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Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,

To cheer me in the dark’ning hour? The grape remains ! the friend of wit

In Love and MIRTH of mighty poy? Haste-press the clufters, fill the boys

APOLLO! shoot thy parting ray, This gives the sunshine of the four,

This god of health, and verfe and day. Still-still the jocund strain ni fow,

The pulle with virous pture beat; My STELLA with new crms shall glow,

And ev'ry bliss in wie Thall meet.


CREATION. THE spacious firniament on high,

With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled bagkv'n's, a fhining frame, Their great original proclaim. Th’ unwearyd !un, from day to day, Does his Creator's pow'r display; And publishes, to ev'ry land, The work of an almighty hand. Soon as the ev’ning shades prevail, The moon takes up the wond'rous tale; And nightļy, to the lift'ning earth, Repeats the story of her birth: Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets, in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What though, in folemn silence, all Move round the dark terreftrial ball; What though, no real voice, nor found, Amidst their radiant orbs be found, In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice; For ever singing as they shine, The hand that made us is divine,

BENEVOLENCE. HIL fource of transport ever new ;

Whilft thy kind dictates I pursue,
I taste a joy fincere;
Too vast for little minds to know,
Who on themielves alone bestow

Their wishes and their care.
Daughter of God! delight of man!
From thee feLICITY began,

Which still thy hand futlaips: By thee sweet PEACE her empire spread, Fair SCIENCE rais'd her laureld head,

And DISCORD gnash'd in chains.
Far as the pointed fun-beam flies,
Through peopled earth and starry skies,

All nature owns thy nod:
We see thy energy prevail
Through being's ever-rising scale,

From nothing ev'n to God.
Envy, that tortures her own heart,
With plagues and ever-burning smart,

Thy charms divine expel:
Aghait dhe shuts her livid eyes,
And, wing’d with ten-fold fury, flies

To native night and hell.'
By thee inspir'd, the gen'rous breast,
In blessing others only bleft,

With goodness large and free,
Delights the widow's tears to fiay,
Ta teach the blind their smootheli way,

And aid the feeble knee.
O come! and o'er my bosom reign,
Expand my heart, inflame each vein,

Through ev'ry action thine;
Each low, each selfith with controul;
With all thy effence warm my foul,
And make me wholly thine.


Nor let fair VIRTUE's mortal bane,
The foul-contracting thirst of gain,

My faintest wishes sway;
By her poffefs'd, ere hearts refine,
In Hell's dark depth shall MERCY shine,

And kindle endless day.
If from thy sacred paths I turn,
Nor feel their griefs, while others mourn,

Nor with their pleasures glow:
Banish'd from God, from bliss, and thee,
My own tormentor let me be,

groan in hopeless woe.


GIVE thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportion'd thought his act: Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar: The friends thou hast, and their adoption try'd, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel: But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade: Beware Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, Bear't, that th’opposer may beware of thee: Give ev'ry man thine ear; but few thy voice : Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment': Coftly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not exprefs'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy; For the apparel oft proclaims the man: Neither a borrower nor a lender be: For loan oft loses both itself and friend; And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry: This, above all-to thine own self be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.

NOR is that cot, of which fond fancy draws

This casual picture, alien from our theme.
Revisit it at morn; its op'ning latch,
Tho' penury and toil within refide,
Shall pour thee forth a youthful progeny,
Glowing with health and beauty: (such the dower
Of equal heav'n) see how the ruddy tribe
Throng round the threshold, and, with vacant gaze
Salute thee, call the loiterers into use,
And form of these thy fence, the living fence,
That graces what it guards. Thou think'st,perchance,
That, 1kill'd in nature's heraldry, thy art
Has, in the limits of yon fragrant tuft,
Marshall'd each rofe, that to the eye of June
Spreads its peculiar crimson; do not err,
The lovelieft fiill is wanting, the fresh rose
Of innocence, it blossoms on their cheek,
And lo, to thee they bear it! ftriving each,
In panting race, who first shall reach the lawn,
Proud to be call'd thy thepherds. Want, alas!
Has o'er their little limbs her liv'ry hung,
In many a tatter'd fold, yet still those limbs
Are shapely; their rude locks start from their brow;
Yet on that open brow, its dearest throne,
Sits sweet SIMPLICITY. Ah, clothe the troop?
In such a ruffet garb as best befits
Their patioral oilice; let the leathern scrip
Swing at their fide, tip thou their crook with steel,
And braid their hats with rushes, then to each
Aflign his fiation; at the close of eve,
Be it their care to pen in hurdled cole
The fiock, and when the matin prime returns,
Their care to let them free; yet watching till
The liberty they lend, oft ihalt thou hear
Their whilile Thrill, and oft their faithful dog
Shall with obedient barkings fright the flock

From wrong or robbery. The live-long day
Meantime rolls lightly o'er their happy heads;
They balk on sunny hillocks, or disport
in rústic paftime, while that lovelieft grace,
Which only lives in actions unrefirain'd,
To ev'ry simple gesture lends a charm.


Good housewives now may say;
For now foul Nuts in dairies

Do fare as well as they :
And though they sweep their hearths no less

Than maids were wont to do,
Yet who of late for cleanliness

Finds six-PENCE in her shoe?
Lament, lament, old abbies,

The fairies' lost command !
They did but change prieits babies,

But fome have chang'd your land:
And all your children Itol'n from thence,

Are now grown puritanes,
Who live as changelings ever since,

For love of your domains.
At morning and at evening both

You merry were and glad,
So little care of deep and lloth

These pretty ladies had.
When Tom caine hoin'e from labour,

Or ciss to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabour,

And nimbly went their toes.
Witness those rings and roundelays

Of theirs, which yet remain ;
Were footed in Queen MARIES days

On many a grally plain.

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