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Where is thy bliss-thy fame-thy mysteries where?
-Thee while I follow, Time already, see,
Has touch'd with blighting hand my auburn hair,
And smiles contemptuous when I point to thee.

-Oh carol as thou goest, thou village hind!
And whistle, as thou break'st the furrow'd plain;
Gay is thy heart, for vacant is thy mind,

Not thine the thoughts that labouring mourn in vain.

Ye, too, who sport in pleasure's rosy ray,

Who mock the student, and his griefs despise,
To me all maniac seem'd your frolics gay;
Yet blest your madness, and your folly wise.

Can learning's toil th' eternal cause reveal,

Say, why thus mix'd our virtues and our doom, Teach, what the powers within that think and feel, Or tell the shuddering secrets of the tomb ?

These splendid wonders, and these mysteries high,
Are these for reasoning man too poor a theme?
Can helpless nature cast on these her eye,

And long not, sigh not, for a brighter beam?

Ye glittering stars, that while to heaven I raise
My thoughts, in wilder'd musings lost--destroy'd-
Ye glittering stars, that meet my lonely gaze,
In careless grandeur scatter'd o'er the void;

Ye Worlds on Worlds, that silent and serene,

Seem nought of trouble or of pain to know; Ohdwells there aught within your distant scene, Aught that can think and feel, like man below?

Ye spirits that secure from earthly woes,

Far thro' yon azure realms in rapture speed;

Or soar where full the living glory flows,

And hymn at heav'n's high throne th' ecstatic meed;

By heaven's own influence blest, inform'd, inspir'd,
On human reasonings darkened and forlorn,
On minds, like mine, by endless mazes tir'd,
Oh look ye down in pity or in scorn?

2

Eternal

ternal Being; thou that 'midst the blaze

Of seraph hosts-what sudden tremors chill? Oh! lift not up, my soul, thy venturous gaze, Down-sink into thyself-be mute-be still.

ELEGY II.

TO WISDOM.

From the Same.

BESIDE this russet heath, this forest drear,

That strews with yellow leaves the moistened plain;
Here, where the green path winds, ah Wisdom! here,
Did once my daring lyre to thee complain.

Soft was the midnight air that sooth'd my frame,
In thought severe had pass'd the studious day:
Cold paus'd the spirits, and th' ethereal flame
In dim and languid musings died away.

Calm, silent, all-I seemed with step forlorn
Singly to wander on a desert world;

I started when the bird first hail'd the morn,
That wide had now his reddening clouds unfurl'd.

Returning seasons since have pass'd away;

Oft has the spring with violets deck'd the vale, The bee oft humm'd along the summer day, And the lake darken'd in the wintry gale.

In youth's bright morn how boldly on the mind,
Rise the wild forms of thought in colours new;
'Tis Time, and Time alone, whose skill refin'd
The picture slowly gives to nature true.

Thee, Wisdom, could I chide, thy gifts decry?
Turn from thy bliss by restless ardor fired?
-How like these idle leaves that withered lic,
Seem now the fancies that my soul inspired!

Who smile at fortune, and who conquer pain?

Whose is the world in fame's bright visions shewn?

Who wake th' unconscious mind, the barren plain,
And wield great nature's strength from reason's throne?

If thy blest votaries mourn, oh where shall end
Man's wayward sorrows, and his wishes blind;

If from thy sacred paths his steps he bend,
What rest, what refuge shall his wanderings find.

Not

Not like the sage my daring mind I wing
Aloft to bear the ensigns of thy power;
Yet Wisdom come, and all thy pleasures bring
To bless the silence of my lonely hour.

Come, to my chasten'd mind thy realms reveal,
(The glimmering path, the thorny maze I leave)
Calm realms, where life a modest bliss may steal,
Nor reason toil in vain nor hope deceive.

Scare thou the finer dreams that idly please;
Oh let not studious pride its strength abuse,
Nor lofty indolence in selfish ease,

In passive thought, the golden moments lose.

