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Before him spread his various serinons lay,
Of explanation deep, and sage advice;
The harvest gain'd from many a thoughtful day,
The fruit of learning bought with heavy price..

On these he cast a fond, but tearful eye,

Awhile he paus'd, for sorrow dimm'd his sight; Arous'd at length, he heav'd a bitter sigh,

And thus complain'd, as well indeed he might :

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"Hard is the scholar's lot, condemn'd to sail Unpatroniz'd, o'er Life's tempestuous wave; "Clouds blind his sight; nor blows a friendly gale, To waft him to one port-except the grave.

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"Big with presumptive hope, I launch'd my keel, "With youthful ardour, and bright science fraught; "Unanxious of the pains long doom'd to feel,

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Unthinking that th' voyage might end in nought..

"Pleas'd on the summer sea, I danc'd awhile,
"With gay companions, and. with. views as fair;.
"Outstripp'd by these, I'm left to humble toil,
My fondest hope abandon'd in despair.

"Had my ambitious mind been led to rise
"To highest flights, to Crosier, and to Pall,
"Scarce could I mourn the missing of the prize,
"For soring wishes well deserve their fall.

"No tow'ring thoughts like these engag'd my breast, "I hop'd (nor blame, ye proud, the lowly plan). "Some little cove, some parsonage of rest,

"The scheme of duty suited to the man:

Where, in my narrow sphere secure, at ease,

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From vile dependence free, I might remain, "The guide to good, the counsellor of peace,

"The friend, the shepherd, of the village swain.

"Yet cruel Fate deny'd the small request,

"And bound me fast, in one ill-omien'd hour, Beyond the chance of remedy, to rest

"The slave of wealthy pride and priestly pow'r

"Oft as in russet weeds I scour along,
"In distant chapels hastily to pray,
By nod scarce notic'd to the passing throng,
'Tis but the Curate, ev'ry child will say.

"

"Nor circumscrib'd in dignity alone,

"Do I my rich, superior's vassal ride; "Sad penury, as was in cottage known,

"With all its frowns, does o'er my roof preside.

"Ah! not for me the harvest yields its store,

"

The bough-crown'd shock in vain attracts mine eye; "To labour doom'd, and destin'd to be poor,

"I pass the field, I hope not envious, by.

"When at the altar, surplice-clad, I stand,

"The bridegroom's joy draws forth the golden fee; "The gift I take, but dare not close my hand; "The splendid present centres not in me."

PENROSE.

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

AN ODE.

VITAL spark of heav'nly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,

Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!

Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away.

What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings; I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?

O Death! where is thy sting?

POPE.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

TO-MORROW.

TO-MORROW, didst thou say!

Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow.
Go to I will not hear of it-to-morrow!

'Tis a sharper who stakes his penury

Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee nought, but wishes, hopes, and promises,
The currency of idiots. Injurious bankrupt,

That gulls the easy creditor!-To-morrow!

It is a period no where to be found

In all the hoary registers of time,

Unless perchance in the fool's calendar.

Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society
With those who own it. No, my Horatio,
'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father;
Wrought of such stuff as dreams are; and baseless
As the fantastic visions of the evening.

But soft, my friend, arrest the present moments;
For be assur'd, they all are arrant tell-tales;

And though their flight be silent, and their path trackless
As the wing'd couriers of the air,

They post to Heaven, and there record thy folly-
Because, though station'd on the important watch,
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel,

Didst let them pass unnotic❜u, unimprov❜d,
And know, for that thou slumberest on the guard,.
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive; and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hood-wink'd Justice, who shall tell thy audit?
Then say, the present instant, dear Horatio;
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings,

'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! far more precious Than all the crimson treasures of Life's fountain!

Oh! let it not elude thy grasp, but, like

The good old patriarch upon record,
Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee.

COTTON.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE CREATION REQUIRED TO PRAISE ITS AUTHOR.

BEGIN, my soul, th' exalted lay!
Let each enraptur'd' thought obey,
And praise th' Almighty's name:

Lo! heav'n and earth, and seas and skies,
In one melodious concert rise,

To swell th' inspiring theme..

Ye fields of light, celestial plains,.
Where gay transporting beauty reigns,
Ye scenes divinely fair!

Your Maker's wondrous pow'r proclaim,
Tell how he form'd your shining frame,
And breath'd the fluid air.

Ye angels catch the thrilling sound!
While all th' adoring thrones around
His boundless mercy sing:
Let ev'ry list'ning saint above
Wake all the tuneful soul of love,
And touch the sweetest string.

Join, ye lond spheres, the vocal choir;
Thou dazzling orb of liquid fire,
The mighty chorus aid:
Soon as gray evening gilds the plain,
Thou, moon, protract the melting strain,
And praise him in the shade.

Thou heav'n of heav'ns, his vast abode;
Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God,
Who call'd yon worlds from night:
"Ye shades, dispel!"-th' Eternal said;
At once th' involving darkness fled,
And Nature sprung to light.

Whate'er a blooming world contains,
That wings the air, that skims the plains,
United praise bestow:

Ye dragons, sound his awful name
To Heav'n aloud; and roar acclaim,
Ye swelling deeps below.

Let ev'ry element rejoice;

Ye thunders, burst with awful voice
TO HIM who bids you roll;
His praise in softer notes declare,
Each whispering breeze of yielding air,
And breathe it to the soul.

To him, ye graceful cedars, bow;
Ye tow'ring mountains, bending low,
Your great Creator own;

Tell, when affrighted Nature shook,
How Sinai kindled at his look,

And trembled at his frown.

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