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Corne, lovely nymph, and range the mead with me,

;

Fo fpring the partridge from the guileful foe From fecret fnares the struggling bird to free; And ftop the hand uprais'd to give the blow. And when the air with heat meridian glows, And nature droops beneath the conquering gleam, Let us, flow wandering where the current flows, Save finking flies that float along the stream. Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care, To me thy fympathetic gifts impart ; Teach me in friendship's griefs to bear a fhare, And justly boaft the generous feeling heart.. Teach me to footh the helpless orphan's grief; With timely aid the widow's woes affuage; To mifery's moving cries to yield relief;

And be the fure refource of drooping age. So when the genial fpring of life fhall fade, And linking nature own the dread decay, Some foul congenial then may lend its aid, And gild the clofe of life's eventful day.

SECTION V.

erfes fuppofed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, during his olitary abode in the land of Juan Fernandez. I AM monarch of all I furvey,

My right there is none to difpute;

From the centre all round to the fea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Oh folitude! where are the charms,
That fages have feen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone;
Never hear the fweet mufic of speech;
I start at the found of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference fee;
They are fo unacquainted with man,
Their tamanafe is shocking to me
Socievy, friendlaip, and love,
Divinely below'd upon m

(th, hud i the wings of a dere.
Hew on would I tafe

again t

My forrows I then might affuage

In the ways of religion and truth;
Might learn from the wifdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the fallies of youth.
Religion what treafure untold
Refides in that heavenly word!
More precious than filver or gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
But the found of the church-going bell
Thefe vallies and rocks never heard ;
Never figh'd at the found of a knell,
Or fmil'd when a Sabbath appear'd.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this defolate fhore,
Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I fhall vifit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wifh or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to fee.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compar'd with the fpeed of its flight,
The tempeft itself lags behind,

And the fwift-wing'd arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I feem to be there :
But alas recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the fea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beaft is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.
'here's mercy in every place;

And mercy! (encouraging thought)
ives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

SECTION VI.

Gratitude.

WHEN all thy mercies, O my God!
My rifing foul furveys,

Transported with the view, I'm loft
In wonder, love, and praise.
U

COWPER.

O how fhall words with equal warmth,
The gratitude declare,

That glows within my ravish'd heart?
But thou canst read it there.
Thy providence my life fuftain'd,
And all my wants redrest,
When in the filent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.

To all my weak complaints and cries,
Thy mercy lent an ear,

Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt
To form themselves in pray'r.
Unnumber'd comforts to my foul
Thy tender care bestow'd,
Before my infant heart conceiv'd

From whom those comforts flow'd.
When, in the flipp'ry paths of youth,
With heedlefs steps I ran,
Thine arm, unfeen, convey'd me safe,
And led me up to man.

Through`hidden dangers, toils, and deaths,
It gently clear'd my way;
And through the pleafing fnares of vice,
More to be fear'd than they.

When worn with ficknefs, oft haft thou
With health renew'd my face,

And, when in fin and forrow funk,
Reviv'd my foul with grace.

Thy bounteous hand, with worldly blifs,
Has made my cup run o'er ;
And, in a kind and faithful friend,
Has doubled my store.

Ten thousand thoufand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ ;
Nor is the leaft, a cheerful heart,
That taftes thofe gifts with joy.

Through every period of my life,,
Thy goodness I'll purfue;
And after death, in diftant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.

When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more,

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My ever grateful heart, O Lord!
Thy mercy fhall adore.

Through all eternity, to thee

A joyful fong I'll raise,
For O! eternity's too short
To utter all thy praise.

SECTION VII.

ADDISON.

A Man peribing in the Snow; from whence Reflections are raifed on the Miferies of Life.

AS THUS the fnows arife; and foul and fierce,
All winter drives along the darken'd air;
In his own loofe revolving fields, the fwain
Difafter'd ftands; fees other hills afcend,
Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,
Of horrid profpect, fhag the trackless plain;
Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid
Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on
From hill to dale, still more and more aftray;
Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps,
Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of home
Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth
In many a vain attempt. How finks his foul !
What black despair, what horror fills his heart!
When, for the dusky fpot, which fancy feign'd
His tufted cottage rifing through the fnow,
He meets the roughness of the middle waste,
Far from the track and bleft abode of man ;
While round him night refiftlefs clofes fast,
And ev'ry tempeft howling o'er his head,
Renders the favage wilderness more wild.
Then throng the bufy fhapes into his mind,
Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep,

A dire defcent, beyond the pow'r of frost;
Of faithlefs bogs; of precipices huge,
Smooth'd up with fnow; and what is land, unknown,
What water, of the still unfrozen fpring,

In the loose marsh or folitary lake,

Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils.
These check his fearful steps; and down he finks
Beneath the fhelter of the fhapeless drift,
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,
Mix'd with the tender anguish nature shoots
Through the wrung bofom of the dying man,

His wife, his children, and his friends unseen.
In vain for him th' officious wife prepares
The fire fair blazing, and the vestment warm;
In vain his little children, peeping out

Into the mingled ftorm, demand their fire
With tears of artlefs innocence. Alas!

Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold;
Nor friends, nor facred home. On every nerve
The deadly winter feizes; fhuts up fenfe;
And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold,
Lays him along the fnows a ftiffen'd corfe,
Stretch'd out and bleaching in the northern blast.
Ah little think the gay licentious proud,

Whom pleasure, power and affluence furround;
They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel riot, waste;

Ah! little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death,
And all the fad variety of pain.

How many fink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame! How many bleed,
By fhameful variance betwixt man and man!
How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms,
Shut from the common air, and common ufe
Of their own limbs! How many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of mifery! Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many fhrink into the fordid hut
Of cheerless poverty! How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded paffion, madness, guilt, remorfe!
How many, rack'd with honeft paffions, droop
In deep retir'd diftrefs! How many stand
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends,
And point the parting anguish! Thought, fond man,
Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
That one inceffant ftruggle render life
One scene of toil, of fuffering, and of fate,
Vice in his high career would ftand appall'd,
And heedlefs rambling impulfe learn to think;
The conscious heart of charity would warm,
And her wide with benevolence dilate;
The focial tear would rife, the focial figh,
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,
Refining ftill, the focial paffions work.

THOMSON.

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