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And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his thestThyself remov'd, thy pow'r to soothe me left.

But will sincerity suslice?
It is indeed above all price,

And must be made ihe basis;
But ev'ry virtue of the soul
Must constitute the charming whole,

All shining in their places.

FRIENDSHIP.

A fretful temper will divide
The closest knot that may be tied,

By ceaseless sharp corrosion ; A temper passionate and fierce May suddenly your joys disperse

At one immense explosion.

What virtue, or what mental grace, But men unqualified and base

Will boast it their possession? Profusion apes the noble part Of liberalily of heart,

And dullness, of discretion. If every polish'd gem we find Illuminating heart or mind,

Provoke to imitation;
No wonder friendship does the same,
That jewel of the purest flame,

Or rather constellation.
No knave but boldly will pretend
The requisites that form a friend,

A real and a sound one;
Nor any fool, he would deceive,
But prove as ready to believe,

And dream that he had found one.

In vain the talkative unite
In hopes of permanent delight-

The secret just committed,
Forgetting its important weight,
They drop through mere desire to prate,

And by themselves outwitted.

How bright soe'er the prospect seems,
All thoughts of friendship are but dreams

If envy chance to creep in;
An envious man, if you succeed,
May prove a Jang'rous foe indeed,

But not a friend worth keeping.

As envy pines at good possess’d,
So jealousy looks forth distress'd

On good, that seems approaching; And, if success his steps attend, Discerns a rival in a friend,

And hates him for encroaching.

Hence authors of illustrious name, Unless belied by common fame,

Are sadly prone to quarrel, To deem the wit a friend displays A tax upon their own just praise,

And pluck each other's laurel.

A man renown'd for repartee
Will seldom scruple to make free

With friendship's finest feeling; Will thrust a dagger at your breast, And say he wounded you in jest,

By way of balm for healing.

Candid, and generous, and just,
Boys care but little whom they trust,

An error soon corrected
For who but learns in riper years,
That man, when smoothest he appears,

Is most to be suspected ?
But here again a danger lies,
Lest, having misapplied our eyes,

And taken trash for treasure,
We should unwarily conclude
Friendship a false ideal good,

A mere Utopian pleasure.
An acquisition rather rare
Is yet no subject of despair;

Nor is it wise complaining,
If either on forbidden ground,
Or where it was not to be found,

We sought without attaining.
No friendship will abide the test,
That stands on sordid interest,

Or mean self-love erected; Nor such as may awhile subsist, Between the sot and sensualist,

For vicious ends connected. Who seek a friend should come dispos'd, T exhibit in full bloom disclos'd

The graces and the beauties,
That form the character he seeks,
For 'tis a union that bespeaks

Reciprocated duties.
Mutual attention is implied,
And equal truth on either side,

And constantly supported :
'Tis senseless armgance t'accuse
Another of sinister views,

Our own as much distorted.

Whoever keeps an open ear
For tattlers, will be sure to hear

The trumpet of contention; Aspersion is the babbler's trade, To listen is to lend him aid,

And rush into dissension.

A friendship, that in frequent fits
Of controversial rage emits

The sparks of disputation,
Like Hand-in-Hand insurance plates,
Most unavoidably creates

The thought of conflagration.

Some fickle creatures boast a soul
True as a needle to the Pole,

Their humor yet so various
They manifest their whole life through
The needle's deviation too,

Their love is so precarious

The great and small but rarely meet
On terms of amity complete ;

Plebeians must surrender,
And yield so much to noble folk,
It is combining fire with smoke,

Obscurity with splendor.

As similarity of mind,
Or something not to be defin'd,

First fixes our attention ;
So manners decent and polite,
The sarne we practis'd at first sight,

Must save it from declension.

Some are so placid and serene,
(As Irish bogs are always green)

They sleep secure from waking; And are indeed a bog, that bears Your unparticipated cares,

Unmov'd and without quaking.

Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Their betrogeneous politics

Without an effervescence,
Like that of salts with lemon-juice,
Which does not yet like that produce

A friendly coalescence.

Religion should extinguish strife,
And make a calm of human life;

But friends that chance to differ
On points which God has left at large,
How freely will they meet and charge!

