Thus loden, dream that they are rich and great, In sighs he worships his supremely fair,
And happiest he that groans beneath his weight; And weeps a sad libation in despair;
The waves o'ertake them in their serious play, Adores a creature, and, devout in vain,
And ev'ry hour sweeps multitudes away ; Wins in return an answer of disdain.
They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep, As woodbine weds the plant within her reach,
Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep.

Rough elm, or smooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech,
A few forsake the throng; with lifted eyes In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays
Ask wealth of Heav'n, and gain a real prize, Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays,
Truth, wisdom, grace, and peace, like that above, But does a mischief while she lends a grace,
Seal'd with his signet, whom they serve and love ; Strait'ning its growth by such a strict embrace ;
Scorn'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait So love, that clings around the noblest minds,
A kind release from their imperfect state,

Forbids th' advancement of the soul he binds; And, unregretted, are soon snatch'd away

The suitor's air, indeed, he soon improves, From scenes of sorrow into glorious day.

And forms it to the taste of her he loves, Nor these alone prefer a life recluse,

Teaches his eyes a language, and no less Who seek retirement for its proper use ;

Refines his speech, and fashions his address; The love of change, that lives in ev'ry breast, But farewell promises of happier fruits, Genius and temper, and desire of rest,

Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits; Discordant motives in one centre meet,

Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break, And each inclines its vot'ry to rotreat.

His only bliss is sorrow for her sake; Some minds by nature are averse to noise,

Who will may pant for glory and excel, And hate the tumult half the world enjoys, Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell! The lure of av'rice, or the pompous prize, Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name That courts display before ambitious eyes ; May least offend against so pure a flame, The fruits that hang on pleasure's flow'ry stem, Though sage advice of friends the most sincere Whate'er enchants them, are no snares to them. Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear, To them the deep recess of dusky groves, And lovers, of all creatures, lame or wild, Or forest, where the deer securely roves,

Can least brook management, however mild, The fall of waters, and the song of birds, Yet let a poet (poetry disarms And hills that echo to the distant herds,

The fiercest animals with magic eharms) Are luxuries excelling all the glare

Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood,
The world can boast, and her chief fav’rites share. And woo and win thee to thy proper good.
With eager step, and carelessly array'd,

Pastoral images and still retreats,
For such a cause the poet seeks the shade, Umbrageous walks and solitary seats,
From all he sees he catches new delight,

Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams,
Pleas’d Fancy clasps her pinions at the sight, Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day-dreams,
The rising or the setting orb of day,

Are all enchantments in a case like thine, The clouds that fit, or slowly float away, Conspire against thy peace with one design, Nature in all the various shapes she wears,

Soothe thee to make thee but a surer prey, Frowning in storms, or breathing gentle airs, And feed the fire that wastes thy pow'rs away. The snowy robe her wintry state assumes, Up—God has form'd thee with a wiser view, Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes, Not to be led in chains, but to subdue ; All, all alike transport the glowing bard,

Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first
Success in rhyme his glory and reward.

Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst.
O Nature! whose Elysian scenes disclose Woman, indeed, a gift he would bestow
His bright perfections, at whose word they rose, When he design'd a Paradise below,
Next to that Pow'r, who form'd thee and sustains, The richest earthly boon his hands afford,
Be thou the great inspirer of my strains.

Deserves to be belov'd, but not ador'd.
Still, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand

Post away swiftly to more active scenes, Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand, Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans, That I may catch a fire but rarely known,

Mix with the world, but with its wiser part, Give useful light, though I should miss renown, No longer give an image all thine heart; And, poring on thy page, whose ev'ry line Its empire is not hers, nor is it thine, Bears proof of an intelligence divine,

"Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine. M-y feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays,

Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill That builds its glory on its Maker's praise. Attempts no task it cannot well fulfil, Woe to the man, whose wit disclaims its use, Gives melancholy up to Nature's care, Glitt'ring in vain, or only to seduce,

And sends the patient into purer air. Who studies Nature with a wanton eye,

Look where he comes--in this embower'd alcove Admires the work, but slips the lesson by; Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move : His hours of leisure and recess employs

Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow, In drawing pictures of forbidden joys,

Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below, Retires to blazon his own worthless name, Interpret to the marking eye distress, Or shoot the careless with a surer aim.