When roams the mind to worlds in darkness closed,
When sinks the humbled heart, and sighs to thee;
Tell thou of manly faith on God reposed,
And hope shall picture what thou can'st not see.

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She gives my looks their careless air,
She gives my thoughts eternal wing ;
She gives me bliss-can you do more?
Oh! never gave ye such a treasure,
Be wisdom your's-I'll not deplore,
Be Folly mine-and all her pleasure.
Ah! what were life, of Folly reft?

A world which no kind sun could warm,
A child, to step-dame reason left;

No sweet to please-no toy to charm ;
Where, nirth, were then thy frolic gleams;
Where, wit, thy whims and gay effusions,
And where, O hope! thy golden dreams,
Enchanting smiles, and dear delusions,

How, think you, would poor friendship fare,
Did Folly never friendship blind,
And had not love found Folly there,
How soon had love the world resign'd;
And is it not at honey moon,

That Hymen laughs at melancholy?
And would he mournful look so soon,
If still he kept on terms with Folly.

What soldier would consent to fight,
What tar be to the bottom hurl'd,
What poet sing—what scholar write,
Were Folly banish'd from the world?
Tell me whom most this goddess rules,
Is it the patients or physicians?
Whom shall we call the greatest fools,
The people or the politicians?
With charms in opera, ball, or play,
Did Folly not the scene attend,
How poor the rich, how sad the gay,
Were Folly not their truest friend;
How ever should we hope to find,

Pleased with itself each happy creature,
If all were wise and none were blind,
And Folly never succour'd nature.
For once be wise, ye grave one's hear,
Why need I more my theme pursue,
If all alike such fools appear,

Let me with smiles be pardon'd too ;
Wisdom you love—and so do I—
Am no derider-no despiser,
But I of fools the grave ones fly,

And think the merry fools the wiser.

EPIGRAM ON A DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENT.

From Travelling Recreations,

BY W. PARSONS.

JOHN calls his wife his better half,

His place so oft is fill'd by

But half of her he has, 'tis true;
The house and carriage John supplies,
Ralph nothing pays for which the wise
Think John's the worst half of the two!

EPIGRAM

ON A PURSE-PROUD INSOLENT MAN, WHO HAD MADE

A LARGE FORTUNE IN THE EAST INDIES.

POME

OMPOSO still boasts of his lacks of rupees :
When he swaggers with airs of importance, 'tis fit,

Other lacks be allowed him in union with these,
Vast lacks of good-breeding, discernment and wit!

ON

!

DE

ON THE ORIGIN OF EVIL.

From the Same.

EAR Seward! ever since this earth
And all its strange contents had birth,
Philosophers have tried their skill
To trace the origin of ill,

And tell why Vice and Woe prevail,
Till trite their subject is, and stale.

For this, the learn'd of diff'rent nations
Surprize us with such odd narrations,
For this, the Grecian sage unlocks
The mischiefs of Pandora's box,
While Typhon fills th' Egyptian strain,
And Runic bards of Lok complain.

But I, whate'er may be their boast,
Applaud the Syrian system most,
By which the first man-and his wife,
In the fourth heav'n* began their life,
And there amid those blissful plains,
No vices knew, and felt no pains.

In these sad times a modern sinner,
Without some trouble gets no dinner.
He first, alas! must buy his meat,
Nor then, without a cook, can eat.
But cares like these ne'er broke their quiet,
Ambrosia was their constant diet,

Pure food, which needs no human aid,
Nor e'er unseemly ordure made,
But through the skin, as sages say,
In od'rous dews exhales away!

So pass'd their days, in full delight,
Till some gross viand met their sight,
As Jews and Christians both believe
An apple first corrupted Eve:
Too curious, then, and gluttons grown,
Sudden they siez'd-and gulp'd it down.

ye,

Scarce had they gratified their sense
Ere came the dreadful consequence:
Sharp pangs, unfelt before, they tell
Usurp'd the region of the belly,
While the strange food, in durance pent,
Roar'd loud and struggled for a vent.

*The Apostle Paul mentions the third heaven; but how the Syrians discovered a fourth the author is not informed,

Ferd

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