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Or uffer'd with a fhower ftill,
When the guft hath blown his fill,
Ending on the ruftling leaves,

With minute drops from off the eaves.
J And when the fun begins to fling

His flaring beams, me, Goddefs, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And fhadows brown that Sylvan loves,
Of pine or monumental oak,

Where the rude axe with heaved ftroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in close covert, by fome brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day's garish eye,
While the bee with honied thigh,
That at her flow'ry work doth fing,
And the waters murmuring,
With fuch concert as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather'd fleep;
And let fome strange myfterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy ftream
Of lively portraiture difplay'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid;

And, as I wake, fweet mufic breathe
Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by fome fpirit to mortals good,
Or th' unfeen genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the ftudious cloifter's pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antique pillars mafly proof,"
And ftoried windows richly dight,
Cafting a dim religious light;

There let the pealing organ blow,
'To the full-voic'd choir below,

In fervice high, and anthems clear,
As may with fweetnefs, through mine car,
Diffolve me into ecftacies,

And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.
And may at laft my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mofly cell,
Where I may fit and rightly fpell
Of ev'ry ftar that Heaven doth fhew,
An ev'ry herb that fips the dew;
Till old Experience do attain
To fomething like prophetic ftrain.
Thefe pleafures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will chufe to live.

THE MISER AND PLUTUS.

A FABLE.

BY GAY.

THE wind was high, the window shakes, With fudden ftart the Mifer wakes;

Along the filent room he stalks,

Looks back, and trembles as he walks,
Each lock and ev'ry bolt he tries,
In ev'ry creek and corner pries,
Then opes the cheft with treasure ftor'd,
And ftands in rapture o'er his hoard.
But now, with fudden qualms pofleft,
He wrings his hands, he beats his breast,
By confcience ftung, he wildly ftares,
And thus his guilty foul declares:

Had the deep earth her ftores confin'd, This heart had known fweet peace of mind. But virtue's fold. Good Gods! what price Can recompenfe the pangs of vice!

O bane of good! feducing cheat!

Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
Gold banish'd honour from the mind,

And only left the name behind,

Gold fow'd the world with ev'ry ill;
Gold taught the murd'rer's fword to kill.
'Twas gold inftructed coward hearts
In treach'ry's more pernicious arts.
Who can recount the mischiefs o'er?
Virtue refides on earth no more!
He fpoke and figh'd. In angry mood
Plutus, his god, before him stood.

The Mifer, trembling, lock'd his cheft; •
The vifion frown'd, and thus addrefs'd:

Whence is this wild ungrateful rant,
Each fordid rafcal's daily cant!
Did I, base wretch! corrupt mankind?
The fault's in thy rapacious mind.
Because my bleffings are abus'd,
Muft I be cenfür'd, curs'd, accus'd?
Even Virtue's felf by knaves is made
A cloak to carry on the trade;

And pow'r (when lodg'd in their possession)
Grows tyranny and rank oppreffion.
Thus, when the villain crams his cheft,
Gold is the canker of the breast;
'Tis av'rice, infolence, and pride,
And ev'ry fhocking vice befide:
But when to virtuous hands 'tis giv'n,
It bleffes like the dews of Heav'n:
Like Heav'n it hears the orphan's cries,›
And wipes the tears from widows' eyes.
Their crimes on gold fhall Mifers lay,
Who pawn'd their fordid fouls for pay?
Let bravoes, then, when blood is fpilt,
Upbraid the paffive foul with guilt.

A SACRED LYRIC.

ON BEING WAKED IN THE NIGHT BY A VIOLENT
STORM OF THUNDER AND LIGHTNING.

L

OCK'D in the arms of balmy fleep,

From ev'ry care of day,

As filent as the folded sheep,

And as fecure I lay:

Sudden, tremendous thunders roll;
Quick lightnings round me glare;
The folem fcene alarms my foul,
And wakes the heart to prayer.

Whate'er, O Lord! at this ftill hour,

These awful founds portend,

Whether fole enfigns of thy power,
Or groans for Nature's end!

Grant me to bear with equal mind
Thefe terrors of the fky;
For ever, as thou wilt, refign'd,
Alike to live or die.

If, wak'd by thy vindictive hand,
This mighty tempeft ftirs;

That peal the voice of thy command;
These flames thy messengers;
R

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