Such as its symptoms can alone express. The lover, too, shuns business and alarms, That tongue is silent now; that silent tongue Tender idolater of absent charms.

Could argue once, could jest or join the song, Saints offer nothing in their warmest pray’rs, Could give advice, could censure or commend, That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs; , Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. "Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time,

Renounc'd alike its office and its sport And ev'ry thought that wanders is a crime. Its brisker and its graver strains fall short ; 93

3M 2

Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway,

Ye groves, (the statesman at his desk exclaims And like a summer-brook are past away.

Sick of a thousand disappointed aims,) This is a sight for Pity to peruse,

My patrimonial treasure and my pride, Till she resemble faintly what she views, Beneath your shades your grey possessor hide, Till Sympathy contract a kindred pain,

Receive me languishing for that repose, Pierc'd with the woes that she laments in vain. The servant of the public never knows. This, of all maladies that man infest,

Ye saw me once (ah those regretted days, Claims most compassion and receives the least : When boyish innocence was all my praise ! Job felt it, when he groan'd beneath the rod Hour after hour delightfully allot And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God; To studies then familiar, since forgot, And such emollients as his friends could spare, And cultivate a taste for ancient song, Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare. Catching its ardor as I mus'd along; Blest, rather curst, with hearts that never feel, Nor seldom, as propitious Heav'n might send, Kept snug in caskets of close-hammer'd steel, What once I valued, and could boast, a friend, With mouths made only to grin wide and eat, Were witnesses how cordially I press'd And minds, that deem derided pain a treat, His undissembling virtue to my breast; With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire, Receive me now, not uncorrupt as then, And wit that puppet-prompters might inspire, Nor guiltless of corrupting other men, Their sov'reign nostrum is a clumsy joke,

But vers’d in arts, that, while they seem to stay Or pangs enforc'd with God's severest stroke. A falling empire, hasten its decay. But with a soul, that ever felt the sting

To the fair haven of my native home, Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing:

The wreck of what I was, fatigued I come; Not to molest, or irritate, or raise

For once I can approve the patriot's voice, A laugh at his expense, is slender praise ; And make the course he recommends my choice He, that has not usurp'd the name of man, We meet at last in one sincere desire, Does all, and deems too little all, he can,

His wish and mine both prompt me to retire. T'assuage the throbbings of a fester'd part, "Tis done—he steps into the welcome chaise, And stanch the bleedings of a broken heart. Lolls at his ease behind four handsome bays, "Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, That whirl away from business and debate Forg'ry of fancy, and a dream of woes ;

The disencumber'd Atlas of the state. Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of morn Each yielding harmony dispos'd aright;

First shakes the glitt'ring drops from ev'ry thorn,
The screws revers’d, (a task which, if he please, Unfolds his flock, then under bank or bush
God in a moment executes with ease.)

Sits linking cherry-stones, or platting rush,
Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose, How fair is Freedom ?—he was always free :
Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use. To carve his rustic name upon a tree,
Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair To snare the mole, or with ill-fashion'd hook
As ever recompens'd the peasant's care,

To draw th' incautious minnow from the brook, Nor soft declivities with tufted hills,

Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view, Nor view of waters turning busy mills,

His flock the chief concern he ever knew; Parks in..which Art preceptress Nature weds, She shines but little in his heedless eyes, Nor gardens interspers’d with flow'ry beds, The good we never miss we rarely prize : Nor gales, that catch the scent of blooming groves, But ask the noble drudge in state affairs, And waft it to the mourner as he roves,

Escap'd from office and its constant cares, Can call up life into his faded eye,

What charms he sees in Freedom's smile espressd, That passes all he sees unheeded by ;

In Freedom lost so long, now repossess'd ; No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels, The tongue, whose strains were cogent as com No cure for such, till God who makes them heals.

