Prefer to the performance of a God
Th' inferior wonders of an artist's hand!

Lovely indeed the 'mimic works of Art,
But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire-
None more admire-the painter's magic fkill,
Who fbows me that which I shall never fee,
Conveys a diftant country into mine,
And throws Italian light on English walls.
But imitative ftrokes can do no more
Than please the eye, sweet Nature ev'ry sense.
The air falubrious of her lofty hills,

The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales,
And mufic of her woods-no works of man
May rival thefe; thefe all befpeak a power
Peculiar, and exclufively her own.

Beneath the open sky she spreads the feaft
'Tis free to all- -'tis ev'ry day renew’d.
Who fcorns it, ftarves defervedly at home.

COWFER.

SECT. CXLVII.

STORY-TELLERS AND JESTERS IN THE PULPIT

REPROVED.

HE that negotiates between God and man,

As God's ambaffador, the grand concerns

Of judgment and of mercy, fhould beware
Of lightness in his fpeech. "Tis pitiful
To court a grin, when you should woo a foul;
To break a jeft, when pity would infpire

Pathetis

Pathetic exhortation; and t'addrefs'
The skittish fancy with facetious tales,
When fent with God's commiffion to the heart,
So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip
Or merry turn in all he ever wrote,
And I confent you take it for your text,
Your only one, till fides and benches fail.
No: he was ferious in a serious caufe,
And understood too well the weighty terms
That he had ta'en in charge. He would not ftoop
To conquer those by jocular exploits,
Whom truth and fobernefs affail'd in vain.
Oh, popular applause! what heart of man
Is proof against thy fweet feducing charms?
The wifeft and the beft feel urgent
Of all their caution in the gentleft gales;
But fwell'd into a guft-who then, alas!
With all his canvass set, and inexpert

need

And therefore heedlefs, can withstand thy power?
Praise from the rivel'd lips of toothless, bald
Decrepitude; and in the looks of lean
And craving poverty; and in the bow
Respectful of the fmutch'd artificer
Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb
The bias of the purpose. How much more
Pour'd forth by beauty fplendid and polite,
In language foft as adoration breathes !
Ah spare your idol! think him human still.
Charms he may have, but he has frailties too:
Doat not too much, nor spoil what ye admire.

ADDRESS TO DOMESTIC HAPPINESS.

DOMESTIC Happiness, thou only blifs

Of Paradife that has furviv'd the Fall!

Oh friendly to the best purfuits of man,
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace,
Domestic life in rural pleasure pafs'd!
Few know thy value, and few tafte thy fweets,
Though many boaft thy favours, and affect
To understand and chufe thee for their own.
But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss
Ev'n as his first progenitor, and quits,
Though plac'd in paradife (for earth has still
Some traces of her youthful beauty left),
Subftantial happiness for tranfient joy.

Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse
The growing feeds of wisdom; that suggest
By ev'ry pleafing image they prefent
Reflections fuch as meliorate the heart,
Compose the paffions, and exalt the mind;
Scenes fuch as thefe, 'tis his fupreme delight
To fill with riot, and defile with blood.

Emblem of Heaven, Domeftic Happiness!
Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure,
Or tafting, long enjoy thee, too infirm
Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets
Unmixt with drops of bitter, which neglect,
Or temper, sheds into thy crystal cup;

Thou art the nurfe of Virtue. In thine arms

She

She fmiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
Heav'n-born, and deftin'd to the skies again.
Thou art not known where Pleasure is ador'd,
That reeling goddess, with the zoneless waist
And wand'ring eyes, ftill leaning on the arm
Of Novelty, her fickle frail support;

For thou art meek and conftant, hating change,
And finding in the calm of truth-tied love,
Joys that her stormy raptures never yield.
Forfaking thee, what shipwreck have we made
Of honour, dignity, and fair renown,
Till Proftitution elbows us afide

In all our crowded streets, and fenates seem
Conven'd for purposes of empire lefs,

Than to release th' adultress from her bond!

COWPER.

SECT.

CXLIX.

THE COUNTRY PREFERABLE TO THE TOWN EVEN IN WINTER.

NATURE, enchanting Nature, in whofe form

And lineaments divine I trace a hand

That errs not, and find raptures ftill renew'd,
Is free to all men, univerfal prize.

Strange that so fair a creature should yet want
Admirers, and be deftin'd to divide

With meaner objects, ev'n the few she finds!
Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves and flow'rs,

She lofes all her influence. Cities then
Attract us, and neglected Nature pines
Abandon'd, as unworthy of our love.
But are not wholesome airs, though unperfum'&
By roses, and clear funs though scarcely felt,
And groves if unharmonious, yet fecure
From clamour, and whose very filence charms,
To be preferr❜d to smoke, to the eclipfe
That Metropolitan volcanos make,

Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long,
And to the ftir of Commerce, driving flow,
And thund'ring loud, with his ten thousand wheels?
They would be, were not madness in the head
And folly in the heart; were England now
What England was, plain, hofpitable, kind,
And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell
To all the virtues of those better days,
And all their honest pleasures. Manfions once
Knew their own masters, and laborious hinds
That had surviv'd the father, serv'd the fon.
Now the legitimate and rightful lord
Is but a tranfient gueft, newly arriv'd
And foon to be supplanted.-

Eftates are landscapes, gaz'd upon awhile,
Then advertis'd and auctioneer'd away.
Ambition, av'rice, penury incurr'd

By endless riot; vanity, the luft
Of pleasure and variety, dispatch,

As duly as the swallows disappear,

The world of wand'ring knights and fquires to town?
London ingulphs them all. The fhark is there,
And the fhark's prey. The spendthrift, and the leech

That