring you'll fink, and finking you will rife:
Let humble thoughts thy wary footsteps guide;
Repair by mecknef's what you loft by pride.

§ 264. Lefons of Wisdom. ARMSTRONG.

Down on the turf, the next, two two-legg'd beaft,HOW to live happieft; how avoid the pains,
There fix thy lot, thy blifs and endless reft:
Between thefe wide extremes the length is fuch,

I find I know too little or too much.
'Almighty Pow'r, by whose most wife com-
mand,

• Helpless, forlorn, uncertain here I stand;
Take this faint glimm'ring of thyfelf away,
Or break into my foul with perfect day!'
This faid, expanded lay the facred text,
The balin, the light, the guide of fouls perplex'd.
Thus the benighted traveller that strays
Through doubtful paths, enjoys the morning rays:
The nightly mift, and thick defcending dew,
Parting, unfold the fields and vaulted blue.

O Truth divine! enlighten'd by thy ray,
I grope and guess no more, but fee my way;
Thou clear'dft the fecret of my high defcent,
And told'ft me what thofe myftic tokens meant;
Marks of my birth, which I had worn in vain,
"Too hard for worldly fages to explain.
'Zeno's were vain, vain Epicurus' fchemes,
Their fyftems falfe, delufive were their dreams;
Unskill'd my twofold nature to divide,
One nurs'd mypleafure, and one nurs'd mypride;
Thofe jarring truths which hunan art beguile,
Thy facred page thus bids me reconcile."

The difappointments, and difgufts of thofe
Who would in pleasure all their hours employ
The precepts here of a divine old man

I could recite. Tho' old, he still retain'd
His manly fenfe, and energy of mind.
Virtuous and wife he was, but not fevere;
He ftill remember'd that he once was young;
His eafy prefence check'd no decent joy.
Him even the diffolute admir'd; for he
A graceful loofenefs when he pleas'd put on,
And laughing could inftruct. Much had he read,
Much more had feen; he ftudied from the life,
And in th' original perus'd mankind.

Vers'd in the woes and vanities of life,
He pitied man; and much he pitied those
Whom falfely-finiling fate has curs'd with means
To diffipate their days in queft of joy.
Our aim is happinefs: 'tis yours, 'tis mine,
He faid, 'tis the purfuit of all that live;
Yet few attain it, if 'twas e'er attain'd.
But they the wideft wander from the mark,
Who thro' the flow'ry paths of faun'tring Joy
Seek this coy goddefs; that from ftage to stage
Invites us ftill, but fhifts as we pursue.
For, not to name the pains that pleasure brings
To counterpoife itself, relentless Fate

Forbids

Forbids that we thro' gay voluptuous wilds
Should ever roam and were the Fates more kind,
Our narrow luxuries would foon be ftale.
Were thefe exhauftlefs, Nature would grow fick,
And, cloy'd with pleafure, fqueamishly complain
That all was vanity, and life a dream.
Let nature reft: be busy for yourself,
And for your friend; be bufy even in vain,
Rather than teaze her fated appetites.
Who never fafts, no banquet c'er enjoys;
Who never toils or watches, never fleeps.
Let nature reft: and when the taste of joy
Grows keen, indulge; but shun fatiety.

'Tis not for mortals always to be bleft.
But him the leaft the dull or painful hours
Of life opprefs, whom fober Senfe conducts,
And Virtue, thro' this labyrinth we tread.
Virtue and Senfe I mean not to disjoin;
Virtue and Senfe are one: and, truft me, he
Who has not virtue, is not truly wife.
Virtue (for mere Good-nature is a fool)
Is fenfe and fpirit, with humanity:
Tis fometimes angry, and its frown confounds;
'Tis even vindictive, but in vengeance juft.
Knaves fain would laugh at it; fome great ones
But at his heart the most undaunted fon [dare;
Of fortune dreads its name and awful charms.
To nobleft ufes this determines wealth:
This is the folid pomp of profperous days,
The peace and fhelter of adverfity.
And if you pant for glory, build your fame
On this foundation, which the fecret fhock
Defies of Envy and all sapping Time.
The gaudy glofs of Fortune only strikes
The vulgar eye: the fuffrage of the wife,
The praife that's worth ambition, is attain’d
By fenfe alone, and dignity of mind.