mands, And thou, sad suff'rer under nameless ill,

Rever'd at home, and felt in foreign lands, That yields not to the touch of human skill, Shall own itself a stamm'rer in that cause, Improve the kind occasion, understand

Or plead its silence as its best applause. A Father's frown, and kiss his chast’ning hand. He knows indeed that whether dressid or rude, To thee the day-spring, and the blaze of noon, Wild without art, or artfully subdued, The purple ev'ning, and resplendent Moon, Nature in ev'ry form inspires delight, The stars, that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night, But never mark'd her with so just a sight. Seem drops descending in a show'r of light, Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store, Shine not, or undesir'd and hated shine,

With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er, Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine : Green balks and furrow'd lands, the stream tha Yet seek him, in his favor life is found,

spreads All bliss beside a shadow or a sound:

Its cooling vapor o'er the dewy meads,
Then Heav'n, eclips'd so long, and this dull Earth, Downs, that almost escape th' inquiring eye,
Shall seem to start into a second birth;

That melt and fade into the distant sky,
Nature, assuming a more lovely face,

Beauties he lately slighted as he pass'd, Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace, Seem all created since he traveld last. Shall be despis’d and overlook'd no more, Master of all th' enjoyments he design d, Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before, No rough annoyance rankling in his mind, Impart to things inanimate a voice,

What early philosophic hours he keeps, And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice; How regular his meals, bow sound he sleeps! The sound shall run along the winding vales, No sounder he, that on the mainmast-head, And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails.

While morning kindles with a windy red,

Begins a long look-out for distant land,

And ignorance of better things makes man,
Nor quits till ev'ning-watch his giddy stand, Who cannot much, rejoice in what he can;
Then swift descending with a seaman's haste, And he, that deems his leisure well bestow'd
Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. In contemplation of a turnpike road,
He chooses company, but not the squire's, Is occupied as well, employs his hours
Whose wit is rudeness, whose good-breeding tires; As wisely, and as much improves his pow’rs,
Nor yel the parson's, who would gladly come, As he, that slumbers in pavilions grac'd
Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home; With all the charms of an accomplish'd taste.
Nor can he much affect the neighb'ring peer, Yet hence, alas! insolvencies; and hence
Whose toe of emulation treads too near;

Th'unpilied victim of ill-judg'd expense,
But wisely seeks a more convenient friend, From all his wearisome engagements freed,
With whom, dismissing forms, he may unbend; Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed.
A man, whom marks of condescending grace Your prudent grand-mammas, ye modern belles,
Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place;

Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge-Wells, Who comes when call'd, and at a word withdraws, When health required it, would consent to roam, Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause ; Else more attach'd to pleasures found at home. Some plain mechanic, who, without pretence But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wise, To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes offence; Ingenious to diversify dull life, On whom he rests well-pleas'd his weary pow'rs, In coaches, chaises, caravans, and hoys, And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. Fly to the coast for daily, nightly joys, The tide of life, swift always in its course,

And all, impatient of dry land, agree May run in ciiies with a brisker force,

With one consent to rush into the sea.But nowhere with a current so serene,

Ocean exhibits, fathomless and broad, Or half so clear, as in the rural scene.

Much of the pow'r and majesty of God. Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss,

He swathes about the swelling of the deep, What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss ! That shines and rests, as infants smile and sleep; Some pleasures live a month, and some a year, Vast as it is, it answers as it flows But short the date of all we gather here;

The breathing of the lightest air that blows; No happiness is felt except the true,

Curling and whit’ning over all the waste,
That does not charm the more for being new. The rising waves obey th' increasing blast,
This observation, as it chanc'd, not made,

Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars,
Or, if the thought occurr’d, not duly weigh'd, Thunder and flash upon the stedfast shores,
He sighs--for after all by slow degrees

Till he, that rides the whirlwind, checks the rein,
The spot he lov'd has lost the pow'r to please ; Then all the world of waters sleeps again.-
To cross his ambling pony day by day,

Nereids or Dryads, as the fashion leads, Seems at the best but dreaming lise away; Now in the floods, now panting in the meads, The prospect, such as might enchant despair, Vot'ries of Pleasure still, where'er she dwells, He views it not, or sees no beauty there; Near barren rocks, in palaces, or cells, With aching heart, and discontented looks, O grant a poet leave to recommend Returns at noon to billiards or to books,

(A poet fond of Nature, and your friend) But feels, while grasping at his faded joys, Her slighted works to your admiring view; A secret thirst of his renounc'd employs.