No combatants are stiffer.

Some act upon this prudent plan,
“ Say little, and hear all you can :"

Safe policy, but hateful-
So barren sands imbibe the show'r,
But render neither fruit nor flow'r,

Unpleasant and ungrateful.
The man I trust, if shy to me,
Shall find me as reserv'd as he ;

No subterfuge or pleading
Shall win my confidence again,
I will by no means entertain

A spy on my proceeding.
These samples for alas! at last
These are but samples, and a taste

Of evils yet untention'
May prove the task a task indeed,
In which 'tis much if we succeed,

However well-intention'd.
Pursue the search, and you will find
Good sense and knowledge of mankind

To be at least expedient,
And, after summing all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast,

A principal ingredient.
The noblest friendship ever shown
The Savior's history makes known,

Though some have turn'd and turn'd i
And, whether being craz'd or blind,
Or seeking with a biass'd mind,

Have not, it seems, discern'd it.
O Friendship! if my soul forego
Thy dear delights while here below;

To mortify and grieve me,
May I myself at last appear
Unworthy, base, and insincere,

Or may my friend deceive me.

To prove at last my main intent
Needs no expense of argument,

No cutting and contriving
Seeking a real friend, we seem
T" adopt the chymists' golden dream,
With still less hope of thriving.

Sometimes the fault is all our own, Some blemish in due time made known,

By trespass or omission; Sometimes occasion brings to light Our friend's defect long hid from sight,

And even from suspicion.

C'hen judge yourself and prove your man As circumspectly as you can,

And, having made election, Beware no negligence of yours, Such as a friend but ill endures,

Enfeeble his affection.

RETIREMENT.

Chat secrets are a sacred trust,
That friends should be sincere and just,

That constancy befits them,
Are observations on the case,
That savor much of commonplace,

And all the world admits them.

........... studiis florens ignobilis oti.

Virg. Georg p.iv.

But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone, An architect requires alone,

To finish a fine buildingThe palace were but half complete, If he could possibly forget

The carving and the gilding.

HACKNEY'D in business, wearied at that oar
Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego;
The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,
Where, all his long anxieties forgot
Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot,
Or recollected only to gild o'er,
And add a smile to what was sweet before,
He may possess the joys he thinks he sees,
Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease,
Improve the remnant of his wasted span,
And, having liv'd a trifler, die a man.

The man that hails you Tom or Jack,
And proves by thumps upon your back

How he esteems your merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,

To pardon or lo bear it.

Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, At such a sight to catch the poet's flame,
Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd, And with a rapture like his own exclaim,
And calls a creature form'd for God alone,

* These are thy glorious works, thoa source of good For Heaven's high purposes, and not his own, How dimly seen, how faintly understood! Calls him away from selfish ends and aims,

Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, From what debilitates, and what inflames,

This universal frame, thus wondrous fair; From cities humming with a restless crowd, Thy pow'r divine, and bounty beyond thought, Sordid as active, ignorant as loud,

Ador'd and prais'd in all that thou hast wrought Whose highest praise is that they live in vain, Absorb'd in that immensity I see, The dopes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain, I shrink abas'd, and yet aspire to thee; Where works of man are closter'd close around, Instruct me, guide me to that heav'nly day, And works of God are hardly to be found, Thy words, more clearly than thy works, display, To regions where, in spite of sin and woe,

That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine. Traces of Eden are still seen below,

I may resemble thee, and call thee mine."
Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove, O blest proficiency! surpassing all.
Remind him of his Maker's pow'r and love. That men erroneously their glory call,
"Tis well if, look'd for at so late a day,

The recompense that arts or arms can yield,
In the last scene of such a senseless play,

The bar, the senate, or the tented field, True wisdom will attend his feeble call,

Compard with this sublimest life below, And grace his action ere the curtain fall.

Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to show! Souls, that have long despis'd their hearinly birth, This studied, us'd and consecrated thus. Their wishes all impregnated with Earth,

On Earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us. For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care Not as the plaything of a froward child, In catching spoke and feeding upon air,

Fretful unless diverted and beguild, Conversant only with the ways of man,

Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires Rarely redeem the short remaining ten.

of pride, ambition, or impure desires, Invet' rate habits choke th' unfruitful heart, But as a scale, by which the soul ascends Their fibres penetrate its tend'rest part,

From mighty means to more important ends, And, draining its natritious pow'rs to feed

Securely, though by steps but rarely trod, Their noxious growth, starve ev'ry better seed. Mounts from inferior beings up to God,

Happy, if full of days—but happier far, And sees, by no fallacious light or dim, If, ere we yet discern life's ev'ning-star,

Earth made for man, and man himself for him. Sick of the service of a world, that feeds

Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds, A superstitious and monastic course: We can escape from Custom's idiot sway,

Truth is not local, God alike pervades To serve the Sov'reign we were born t' obey. And fills the world of traffie and the shades, Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes, (Infinite skill) in all that he has made!

Or scorn'd where business never intervenes.
To trace in Nature's most minute design

But 'tis not easy, with a mind like ours,
The signature and stamp of power divine, Conscious of weakness in its noblest pow'rs,
Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease,

And in a world, where, other ills apart,
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees,

| The roving eye misleads the careless heart, The shapely limb and lubricated joint,

To limit thought, by nature prone to stray Within the small dimensions of a point,

Wherever freakish fancy points the way; Muscle and nerve miraculously spun,

To bid the pleadings of Self-love be still, His mighty work, who speaks and it is done, Resign our own, and seek our Maker's will; Th' invisible in things scarce seen reveald, To spread the page of Scripture, and compare To whom an atom is an ample field;

Our conduct with the laws engraven there ;
To wonder at a thousand insect forms,

To measure all that passes in the breast,
These hatch'd and those resuscitated worms, Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test;
New life ordain'd and brighter scenes to share, To dive into the secret deeps within,
Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, To spare no passion and no fav’rite sin,
Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and size, And search the themes, important above all,
More hideous foes than fancy can devise;

Ourselves, and our recov'ry from our sall.
With helmet-heads, and dragon-scales adorn'd, But leisure, silence, and a mind releas'd
The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd, From anxious thoughts how wealth may be increas
Would mock the majesty of man's high birth, How to secure in some propitious hour,
Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth :

The point of int'rest, or the post of pow'r, Then with a glance of fancy to survey,

A soul serene, and equally retir'd Far as the faculty can stretch away,

From objects too much dreaded or desir'd, Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command Safe from the clamors of perverse dispute, From urns, that never fail, through ev'ry land; At least are friendly to the great pursuit. These like a deluge with impetuous force,

Opining the map of God's extensive plan, Those winding modestly a silent course;

We find a little isle this life of man; The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales; Eternity's unknown expanse appears Seas, on which ev'ry nation spreads her sails ; Circling around and limiting his years. The Sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, The busy race examine and explore The crescent Moon, the diadem of night; Each creek and cavern of the dang rous shore, Stars countless, each in his appointed place, With care collect what in their eyes excels, Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space

Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shell

Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great,
And happiest he that groans beneath his weight;
The waves o'ertake thein in their serious play,
And ev'ry hour sweeps multitudes away ;
They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep,
Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep.
A few forsake the throng; with lifted eyes
Ask wealth of Heav'n, and gain a real prize,
Truth, wisdom, grace, and peace, like that above,
Seal'd with his signet, whom they serve and love;
Scorn'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait
A kind release from their imperfect state,
And, unregretted, are soon snatch'd away
From scenes of sorrow into glorious day.