Virtue, the ftrength and beauty of the foul,
Is the best gift of Heaven: a happiness
That even above the fmiles and frowns of fate
Exalts great Nature's favourites: a wealth
That ne'er encumbers, nor to bafer hands
Can be transferr'd; it is the only good
Man juftly boasts of, or can call his own.
Riches are oft by guilt and bafencfs carn'd;
Or dealt by chance to fhield a lucky knave,
Of throw a cruel funfhine on a fool.
But for one end, one much-neglected use,
Are riches worth your care (for Nature's wants
Are few, and without opulence fupplied)-
This noble end is, to produce the Soul,
To fhew the virtues in their fairest light;
To make Humanity the minifter

Of bounteous Providence; and teach the breaft
That generous luxury the Gods enjoy.-
Thus, in his graver vein, the friendly Sage
Sometimes declaim'd. Of right and wrong he
Truths as refin'd as ever Athens heard; [taught
And (trange totell!)he practis'd what he preach'd.

§ 265. The Pain arifing from virtuous Emotions attended with Pleafure. AKENSIDE. BEHOLD the ways

Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man,

For ever juft, benevolent and wife: That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursued By vexing Fortune and intrusive Pain, Should never be divided from her chafte, Her fair attendant, Pleafure. Need I urge Thy tardy thought through all the various round Of this existence, that thy soft'ning foul At length may learn what energy the hand Of Virtue mingles in the bitter tide Of paffion fwelling with diftrefs and pain, To mitigate the fharp with gracious drops Of cordial Pleasure? Afk the faithful youth, Why the cold urn of her whom long he lov'd So often fills his arms; fo often draws His lonely footsteps at the filent hour, To pay the mournful tribute of his tears? O! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds Should ne'er feduce his bofom to forego That facred hour, when, ftealing from the noise Of care and envy, fweet remembrance fooths With virtue's kindeft looks his aching breaft, And turns his tears to rapture.-Afk the crowd Which flies impatient from the village-walk To climb the neighb'ring cliffs, when far below The cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coaft Some hapless bark; while facred pity melts The gen'ral eye, or terror's icy hand Smites their diftorted limbs and horrent hair; While every mother clofer to her breaft Catches her child, and pointing where the waves Foam thro' the shatter'd veffel, thricks aloud, As one poor wretch, that spreads his pitcous arms For fuccour, fwallow'd by the roaring furge, As now another, dafh'd against the rock Drops lifeless down. O deemeft thou indeed No kind endearment here by nature giv'n To mutual terror and compaffion's tears? No fweetly-melting foftnefs which attracts, O'er all that edge of pain, the focial pow'rs To this their proper action and their end?-Afk thy own heart; when at the midnight hour, Slow thro' that ftudious gloom thy paufing cyc Led by the glimm'ring taper moves around The facred volumes of the dead, the fongs Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame For Grecian heroes, where the present pow'r Of heaven and earth furveys th immortal page, E'en as a father bleffing, while he reads The praifes of his fon; if then thy foul, Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days, Mix in their deeds and kindle with their flame: Say, when the profpect blackens on thy view; When rooted from the bafe, heroic states Mourn in the duft and tremble at the frown Of curft ambition ;-when the pious band Of youths that fought for freedom and their fires, Lie fide by fide in gore;-when ruffian-pride Ufurps the throne of juftice, turns the pomp Of public pow'r, the majefty of rule, The fword, the laurel, and the purple robe, To flavish empty pageants, to adorn A tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyes Of fuch as bow the knee;-when honour'd urns Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust And

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