Her works must needs excel, who fashion'd you. He chides the tardiness of ev'ry post,

Would ye, when rambling in your morning ride, Pants to be told of battles won or lost,

With some unmeaning coxcomb at your side, Blames his own indolence, observes, though late, Condemn the prattler for his idle pains, 'Tis criminal to leave a sinking state,

To waste unheard the music of his strains, Flies to the levée, and, receiv'd with grace,

And, deaf to all th' impertinence of tongue, Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. That, while it courts, affronts and does you wrong? Suburban villas, highway-side retreats,

Mark well ihe finish'd plan without a fault, That dread the encroachment of our growing streets, The seas globose and huge, th' o'er-arching vault, Tight boxes, neatly sash'd, and in a blaze

Earth's millions daily fed, a world employ’d With all a July sun's collected rays,

In gath'ring plenty yet to be enjoy'd, Delight the citizen, who, gasping there,

Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air.

Of God, beneficent in all his ways;
O sweet retirement, who would balk the thought, Grac'd with such wisdom, how would beauty shine!
That could afford retirement, or could not?

Ye want but that to seem indeed divine.
"Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight, Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid,
The second mile-stone fronts the garden-gate ; Force many a shining youth into the shade,
A step if fair, and, if a show'r approach,

Not to redeem his time, but his estate,
You find safe shelter in the next stage-coach. And play the fool, but at a cheaper rate.
There, prison d in a parlor snug and small, There, hid in loth'd obscurity, removid
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall,

From pleasures left, but never more belov'd, The man of business and his friends compress'd He just endures, and with a sickly spleen Forget their labors, and yet find no rest ;

Sighs o'er the beauties of the charming scene. But still 'tis rural—trees are to be seen

Nature indeed looks prettily in rhyme; From ev'ry window, and the fields are green; Streams tinkle sweetly in poetic chime: Ducks paddle in the pond before the door, The warblings of the blackbird, clear and strong, And what could a remoter scene show more? Are musical enough in Thomson's song ; A sense of elegance we rarely find

And Cobham's groves, and Windsor's green retreats, The portion of a mean or yulgar mind,

When Pope describes them, have a thousand sweets

He likes the country, but in truth must own, Nor yet the swarms,

that
occupy

the brain, Most likes it, when he studies it in town.

Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure Poor Jack-no matter who—for when I blame,

reign ; I pity, and must therefore sink the name,

Nor such as useless conversation breeds, Livd in his saddle, lov'd the chase, the course, Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse. Whence, and what are we? to what end ordain'd ? The estate, his sires had own’d in ancient years, What means the drama by the world sustain'd! Was quickly distanc'd, match'd against a peer's. Business or vain amusement, care or mirth, Jack vanish'd, was regretted and forgot;

Divide the frail inhabitants of Earth. 'Tis wild good-nature's never-failing lot.

Is duty a mere sport, or an employ?
At length, when all had long suppos'd him dead, Life an intrusted talent, or a toy?
By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead.

Is there, as reason, conscience, Scripture, say, My lord, alighting at his usual place,

Cause to provide for a great future day, The Crown, took notice of an ostler's face, When, Earth's assign'd duration at an end, Jack knew his friend, but hop'd in that disguise Man shall be summond, and the dead attend ? Ile might escape the most observing eyes, The trumpet—will it sound ? the curtain rise ? And whistling, as if unconcern'd and gay,

And show th’august tribunal of the skies, Curried his nag, and look'd another way.

