So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light
Thy tiny footsteps lead
To fome new region of delight,
Unknown to mortal tread:
And be thy acorn goblet fill'd
With heav'n's ambrofial dew;
From fweeteft, freshest flow'rs diftill'd,
That thed fresh fweets for you.
And what of life remains for me,
I'll pass in fober ease;
Half-pleas'd, contented will I be,
Content but half to please.
F we with brutes muft fhare a common fate,
Nor quit this earthly, for a better state,
If cruel death destroys the thinking part,
And strikes the spirit, as it ftrikes the heart,
Say, to what purpose was our reason given,
Reason, the greatest, nobleft gift of Heaven?
Say, who would ever be upon their guard
'Gainft vice, if virtue meets with no reward?
Much happier does the libertine appear,
Who drinks of pleasure's cup without a feare
His days are jovial, ev'ry scene is gay,
And in amufements pafs his time away,
'Till the laft period of his life is come,
And death'conducts him to the filent tomb.
Turn from this picture of earth's happy man,
And let us that of virtue's votaries fcan,
See merit oft expos'd to envious hate,
The frowns of fortune, and the storms of fate:
See the good man by dire misfortune led,
Subfervient to the wealthy fool for bread:
There often doom'd to hear what gives offence,
To truth, morality, and common sense:
'Till worn with forrow, and by grief opprest,
The weary foul fighs for its promis'd rest,
And like the hireling, working for his pay,
Welcomes the evening of a toilfome day:
If this be true, what greater proof can rise
That virtue blooms but in her native skies?
The charming plant, here nurs'd with tender care,
By death tranfplanted, yields its produce there.
This thought alone can the good man fustain,
And give him eafe in poverty and pain.
Who will not calmly bear ftern fortune's frown,
That knows he foon fhall gain a heav'nly crown?
Who does on fublunary blifs depend,
That hopes a happiness which ne'er shall end?
Have courage then, ye meritorious few,
Whom strong temptations labour to subdue,
Fight the good fight, and with life's lateft breath,
Prove glorious victors over Sin and Death.
BY MASON.
HAIL to thy living light,
Ambrofial Morn! all hail thy rofeat ray
That bids gay nature all her charms difplay
In varied beauty bright:
That bids each dewy-fpangled flowret rife,
And dart around its vermeil dyes;
Bids filver luftre grace yon' sparkling tide
That winding warbles down the mountain's fide.
Away, ye goblins all!
Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt;
Whofe vagrant feet have trac'd your fecret haunt Befide fome lonely wall,
Or fhatter'd ruin of a mofs-grown tow'r,
Where, at pale midnight's stilleft hour,
Through each rough chink the folemn orb of night, Pours momentary gleams of trembling light.
Away, ye elves, away!
Shrink at ambrofial Morning's living ray;
That living ray, whofe pow'r benign,
Unfolds the fcene of glory to our eye,
Where, thron'd in artless majesty,
The cherub beauty fits on nature's ruftic fhrine.
HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.
LOVELY, lafting peace of mind I
Sweet delight of human kind!
Heav'nly born, and bred on high,
To crown the fav'rites of the fky
With more of happiness below
Than victors in a triumph know!
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek, contented head!
What happy region doft thou please
To make the feat of calms and eafe?
Ambition fearches all its sphere
Of pomp and state to meet thee there.
Increafing Avarice would find
Thy prefence in its gold enfhrin'd.
The bold advent'rer ploughs his way
Through rocks amidst the foaming fea..
To gain thy love; and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.
The filent heart which grief affails,
Treads foft and lonesome o'er the vales,
Sees daifies open, rivers run,
And feeks (as I have vainly done)
Amufing thought; but learns to know
That Solitude's the nurfe of woe.
No real happiness is found
In trailing purple o'er the ground:
Or, in a foul exalted High,
To range the circuit of the fky,
Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below:
The reft it feeks in feeking dies,
And doubts at last for knowledge rife.
Lovely, lafting Peace, appear!
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden bleft,
And man contains it in his breaft.
'Twas thus, as under fhade I ftood,
I fung my wishes to the wood,
And loft in thought, no more perceiv'd
The branches whifper as they wav'd::
It feem'd as all the quiet place
Confefs'd the prefence of the grace.
When thus the fpoke-go rule thy will,,
Bid thy wild paffions all be still,
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