For ferioufly around furveying
Each character, in youth and age,
Of fools betray'd, and knaves betraying,
That play'd upon this human stage;
(Peaceful himfelf and undefigning)
He loath'd the fcenes of guile and ftrife,
And felt each fecret with inclining
To leave this fretful farce of life.
Yet to whate'er above was fated
Obediently he bow'd his foul,
For, what all-bounteous Heaven created,
He thought Heaven only should controul.
ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT
YE diftant fpires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade
Where graceful Science ftill adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windfor's height th' expanfe below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead furvey,
Whofe turf, whofe fhade, whofe flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His filver-winding way!
Ah, happy hills! ah, pleafing fhade!
Ah, fields belov'd in vain!
Where once my carlefs childhood stray'd,
A ftranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales that from you blow
A momentary blifs bestow,
As, waving forth their gladsome wing,
My weary foul they feem to foothe,
And redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a fecond fpring.
Say, Father Thames (for thou haft seen
Full many a fprightly race,
Difporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleasure trace)
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glaffy wave?
The captive linnet which enthrall ?
What idle progeny fucceed
To chace the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball?
While fome, on earnest bufinefs bent,
Their murm'ring labours ply
'Gainft graver hours that bring constrains
To fweeten liberty;
Some bold adventurers difdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare defcry:
Still as they run they look behind,
The hear a voice in every wind,
And fnatch a fearful joy.
Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Lets pleafing when poifeft;
The tear forgot as foon as fhed,
The funfhine of the breaft:
Theirs buxom health of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the eafy night,
The fpirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
No fenfe have they of ills to come,
No care beyond to-day:
Yet fee how all around them wait,
The minifters of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah, fhew them where in ambush stand
To feize their prey, the murd'rous band!
Ah, tell them they are men!
These shall the fury paffions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that skulks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealoufy, with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the fecret heart,
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim vifag'd, comfortless Defpair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this fhall tempt to rife,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter fcorn a facrifice,
And grinning infamy.
The ftings of falfehood thofe fhall try,
And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow, And keen Remorfe, with blood defil'd, And moody Madness, laughing wild Amidft fevereft woe.
Lo, in the vale of years beneath,
A grily troop are feen,
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their Queen :
This racks the joints, this fires the veins; That every labouring finew strains ;
Thofe in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-confuming age.
To each his fuff'rings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan,
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own."
Yet, ah! why fhould they know their fate?
Since forrow never comes too late,
And happiness as fwiftly flies:
Thought would deftroy their paradife.
No more: where ignorance is blifs,
'Tis folly to be wife.
NEAR yonder copfe, where once the garden smil'd,
And ftill where many a garden flow'r grows wild;
There, where a few torn fhrubs the place difclofe,
The village preacher's modeft manfion rofe.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And paffing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor with'd to change his place;
Unpractis'd he to fawn, or feek for power,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More fkill'd to raile the wretched than to rife.
His houfe was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain.
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