Where no prevarication shall avail, Convinc'd at last, upon a nearer view,

Where eloquence and artifice shall fail,
'Twas he, the same, the very Jack he knew, The pride of arrogant distinctions fall,
O'erwhelm'd at once with wonder, grief, and joy, And conscience and our conduct judge us all ?
He press'd him much to quit his base employ; Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil
His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand, To learned cares or philosophic toil,
Influence and pow'r, were all at his command : Though I revere your honorable names,
Peers are not always gen'rous as well-bred, Your useful labors and important aims,
But Granby was, meant truly what he said. And hold the world indebted to your aid,
Jack bow'd, and was oblig'd—confess'd 'twas Enrich'd with the discov'ries ye have made,
strange,

Yet let me stand excus’d, if I esteem
That so retir'd he should not wish a change, A mind employ'd on so sublime a theme,
But knew no medium between guzzling beer, Pushing her bold inquiry to the date
And his old stint-three thousand pounds a year. And outline of the present transient state,

Thus some retire to nourish hopeless woe; And, after poising her advent'rous wings,
Some seeking happiness not found below;

Settling at last upon eternal things, Some to comply with humor, and a mind

Far more intelligent and better taught To social scenes by nature disinclin'd;

The strenuous use of profitable thought, Some sway'd by fashion, some by deep disgust; Than ye, when happiest and enlighten'd most, Some self-impov'rish’d, and because they must; And highest in renown, can justly boast. But few, that court Retirement, are aware

A mind unnerv'd, or indispos'd to bear Of half the toils they must encounter there. The weight of subjects worthiest of her care, Lucrative offices are seldom lost

Whatever hopes a change of scene inspires, For want of pow'rs proportion'd to the post : Must change her nature, or in vain retires. Give ey'n a dunce th' employment he desires, An idler is a watch, that wants both hands; And he soon finds the talents it requires ;

As useless if it goes, as when it stands. A business with an income at its heels

Books therefore, not the scandal of the shelves, Furnishes always oil for its own wheels.

In which lewd sensualists print out themselves; But in his arduous enterprise to close

Nor those, in which the stage gives vice a blow, His active years with indolent repose,

With what success let modern manners show; He finds the labors of that state exceed

Nor his, who, for the bane of thousands born, His utmost faculties, severe indeed.

Built God a church, and laugh'd his word to scorn 'Tis easy to resign a toilsome place,

Skilful alike to seem devout and just, But not to manage leisure with a grace;

And stab religion with a sly side-thrust; Absence of occupation is not rest,

Nor those of learn'd philologists, who chase
A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd.

A panting syllable through time and space,
The vet'ran steed, excus'd his task at length, Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark
In kind compassion of his failing strength, To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark:
And turn'd into the park or mead to graze,

But such as learning without false prelence,
Exempt from future service all his days,

The friend of truth, th' associate of sound sense, There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind,

And such as in the zeal of good design, Ranges at liberty, and snuffs the wind :

Strong judgment lab'ring in the Scripture mine,
But when his lord would quit the busy road, All such as manly and great souls produce,
To taste a joy like that he had bestow'd,

Worthy to live, and of eternal use :
He proves, less happy than his favor'd brute, Behold in these what leisure hours demand,
A life of ease a difficult pursuit.

Amusement and true knowledge hand in hand.
Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem Luxury gives the mind a childish cast,
As natural as when asleep to dream ;

And, while she polishes, perverts the taste; But reveries (for human minds will act)

Habits of close attention, thinking heads, Specious in show, impossible in fact,

Become more rare as dissipation spreads, Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought, Till authors hear at length one gen'ral cry, Attain not to the dignity of thought:

Tickle and entertain us, or we die.

The loud demand, from year to year the same, His soul exults, hope animates his lays,
Beggars Invention, and makes Fancy lame; The sense of mercy kindles into praise,
Till farce itself, most mournfully jejune,

And wilds, familiar with a lion's roar,
Calls for the kind assistance of a tune;

Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before : And novels (witness every month's review)

"Tis love like his, that can alone defeat Belie their name, and offer nothing new.

