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(At ease reclin'd in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud!

How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of Care,

The panting herds repose,
Yet hark! how thro' the peopled air

The busy murmur glows!
The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honey'd spring,

And float amid the liquid noon *;
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some shew their gaily gilded trim,

Quick-glancing to the sunt.

To Contemplation's sober eget,
· Such is the race of man,
And they that creep and they that 'fly

Shall end where they began.
Alike the busy and the gay
But flutter thro' life's little day,

In Fortune's varying colours drest!
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance

They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear in accents low,

The sportive kind reply,
Poor Moralist! and what art thou?

A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glitt’ring female meets,
No hive last thou of hoarded sweets,

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------- Sporting with quick glance, Shew to the sun their way'd coats dropt with gold.

Milton's Paradise Lost. b. 7. While insects from the threshold preach, &c Mr. Green in the Grotto. Dodsley's Miscellanies, vol. v, p. 161.

No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown,
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone....
We frolic while 'tis May.



Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes.

TWAS on a lofty vase's side,
1 Where China's gay est art had dy'd

The azure fow'rs that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclin'd,
Gaz'd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,
Her coat that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and em'rald eyes,

She saw, and purr'd applause.

Still had she gaz'd, but, 'midst the tide,
Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream;
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Thro' richest purple, to the view

Betray'd a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,

With many an ardent wish,
She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize:
What female heart can gold despise:

What Cat's averse to fish??

Presumpt'ous maid! with looks intent,
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,

Nor knew the gulf between:
(Malignant Fate sat by and smil'd,)
The slipp'ry verge her fect beguil'd;

She tumbled headlong in.

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From hence, ye Beauties! undeceiv'd,
Know one false step is ne'er retriev'd,

And be with caution bold: *
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes,
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize,

Nor all that glisters gold.


A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. VE distant Spires! ye antique Tow'rs!

1 That crown the wat,'ry glade Where grateful Science still adores

Her Henry's* holy shade; .
And ye that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead, survey;
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers, among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver winding, way:

* King Henry VI. founder of the College

Ah happy hills ! ah pleasing-shade!

Ah fields beloy'd in vain!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing
My weary soul they seem to sooth,
And, redolent* of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.
Say, father Thames ! for thou hast seen

Full many a sprightly race,
Disporting on thy margent green,

The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave?

The captive linnet which enthral?
What idle progeny, succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed,

Or urge the flying ball?

While some, on earnest bus'ness bent,

Their murm'ring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint,

To sweeten liberty;
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in ev'ry wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,

Less pleasing when possest!
The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast;

* And bees their honey redolent of spring.

Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. System. The

Theirs buxom health of rosy hue
Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively cheer of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,

That fly th’approach of morn.



Alas! regardless of their doom,

The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,

Nor care beyond to-day;
Yet see how all around 'em wait
The ministers of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah! shew them where in ambush stand,
To seize their prey, the murd'rous band!

Ah! tell them they are men.

These shall the fury passions tear,

The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame, that skulks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart!
And Envy wan, and faded Care,

And Sorrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,

Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,

And grinning Infamy:
The stings of Falsehood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;

And moody Madness * laughing wild

Amid severest woes. * And madness laughing in his ireful mood.

Dryden's Fable of Palemon and Areile.

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