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Is all the proud and mighty have-
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers, how they run

Through woods and meads, in shade and sun;.
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life to endless sleep F
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wand'ring thought;
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our-cares away.
Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landscape tire the view?
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky;
The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the shady bow'r :
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each gives each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. ·

See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide,
How close and small the hedges lie!
Whas streaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step, methinks, may pass the stream:
So little distant dangers seem;
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd through hope's deluding glass;
As you summits soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,

Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the same coarse way,
The present's still a cloudy day.
O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see!

Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tam'd, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish Quiet from the soul;
'Tis thus the busy beat the air;
And misers gather wealth and care:
Now, e'en now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wauton Zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fill the sky;

Now, e'en now, my joys run high.

Be full, ye courts! be great who will; Search for Peace with all.

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Seek her on the marble floor:

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In vain ye search, she is not there;
In vain ye search the domes of Care!
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close ally'd,
Ever by each other's side:
And often by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is still
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

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DYER

CHAPTER VIII.

HYMN TO ADVERSITY.

DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour, The bad affright, afflict the best!

Bound in thy adamantine chain,

The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple týrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

When first thy sire to send on earth
Virtue, his darling child, design'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore:

What Sorrow was, thou bad'st her know,

And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' wo.

Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,"

Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave us leisure to be good.

Light they disperse, and with them go

The summer Friend, the flatt'ring Foe;

By vain Prosperity receiv'd,

To her they vow their truth, and are again believ❜d.

Wisdom, in sable garb array'd,

Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,

And Melancholy, silent maid,

With leaden eye, that loves the ground,

Still on thy solemn steps attend:

Warm Charity, the gen'ral friend,

With Justice, to herself severe,

And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.

Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,

Nor circled with the vengeful band

(As by the impious thou art seen)

With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,
With screaming Horror's funeral cry,

Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.

Thy form benign, oh Goddess! wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philosophic train be there
To soften, not to wound my heart.

The gen'rous spark extinct revive,-
Teach me to love and to forgive,

Exact my own defects to scan,

What others are to feel, and know myself a man.

GRAY

CHAPTER IX.

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON

COLLEGE.

YE distant spires, ye antique towers,

That crown the wary glade,

Where grateful Science still adores

Her HENRY's holy slade:

And ye that from the stately brow

OF WINDOOR'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.

Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields belov'd in vain,

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow,
Amomentary 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 arms, thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which inthrall?
What idle progeny succeed

To chase the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball?

Whilst 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 every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.

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