In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the fpring,
When heaven defcends in fhowers or bends the bough
When summer reddens, and when autumn beams
Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies
Conceal'd and fattens with the richest fap
These are not wanting; nor the milky drove
Luxuriant, fpread o'er all the lowing vale
Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams
And hum of bees, inviting fleep fincere
Into the guiltless breaft, beneath the fhade
Or, thrown at large amid the fragrant hay
Nor aught befides of profped, grove, or fong,
Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountains clear.
Here too dwells fimple truth; plain innocence
Unfullied beauty; found unbroken youth
Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd
Health ever blooming; unambitious toil 1
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.

SECTION IX.

THOMSON.

The Pleafure and Benefit of an improved and well directed

Imagination.

OH! bleft of Heaven, whom not the languid fongs
Of luxury, the firen! not the bribes

Of fordid wealth, nor all the gaudy fpoils

Of pageant honour, can seduce to leave

Thofe ever blooming fweets, which from the ftore
Of nature, fair imagination culls,

To charm th' enliven'd foul! What tho' not all
Of mortal offspring can attain the height
Of envy'd life: tho' only few poffefs
Patrician treafures, or imperial ftate
Yet nature's care, to all her children juft,
With richer treasures, and an ampler state,.
Endows at large whatever happy man
Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp
The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns
The princely, dome, the column and the arch,
The breathing marble and the fculptur'd gold,
Beyond the proud poffeffor's narrow claim
His tuneful breaft enjoys. For him, the fpring
Diftils her dews, and from the filken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds for him, the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch

With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.

Each paffing hour sheds tribute from her wings
And ftill new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow; not a cloud imbibes
The fetting fun's effulgence; not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling fhade
Afcends; but whence his bofom can partake
Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes
Fresh pleasure only; for th' attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her powers,
Becomes herself harmonious: wont fo oft
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of facred order, soon she seeks at home,
To find a kindred order; to exert
Within herself this elegance of love,

This fair infpir'd delight: her temper'd powers
Refine at length, and every paffion wears
A chafter, milder, more attractive mien.
But if to ampler profpects, if to gaze
On nature's form, where, negligent of all
Thefe leffer graces, fhe affumes the port
Of that eternal Majefty that weigh'd
The world's foundations, if to thefe the mind
Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far

Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms
Of fervile custom cramp her generous powers?
Would fordid policies, the barb'rous growth
Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down
To tame purfuits, to indolence and fear?
Lo! fhe appeals to nature, to the winds
And rolling waves, the fun's unwearied course,
The elements and feafons: all declare
For what th' eternal MAKER has ordain'd
The powers of man: we feel within ourselves
His energy divine: he tells the heart,
He meant, he made us to behold and love
What he beholds and loves, the general orb
Of life and being; to be great like Him,
Beneficent and active. Thus the men

Whom nature's works inftruct, with God himself
Hold converfe; grow familiar, day by day,
With his conceptions; act upon his plan;
And form to his, the relish of their fouls.

AKENSIDE.

CHAP. V.

PATHETIC PIECES.

SECTION I.

The Hermit.

AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is ftill,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's fong in the grove
'Twas thus by the cave of the mountain afar,

While his harp rung fymphonious, a hermit began ;
No more with himself or with nature at war,
He thought as a fage, tho' he felt as a man.
"Ab! why, all abandon'd to darkness and wo;
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall?
For fpring fhall return, and a lover bestow,
And forrow no longer thy bosom inthral.
But, if pity infpire thee, renew the fad lay,

Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; O foth him, whofe pleasures like thine pafs away: Fall quickly they pass-but they never return. "Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, "Ihe moon half extinguish'd her crefcent difplays: But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high

She fhone, and the planets were loft in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladnefs pursue

The path that conducts thee to splendour again; But man's faded glory what change fhall renew! Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain !

"'Tis night, and the landfcape is lovely no more :

I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt ring with dew. Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

bind nature the embryo bloffom will fave:

But when fhall fpring vifit the mouldering urn!

>

when shall day dawn on the night of the grave!

was thus by the glare of falfe science betray'd,
hat leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind;

My thoughts wont to roam, from fhade onward to fhade,
Ieftruction before me, and forrow behind.

O pity, great Father of light, then I cry'd,

Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee!

10, humbled in duft, I relinquish my pride;

From doubt and from darkness thou only canft free.

And darknefs and doubt are now flying away;

No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn :

So breaks on the traveller, faint and aftray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.

See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!
On the cold cheek of death fmiles and rofes are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."

SECTION II.

The Beggar's Petition.

PITY the forrows of a poor old man,

BEATTIE.

Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whofe days are dwindled to the fhorteft fpan;

Oh! give relief, and Heaven will blefs

your store. 2 Thefe tatter'd clothes my poverty befpeak,

Thefe hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years: And many a furrow in my grief worn cheek

Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

Yon houfe erected on the rifing ground,

With tempting afpect drew me from my road;
For plenty there a refidence has found,
And grandeur a magnificent abode.

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor !

Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,
To feek a fhelter in a humbler shed.

1 take me to your hofpitable dome;
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my paffage to the friendly tomb ;
For I am poor and miferably old.

Should I reveal the fources of my grief,

If foft humanity e'er touch'd your breaft,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be represt.

Heaven fends misfortunes, why fhould we repine?
'Tis Heav'n has brought me to the ftate you fee ;
And your condition may be foon like mine,
The child of forrow and of mifery.

little farm was my paternal lot;

Then like the lark I fprightly hail'd the morn;
But ah! oppreffion forc'd me from my cot,
My cattle dy'd, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is caft abandon'd on the world's wide flage,
And doom'd in fcanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!
Struck with fad anguifh at the stern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair,

And left the world to wretchednefs and me.

Pity the forrows of a poor old man,

Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,

Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will bless

SECTION III.

Unhappy Clofe of Life.

your store.

How fhocking muft thy fummons be, O Death!
To him that is at eafe in his poffeffions!

Who, counting on long years of pleasure here,
1. quite unfurnifh'd for the world to come !
In hat dread moment, how the frantic foul
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement;
Runs to each avenue, and fhrieks for help;
But fhrieks in vain! How wifhfully fhe looks
On all fhe's leaving, now no longer hers!
A little longer; yet a little longer;
O might the ftay to wash away her stains;
And fit her for her paffage! Mournful fight!
Her very eyes weep blood; and every groan
She heaves is big with horror. But the foe,
Like a ftaunch murd'rer, fteady to his purpose,
Fur fues her close through every lane of life
Nor miffes once the track, but preffes on,
Till, forc'd at last to the tremendous verge,
At once the finks to everlasting ruin.

UT

SECTION IV.

Elegy to Pity.

;

R. BLAIR.

HAL, lovely power! whofe bofom heaves the figh,
When fancy paints the fcene of deep diftrefs;
Whofe tears fpontaneous cryftallize the eye,
When rigid fate denies the power to bless.
Not all the fweets Arabia's gales convey

From flowery meads, can with that figh compare ;
Not dew-drops glittering in the morning ray
eem near fo beauteo that falling tea.
Devoid of car, the fawns around the play;
Emblem of peace, the dove before thee Hes
No blood-ftain'd traces mark thy blameless way.
Beneath thy haplett inte dies.