The foes of man, or make a desert sweet. The mind, relaxing into needful sport,

Religion does not censure or exclude
Should turn to writers of an abler sort,

Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly pursued ;
Whose wit well-manag‘d, and whose classic style, To study culture, and with artful toil
Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile. To meliorate and came the stubborn toil ;
Friends, (for I cannot stint, as some have done, To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands
Too rigid in my view, that name to one ;

The grain, or herb, or plant, that each demands
Though one, I grant it, in the gen'rous breast To cherish virtue in an humble stale,
Will stand advanc'd a step above the rest :

and share the joys your bounty may create ; Flow’rs by that name promiscuously we call, To mark the matchless workings of the pow'r, But one, the rose, the regent of them all, That shuts within its seed the future flow'r, Friends, not adopted with a schoolboy's haste, Bids these in elegance of form excel, But chosen with a nice discerning taste,

In color these, and those delight the smell, Well-born, well-disciplin'd, who, plac'd apart Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies, From vulgar minds, have honor much at heart, To dance on Earth, and charm all human eyes ; And, though the world may think th' ingredients odd, To teach the canvas innocent deceit, The love of virtue, and the fear of God!

Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheetSuch friends prevent what else would soon succeed, These, these are arts pursued without a crime, A temper rustic as the life we lead,

That leave no stain upon the wing of Time.
And keep the polish of the manners clean,

Me poetry (or rather notes that aim
As theirs who bustle in the busiest scene ; Feebly and vainly at poetic fame)
For solitude, however some may rave,

Employs, shut out from more important views, Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave,

Fast by the banks of the slow-winding Ouse ;
A sepulchre, in which the living lie,

Content if thus sequester'd I may raise
Where all good qualities grow sick and die. A monitor's, though not a poet's praise,
I praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewd - And while I teach an art ioo little known,
How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude ! To close life wisely, may not waste my own
But grant me still a friend in my retreat,
Whom I may whisper-solitude is sweet.
Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside,
That appetite can ask, or wealth provide,

THE TASK.
Can save us always from a tedious day,
Or shine the dullness of still life away;

Advertisement
Divine communion, carefully enjoy'd,

The history of the following production is briefly Or sought with energy, must fill the void. O sacred art, to which alone life owes

this : A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close,

poem of that kind from the author, and gave him

the Sofa for a subject. He obeyed ; and, having Scorn'd in a world, indebted to that scorn For evils daily felt and hardly borne,

much leisure, connected another subject with it: Not knowing thee, we reap with bleeding hands

and, pursuing the train of thought to which his

situation and turn of mind led him, brought forth Flow'rs of rank odor upon thorny lands,

at length, instead of the trifle which he at first And, while experience cautions us in vain,

intended, a serious affair-a volume. Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain.

In the poem on the subject of Education, he would Despondence, self-deserted in her grief, Lost by abandoning her own relief,

be very sorry to stand suspeeled of having aimed

his censure at any particular school. His ob Murmuring and ungrateful Discontent,

jections are such as naturally apply themselves That scorns asictions mercifully meant,

to schools in general. If there were not, as for Those humors tart as wines upon the fret, Which idleness and weariness beget;

the most part there is, wilful neglect in those

who manage them, and an omission even of These, and a thousand plagues, that haunt the breast, Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest,

such discipline as they are susceptible of, the

objects are yet too numerous for minute attenDivine communion chases, as the day

tion; and the aching hearts of ten thousand Drives to their dens th' obedient beasts of prey. See Judah's promisd king berest of all,

parents, mourning under the bitterest of all disDriv'n out an exile from the face of Saul,

appointments, attest the truth of the allegation

His quarrel, therefore, is with the mischief at To distant caves the lonely wand'rer flies, To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies.

large, and not with any particular instance of it. Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice, Hear him, o'erwhelm’d with sorrow, yet rejoice ;

Воок І. No womanish or wailing grief has part,

THE SOFA. No, not a moment, in his royal heart; "Tis manly music, such as martyrs make,

Argument. Suff'ring with gladness for a Savior's sake; IIistorical deduction of seats, from the stool to the

Sofa. A school-boy's ramble. A walk in the * Bruyere.

country. The sceno describod. Rural sounds