Or blithe, or folemn, as the theme inspir❜d:
With them would search, if Nature's boundless frame
Was call'd, late-rifing from the void of night,
Or fprung eternal from th' Eternal Mind;
Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end,
Hence larger profpects of the beauteous whole
Would, gradual, open on our opening minds;
And each diffufive harmony unite
In full perfection to th' astonish'd eye.
Then would we try to scan the moral world,
Which, though to us it seems embroil'd, moves on
In higher order; fitted, and impell'd,
By Wisdom's finest hand, and iffuing all
In general good. The fage hiftoric Mufe
Should next conduct us through the deeps of time :.
Shew us how empire grew, declin'd, and fell,
In fcatter'd ftates; what makes the nations finile, 599
Improves their foil, and gives them double funs;
And why they pine beneath the brightest skies,
In Nature's richeft lap. As thus we talk'd,
Our hearts would burn within us, would inhale
The portion of divinity, that ray
Of pureft heaven, which lights the public foul
Of patriots, and of heroes. But if doom'd,
In powerless humble fortune, to reprefs
Thefe ardent rifings of the kindling foul;
Then, ev'n fuperior to ambition, we
Would learn the private virtues; how to glide
Through fhades and plains, along the smoothest stream Of rural life or fnatch'd away by hope,
Through the dim fpaces of futurity,
With earnest eye anticipate those scenes
Of happiness, and wonder; where the mind,
In endless growth and infinite ascent,
Rifes from state to ftate, and world to world.
But when with these the serious thought is foil'd,
We, shifting for relief, would play the shapes
Of frolic fancy; and inceffant form
Thofe rapid pictures, that affembled train
Of fleet ideas, never join'd before,
Whence lively Wit excites to gay furprize;
Or folly-painting Humour, grave himself,
Calls Laughter forth, deep-fhaking every nerve.
Meantime the village roufes up the fire;
While well attefted, and as well believ'd,
Heard folemn, goes the goblin-story round;
Till fuperftitious horror creeps o'er all.
Or, frequent in the founding hall, they wake
The rural gambol. Ruftic mirth goes round;
The fimple joke that takes the shepherd's heart,
Eafily pleas'd; the long loud laugh, fincere ;
The kifs, fnatch'd hafty from the fide-long maid, 625
On purpofe guardlefs, or pretending fleep:
The leap, the flap, the haul; and, shook to notes
Of native mufic, the refpondent dance.
Thus jocund fleets with them the winter-night.
The city fwarms intenfe. The public haunt,
Full of each theme, and warm with mixt discourse,
Hums indiftinct. The fons of riot flow
Down the loofe ftream of falfe enchanted joy,
To fwift deftruction. On the rankled foul
The gaming fury falls; and in one gulph
Of total ruin, honour, virtue, peace,
Friends, families, and fortune, headlong fink.
Up-fprings the dance along the lighted dome,
Mix'd, and evolv'd, a thousand sprightly ways.
The glittering court effufes every pomp;
The circle deepens: beam'd from gaudy robes,
Tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes,
A foft effulgence o'er the palace waves:
While, a gay infect in his summer-shine,
The fop, light-fluttering, fpreads his mealy wings.
Dread o'er the scene, the ghost of Hamlet stalks ;
And Belvidera pours her foul in love.
Terror alarms the breaft; the comely tear
Steals o'er the cheek: or elfe the Comic Mufe
Holds to the world a picture of itself,
And raises fly the fair impartial laugh.
Sometimes the lifts her strain, and paints the scenes
Of beauteous life; whate'er can deck mankind,
Or charm the heart, in generous * Bevil fhew'd.
O, thou, whose wisdom, folid yet refin'd,
Whofe patriot-virtues, and confummate skill
To touch the finer fprings that move the world,
Join'd to whate'er the Graces can bestow,
And all Apollo's animating fire,
Give thee, with pleafing dignity, to shine
A character in the Confcious Lovers, written by Sir Richard Steele.
At once the guardian, ornament, and joy,
Of polish'd life; permit the Rural Muse,
O Chesterfield, to grace with thee her fong!
Ere to the fhades again the humbly flies,
Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train,
(For every
Mufe has in thy train a place)
To mark thy various full-accomplish'd mind:
To mark, that spirit, which, with British scorn,
Rejects th' allurements of corrupted power ;
That elegant politenefs, which excels,
Ev'n in the judgement of prefumptuous France,
The boafted manners of her fhining court;
That wit, the vivid energy of sense,
The truth of Nature, which, with Attic point,
And kind well-temper'd fatire, fmoothly keen,
Steals through the foul, and without pain corrects.
Or, rifing thence with yet a brighter flame,
O, let me hail thee on fome glorious day,
When to the listening senate, ardent, crowd
Britannia's fons to hear her pleaded cause.
Then dreft by thee, more amiably fair,
Truth the foft robe of mild perfuafion wears:
Thou to affenting reafon giv'ft again
Her own enlighten'd thoughts; call'd from the heart, Th' obedient paffions on thy voice attend;
And ev'n reluctant party. feels a while
Thy gracious power: as through the varied maze
Of eloquence, now fmooth, now quick, now ftrong,
Profound and clear, you roll the copious flood.
To thy lov'd haunt return, my happy Muse:
For now, behold, the joyous winter-days,
Frofty, fucceed; and through the blue serene,
For fight too fine, th' ethereal nitre flies;
Killing infectious damps, and the spent air
Storing afresh with elemental life.
Close crowds the thining atmosphere; and binds
Our strengthen'd bodies in its cold embrace,
Conftringent; feeds, and animates our blood;
Refines our fpirits, through the new-ftrung nerves, 700
In fwifter fallies darting to the brain;
Where fits the foul, intenfe, collected, cool,
Bright as the skies, and as the season keen.
All nature feels the renovating force
Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye
In ruin feen. The froft-concocted glebe
Draws-in abundant vegetable foul,
And gathers vigour for the coming year.
A ftronger glow fits on the lively cheek
Of ruddy fire and luculent along
The
purer rivers flow; their fullen deeps,
Tranfparent, open to the fhepherd's gaze,
And murmur hoarfer at the fixing froft.
What art thou, frost? and whence are thy keen stores
Deriv'd; thou fecret all-invading power,
Whom ev'n th' illufive fluid cannot fly?
Is not thy potent energy, unseen,
- Myriads of little falts, or hook'd, or fhap'd
Like double wedges, and diffus'd immenfe
Through water, earth, and æther? Hence at eve, 720
Steam'd eager from the red horizon round,
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