What joy for tutor❜d Piety to learn,

All that my Christian folitude can teach, Where weak-ey'd Reason's self may well discern Each clearer truth the Gospel deigns to preach?

No object here but may convince the mind

Of more than thoughtful Honefty shall need; Nor can Sufpenfe long question here to find Sufficient evidence to fix it's creed.

'Tis God that gives this bower it's awful gloom;
His arched verdure does it's roof inveft:

He breathes the life of fragrance on it's bloom;
And with his kindness makes it's owner blefs'd.

Oh! may the guidance of thy grace attend
The ufe of all thy bounty fhall beftow;
Left Folly should mistake it's facred end,
Or Vice convert it into means of woe.

Incline and aid me ftill my life to steer,

As Confcience dictates what to fhun or chufe;
Nor let my heart feel anxious hope or fear,
For aught this world can give me or refuse.

Then shall not Wealth's parade one wish excite,
For wretched ftate to barter Peace away;
Nor vain Ambition's lure my pride invite,
Beyond Contentment's humble path to ftray.

What tho' thy wifdom may my lot deny,
The treafur'd plenty freely to dispense;
Yet well thy goodness can that want fupply,
With larger portions of benevolence.

And fure the heart that wills the gèn❜rous deed,

May all the joys of Charity command;

For the best loves from notice to recede,
And deals her unfought gifts with fecret hand.

Then will I fometimes bid my fancy fteal
That unclaim'd wealth no property restrains;
Soothe with fictitious aid my friendly zeal,
And realize each godly act the feigns.

So fhall I gain the gold without alloy,

Without oppreffion, toil, or treach❜rous fnares;
So fhall I know it's use, it's power employ,
And yet avoid it's dangers and it's cares.

And spite of all that boastful wealth can do,

In vain would Fortune ftrive the rich to bless, Were they not flatter'd with some distant view, Of what she ne'er can give them to poffefs.

E'en Wisdom's high conceit great wants would feel,
If not fupply'd from Fancy's boundless ftore;
And nought but fhame makes power itself conceal
That fhe, to fatisfy, muft promise more.

But tho' Experience will not fail to fhow,
Howe'er it's truth man's weakness may upbraid,
That what he mostly values here below,
Owes half it's relish to kind Fancy's aid;

Yet fhould not Prudence her light wing command,
She may too far extend her heedless flight;
For Pleasure foon fhall quit her fairy-land,
If Nature's regions are not held in fight.

From

From Truth's abode, in fearch of kind Deceit,

Within due limits fhe may fafely roam;
If roving does not make her hate retreat,
And, with averfion, fhun her proper home.

But, thanks to those whofe fond parental care
To Learning's paths my youthful steps confin'd;
I need not fhun a ftate which lets me fhare

Each calm delight that soothes the studious mind!

While genius lafts, his fame fhall ne'er decay,
Whofe artful hand first caus'd it's fruits to fpread;
In lafting volumes ftamp'd the printed lay,
And taught the Mufes to embalm the dead.

To him I owe each fair inftructive page,

Where Science tells me what her fons have known; Collects their choiceft works from ev'ry age,

And makes me wife with knowledge not my own.

Books, rightly us'd, may ev'ry state secure:
From Fortune's evils may our peace defend;
May teach us how to fhun, or to endure,

The foe malignant, and the faithlefs friend.

Should rigid Want withdraw all outward aid,

Kind ftores of inward comfort they can bring; Should keen Disease life's tainted ftream invade,

Sweet to the foul from them pure health may spring.

Should both at once man's weakly frame infest,
Some letter'd charm may ftill relief supply;

'Gainst all events prepare his patient breast,
And make him quite refign'd to live, or die.

For tho' no words can Time or Fate restrain,

No founds fupprefs the call of Nature's voice; Tho' neither rhymes, nor fpells, can conquer pain,

Nor magick's felf make wretchedness our choice:

Yet Reafon, while it forms the fubtle plan,
Some purer fource of pleasure to explore,
Muft deem it vain for that poor pilgrim, man,
To think of refting till his journey's o'er;

Muft deem each fruitlefs toil, by Heav'n defign'd
To teach him where to look for real bliss;
Elfe why should Heav'n excite the hope to find
What baulk'd pursuit must here for ever miss?

Amidst this cool, tranflucent rill,

That trickles down the glade,

Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,

And revel in the fhade.

No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,

E'er fhews his ruddy face;

Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone,
In this fequefter'd place.

Hither the vocal thrush repairs,
Secure the linnet fings;

The goldfinch dreads no flimy fnares,
To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt,
Yon diftant woods among *,
And round my friendly grotto chaunt
Thy fweetly-plaintive fong!

Let not the harmless red-breast fear,
Domestick bird, to come

And seek a fure asylum here,

With one that loves his home.

My trees for you, ye artless tribe,
Shall ftore of fruit preferve;

O let me thus your friendship bribe!
Come, feed without referve.

For you these cherries I protect,
To you thefe plums belong;

Sweet is the fruit that you have pick'd,

But fweeter far your fong.

Warley woods.

Let