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Thou giv'st the night, and thou the day!
Her melodies to thee belong !
The evening slowly spreads her shade;
And lead the soften'd heart to thee.
In every form by thee impress’d,
A voice is heard of praise and love. 4. As o'er thy work the seasons roll,
And sooth, with change of bliss, the soul,
The happy end.
Who liv'd averse to sin !
The good man's joys begin.
See the kind angels waiting now,
To lift his soul on high !
Who taught him how to die.
In vain their gloom display ;
Their darkness into day.
As from the sinner's breast : His God, the God of peace
and love, Pours sweetest comforts from above, And sooths his heart to rest !
SECTION XXVIII. A kind and gentle temper of great importance to the happiness
And half our mis'ry from our foibles springs ;
A small unkindness is a great offence.
But all may shun the guilt of giving pain.
To all the gift of minist'ring to ease. 3. The gentle offices of patient love,
Beyond all flatt'ry, and all price above;
And crush'd ill fortune when it made a friend. 4. A solitary blessing few can find ;
Our joys with those we love are intertwin'd:
5. Small slights, contempt, neglect, unmix'd with hate,
Make up in number what they want in weight :
In the genuine attractions of nature array'd :
Still laugh at the graces that move in thy train. 2. No charm in thy modest allurements they find ;
The pleasures they follow a sting leave behind.
Like virtue, with peace, and serenity blest? 3. O would you Simplicity's precepts attend,
Like us, with delight at her altar you'd bend;
You'd practise from virtue, and love them from taste. 4. The linnet enchants us the bushes among ;
Though cheap the musician, yet sweet is the song :
And with ecstasy hang on the ravishing notes:
And our food, nor disease, nor satiety brings :
Our evenings are pleasant, our nights crown'd with rest. 6. From our culture yon garden its ornament finds,
And we catch at the hint of improving our minds ;
And we mark by our actions the days as they fly 7. Since such are the joys that Simplicity yields,
We may well be content with our woods and our fields. How useless to us, then, ye great, were your wealth, When without it we purchase both pleasure and health.
Care and Generosity. 1. Old Care, with industry and art,
At length so well had play'd his part,
That av’rice could not sigh for more.
His coffers overflow'd with gold.
The land all round him was his own,
With corn his crowded gran’ries groan. 3. In short, so vast his charge and gain,
That to possess them was a pain :
And much too prudent to be wise.
With all the charms of youth array'd ;
Her name was Generosity.
On rich and poor, on friend and foe.
The pilgrim there might safe abide. 6. For th’ hungry and the thirsty crew,
The bread she broke, the drink she drew,
And there distress could find a bed.
Diffus'd the blessings round the land.
And num’rous was th' accepting throng. 8. At length pale pen'ry seiz'd the dame,
And fortune fled, and ruin came;
And that she had not made one friend. 9. All blam'd her for not giving more,
Nor thought on what she'd done before.
When lo! to comfort her, came Care; 10. And cried, "My dear, if you will join
Your hand in nuptial bonds with mine,
And I be plagu'd with wealth no more. 11. Tho' I restrain your bounteous heart;
You still shall act the gen'rous part.”
And good the pudding and the priest. 12. The bride in nine moons brought him forth
A little maid of matchless worth:
And she was nam'd Economy.
The mistress of the golden mean.
The Slave, 1. WIDE over the tremulous sea,
The moon spread her mantle of light; And the gale, gently dying away,
Breath'd soft on the bosom of night. 2. On the forecastle Maratan stood,
And pour'd forth his sorrowful tale ; His tears fell unseen in the flood;
His sighs pass'd unheard in the gale. 3. “Ah wretch!” in wild anguish, he cried,
“From country and liberty torn! Ah, Maratan, would thou hadst died,
Ere o'er the salt waves thou wert borne ! 4.“ Through the groves of Angola I stray'd,
Love and hope made my bosom their home; There I talk'd with my favorite maid,
Nor dream'd of the sorrow to come. 5.“ From the thicket the man-hunter sprung;
My cries echo'd loud through the air ; There was fury and wrath on his tongue ;
He was deaf to the voice of despair. 6." Flow, ye tears, down my cheeks, ever flow;
Still let sleep from my eye-lids depart; And still may the sorrows of wo,
Drink deep of the stream of my heart. 7.“ But hark! o'er the silence of night
My Adila's accents I hear ;
I see her lov'd image appear.
As the mist that hangs light on the wave And fondly her partner she
chides, Who lmgers so long from his grave. 9.“ Oh, Maratan! haste thee," she cries,
“Here the reign of oppression is o'er s The tyrant is robb’d of his prize,
And Adila sorrows no more.
Her form seems to fade on my view :
She beckons, and I must pursue. 11.“ To-morrow the white man, in vain,
Shall proudly account me his slave :