Tell how ftorms deform the skies,
Whence the waves fubfide and rise,
Trace the comet's blazing tail,
Weigh the planets in a scale;
Bend, great God, before thy fhrine;
The bournlefs macrocofm's thine.

Since in each scheme of life I've fail'd,
And disappointment seems entail'd;
Since all on earth I valued moft,
My guide, my stay, my friend, is loft;
O Solitude, now give me reft,
And hush the tempeft in my breast.
O gently deign to guide my feet
To your hermit-trodden feat;
Where I may live at last my own,
Where I at laft may die unknown.
I spoke she turn'd her magic ray;
And thus the faid, or feem'd to say;
Youth, you're mistaken, if you think to find
In fhades, a med'cine for a troubled mind:
Wan grief will haunt you wherefoe'er you go,
Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow.
There, pale inaction pines his life away;
And fatiate mourns the quick return of day:
There, naked frenzy, laughing wild with pain,
Or bares the blade, or plunges in the main :
There, fuperftition broods o'er all her fears,
And yells of demons in the zephyr hears.
But if a hermit you're refolv'd to dwell,
And bid to focial life a laft farewell,
"Tis impious.-

God never made an independent man ;
'Twould jar the concord of his general plan.
See every part of that ftupendous whole,
"Whof body nature is, and God the foul;"
To one great end the general good confpire,
From matter, brute, to man, to feraph, fire.
Should man through nature solitary room,
His will his fovereign, every where his home,
What force would guard him from the lion's jaw?
What swiftnefs wing him from the panther s paw?
Or fhould fate lead him to fome fafer fhore,
Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar,
Where liberal nature all her charms beftows,

Sunshine, birds fing, flowers bloom, and water flow
Fool, doft thou think he'd revel on the store,
Abfolve the care of Heaven, nor ask for more?

Though waters flow'd, flow'rs bloom'd, and Phabus hore
Hed figh, he'd murmur, that he was alone.
For know, the Maker on the human breast
A fense of kindred, country, man, impress'd

Though nature's works the ruling mind declare, And well deferve inquiry's serious care,

"The God (whate'er mifanthropy may fay,)
Shines, beams in man with moft unclouded ray.
What boots it thee to fly from pole to pole?
Hang o'er the fun, and with the planets roll?
What boots through space's furtheft bourns to roam
A thou, O man, a ftranger art at home.
Then know thyfelf, the human mind furvey;
The ufe, the pleasure, will the toil repay.
Nor ftudy only, practise what you know;
Your life, your knowledge, to mankind you owe.
With Plato's olive wreath the bays entwine;
Those who in ftudy, should in practice thine.
Say, does the learned lord of Hagley's fhade,
Charm man fo much by moffy fountains laid,
As when arouf'd he ftems corruption's course,
And shakes the fenate with a Tully's force!
When freedom gasp'd beneath a Cefar's feet,
Then public virtue might to fhades retreat :
Put where the breathes, the leaft may useful be,
And freedom, Britain, ftill belongs to thee.
Though man's ungrateful, or though fortune frown ;
Is the reward of worth a fong, or crown?
Nor yet unrecompens'd are virtue's pains;
Good Allen lives, and bounteous Brunswick reigns.
On each condition disappointments wait,
Enter the hut, and force the guarded gate.
or dare repine though early friendship bleed :
om love, the world, and all its cares, he's freed.
ut know, adverfity's the child of God:
Thom Heaven approves of moft, muft feel her rod
When smooth old Ocean, and each storm's asleep,
hen ignorance may plough the watery deep;
ut when the demons of the tempeft rave,
Skill muft conduct the veffel through the wave.
dney, what good man envies not thy blow?
Who would not wifh Anytus* for a foe?
intrepid virtue triumphs over fate :
The good can never be unfortunate.
And be this maxim graven in thy mind;
The height of virtue is, to serve mankind.

But when old age has filver'd o'er thy head,
When memory fails, and all thy vigour's fled,
Then mayft thou feek the ftillness of retreat,

'hen hear aloof the human tempeft beat; 'hen will I greet thee to my woodland cave, Allay the pangs of age, and smooth thy grave. *One of the accusers of Socrates. FINIS.