130 Sink to divine repose, and love and joy Alone are waking; love and joy, serene As airs that fan the summer. O! attend,

Whoe'er thou art, whom these delights can touch.
Whose candid bosom the refining love

135 Of Nature warms, Oh! listen to my song;
And I will guide thee to her favourite walks,
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her loveliest features to thy view.

Know, then, whate'er of Nature's pregnant stores,

140 Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected forms, With love and admiration thus inflame The powers of Fancy, her delighted sons To three illustrious orders have referr'd; Three sister graces, whom the painter's hand, 145 The poet's tongue, confesses; the Sublime, The Wonderful, the Fair. I see them dawn! I see the radiant visions, where they rise, More lovely than when Lucifer displays His beaming forehead through the gates of morn, 150 To lead the train of Phœbus and the spring.

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FROM HYMN TO THE NAIADS

O'ER yonder eastern hill the twilight pale
Walks forth from darkness; and the God of day,
With bright Astræa seated by his side,

Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs,
Ye Nymphs, ye blue-eyed progeny of Thames,
Who now the mazes of this rugged heath

Trace with your fleeting steps; who all night long
Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air,
Your lonely murmurs, tarry, and receive
My offered lay. To pay you homage due,
I leave the gates of sleep; nor shall my lyre
Too far into the splendid hours of morn
Engage your audience: my observant hand
Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam
Approach you. To your subterranean haunts
Ye then may timely steal; to pace with care
The humid sands; to loosen from the soil
The bubbling sources; to direct the rills
To meet in wider channels; or beneath
Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon
To slumber, sheltered from the burning heaven.

My lyre shall pay your bounty. Scorn not ye
That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand
Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes
Not unregarded of celestial powers,

I frame their language; and the Muses deign.
To guide the pious tenor of my lay.
The Muses (sacred by their gifts divine)
In early days did to my wandering sense
Their secrets oft reveal; oft my raised ear

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245 In slumber felt their music; oft at noon

Or hour of sunset, by some lonely stream,

In field or shady grove, they taught me words
Of power from death and envy to preserve

The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful mind 250 And offerings unprofaned by ruder eye,

My vows I send, my homage, to the seats
Of rocky Cirrha, where with you they dwell;
Where you their chaste companions they admit,
Through all the hallowed scene; where oft intent,
255 And leaning o'er Castalia's mossy verge,
They mark the cadence of your confluent urns,
How tuneful, yielding gratefullest repose
To their consorted measure: till again
With emulation all the sounding choir,
260 And bright Apollo, leader of the song,
Their voices through the liquid air exalt,

And sweep their lofty strings; those powerful strings
That charm the mind of gods, that fill the courts
Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet

265 Of evils, with immortal rest from cares,

Assuage the terrors of the throne of Jove,
And quench the formidable thunderbolt
Of unrelenting fire. . . .

SAMUEL JOHNSON

THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES

LET Observation, with extensive view,

Survey mankind from China to Peru;
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life;
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate,
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate,
Where wav'ring man, betrayed by vent'rous pride
To chase the dreary paths without a guide,
As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good;

How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,

Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice;
How nations sink, by darling schemes oppressed,
When Vengeance listens to the fool's request.

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Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart,

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Each gift of nature and each grace of art;
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,
With fatal sweetness elocution flows,

Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful breath,
And restless fire precipitates on death.

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But, scarce observed, the knowing and the bold Fall in the gen'ral massacre of gold;

Wide wasting pest! that rages unconfined,

And crowds with crimes the records of mankind;
25 For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;
Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys,
The dangers gather as the treasures rise.

Let Hist'ry tell where rival kings command,
30 And dubious title shakes the madded land,
When statutes glean the refuse of the sword,
How much more safe the vassal than the lord;
Low skulks the hind beneath the rage of pow'r,
And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tow'r,
35 Untouched his cottage, and his slumbers sound,
Though Confiscation's vultures hover round.

The needy traveller, serene and gay,

Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. Does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding joy, 40 Increase his riches, and his peace destroy,

Now fears in dire vicissitude invade,

The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring shade,
Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief,
One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief.
45 Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails,
And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales;
Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care,
Th' insidious rival and the gaping heir.