The thick-fprung reeds the wat'ry marshes yield,
Seem polifh'd lances in a hoftile field.

The ftag in limpid currents, with furprize,

Sees chrystal branches on his forehead rife.

The spreading oak, the beach, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther fhine.

The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun,
That wave and glitter in the diftant fun.

When, if a guft of wind arife,

The brittle foreft into atoms Alies:

The crackling wood beneath the tempeft bends,
And in a spangled fhow'r the prospect ends.
Or, if a fouthern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintry charm,
The traveller a miry country fees,

And journeys fad beneath the dropping trees.
Like fome deluded peafant, Merlin leads
Through fragrant bow'rs, and through deliciousmeads;
While here enchanted gardens to him rise,
And airy fabrics there attract his eyes,
His wandring feet the magic paths pursue ;
And, while he thinks the fair illufion true,
The tracklefs fcenes difperfe in fluid air,
And woods and wilds, and thorny ways appear
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And as he goes, the tranfient vifion mourns.

Copenhagen, March 9th, 1709.

THE FIRE SIDE.

DEAR

BY DR. COTTON.

I.

EAR Chloe, while the bufy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance ;
Though fingularity and pride

Be call'd our choice, we'll step afide,
Nor join the giddy dance.

II.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs;
No noify neighbours enter here,
No intermeddling ftranger near
To fpoil our heart-felt joys.

III.

If folid happiness we prize,

Within our breast this jewel lies;

And they are fools who roam :

The world has nothing to bestow,
From our own felves our joys must flow,
And that dear hut, our home.

IV.

Of reft was Noah's dove bereft,

When with impatient wing the left,

That fafe retreat the ark; Giving her vain excurfion o'er, The difappointed bird once more Explor'd the facred bark.

V.

Though fools fpurn hymen's gentle pow'rs,
We, who improve his golden hours,
By fweet experience know,

That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good
A paradife below.

VI.

.

Our babes fhall richest comforts bring,
If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring,
Whence pleasures ever rife :

We'll form their minds with ftudious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the fkies.

VII.

While they our wifeft hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, fupport our age,
And crown our hoary hairs:

They'll grow in virtue every day,
And thus our fondeft loves repay,

And recompenfe our cares.

VIII.

No borrow'd joys L they're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,

Or by the world forgot :

Monarchs we envy not your state,

We look with pity on the great,
And blefs our humbler lot.

IX.

Our portion is not large indeed,
But then, how little do we need!
For nature's calls are few !

In this the art of living lies,

To want no more than may fuffice,
And make that little do.

X.

We'll therefore relish with content
What'er kind Providence has fent,,

Nor aim beyond our pow'r;

For if our stock be very small,
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,.

Nor lofe the present hour.
XI.

To be refign'd, when ills betide,
Patient, when, favours are deny'd,.

And pleas'd with favours giv'n,
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part,
This is that incenfe of the heart,

Whofe fragrance fmells to heav'n.
XII.

We'll afk no long protracted treat,

(Since winter life is feldom fweet ;)

But when our feaft is o'er,

Grateful from table we'll arife,

Nor grudge our fons with envious eyes,

The relics of our store.

XIII.

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go,
Its checker'd paths of joy and woe
With cautious iteps we'll tread ;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear,
Without a trouble or a fear,

And mingle with the dead.

XIV.

While confcience, like a faithful friend,
Shall through the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;

Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,
And smooth the bed of death.

ADAM'S MORNING HYMN.

BY MILTON.

THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,

Almighty! thine this univerfal frame,

Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! Unfpeakable, who fitt'st above these heav'ns,