Nor these alone prefer a life recluse,
Who seek retirement for its proper use;
The love of change, that lives in ev'ry breast,
Genius and temper, and desire of rest,
Discordant motives in one centre meet,
And each inclines its vot'ry to retreat.
Some minds by nature are averse to noise,
And hate the tumult half the world enjoys,
The lure of av'rice, or the pompous prize,
That courts display before ambitious eyes;
The fruits that hang on pleasure's flow'ry stem,
Whate'er enchants them, are no snares to them
To them the deep recess of dusky groves,
Or forest, where the deer securely roves,
The fall of waters, and the song of birds,
And hills that echo to the distant herds,
Are luxuries excelling all the glare
The world can boast, and her chief fav'rites share.
With eager step, and carelessly array'd,
For such a cause the poet seeks the shade,
From all he sees he catches new delight,
Pleas'd Fancy clasps her pinions at the sight,
The rising or the setting orb of day,
The clouds that fit, or slowly float away,
Nature in all the various shapes she wears,
Frowning in storms, or breathing gentle airs,
The snowy robe her wintry state assumes,
Hor summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes,
All, all alike transport the glowing bard,
Success in rhyme his glory and reward.
O Nature! whose Elysian scenes disclose
His bright perfections, at whose word they rose,
Next to that Pow'r, who form'd thee and sustains,
Be thou the great inspirer of my strains.
Still, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand
Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand,
That I may catch a fire but rarely known,
Give useful light, though I should miss renown
And, poring on thy page, whose ev'ry line
Bears proof of an intelligence divine,
Máy feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays,
That builds its glory on its Maker's praise.
Woe to the man, whose wit disclaims its use,
Glitt'ring in vain, or only to seduce,
Who studies Nature with a wanton eye,
Admires the work, but slips the lesson by ;
His hours of leisure and recess employs
In drawing pictures of forbidden joys,
Retires to blazon his own worthless name,
Or shoot the careless with a surer aim.

The lover, too, shuns business and alarms,
Tender idolater of absent charms.
Saints offer nothing in their warmest pray'rs,
That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs;
"Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time,
And ev'ry thought that wanders is a crime.

93

In sighs he worships his supremely fair,
And weeps a sad libation in despair;
Adores a creature, and, devout in vain,
Wins in return an answer of disdain.
As woodbine weds the plant within her reach,
Rough elm, or smooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech,
In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays
Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays,
But does a mischief while she lends a grace,
Strait'ning its growth by such a strict embrace ;
So love, that clings around the noblest minds,
Forbids th' advancement of the soul he binds;
The suitor's air, indeed, he soon improves,
And forms it to the taste of her he loves,
Teaches his eyes a language, and no less
Refines his speech, and fashions his address;
But farewell promises of happier fruits,
Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits;
Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break,
His only bliss is sorrow for her sake;
Who will may pant for glory and excel,
Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell!
| Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name.
May least offend against so pure a flame,
Though sage advice of friends the most sincere
Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear,
And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild,
Can least brook management, however mild,
Yet let a poet (poetry disarms
The fiercest animals with magic charms)
Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood,
And woo and win thee to thy proper good.
Pastoral images and still retreats,
Umbrageous walks and solitary seats,
Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams,
Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day-dreams,
Are all enchantments in a case like thine,
Conspire against thy peace with one design,
Soothe thee to make thee but a surer prey,
And feed the fire that wastes thy pow'rs away.
Up-God has form’d thee with a wiser view,
Not to be led in chains, but to subdue;
Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first
Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst.
Woman, indeed, a gift he would bestow
When he design'd a Paradise below,
The richest earthly boon his hands afford,
Deserves to be belov'd, but not ador'd.
Post away swiftly to more active scenes,
Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans,
Mix with the world, but with its wiser part,
No longer give an image all thine heart;
Its empire is not hers, nor is it thine,
"Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine.

Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill
Attempts no task it cannot well fulfil,
Gives melancholy up to Nature's care,
And sends the patient into purer air.
Look where he comes--in this embower'd alcove
Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move:
Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow,
Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below,
Interpret to the marking eye distress,
Such as its symptoms can alone express.
That tongue is silent now; that silent tongue
Could argue once, could jest or join the song,
Could give advice, could censure or commend,
Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend
Renounc'd alike its office and its sport
Its brisker and its graver strains fall short;

3 M2

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 thogsand 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 langnishing for that repose,
Pierc'd with the woes that she laments in vain. The servant of ihe 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. LA falling empire, basten 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 inolest, 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 Jebate Forg'ry of fancy, and a dream of woes ;

The disencumberà 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 royes,

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

What charms he sees in Freedom's smile expressid, That passes all he sees upheeded by ;

In Freedom lost so long, now repossessid ; 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 suffører 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 travel'd 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 bis meals, how 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,

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