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Who with mock-patience dire complaints endure,
Which real pain, and that alone, can cure ;
How would you bear in real pain to lie,
Defpis'd, neglected, left alone to die?

How would ye bear to draw your latest breath,
Where all that's wretched paves the way for death?

;

Such is that room which one rude beam divides, And naked rafters form the floping fides Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen, And lath and mud are all that lie between ; Save one dull pane, that, coarfely patch'd, gives way To the rude tempelt, yet excludes the day : Here on a matted flock, with duft o'erspread, The drooping wretch reclines his languid head. For him no hand the cordial cup applies, Nor wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes: No friends with foft difcourfe his pain beguile, Nor promise hope till fickness wears a smile.

SECTION VI.

A Summer Evening's Meditation.

"One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine."

'Tis paft! the fultry tyrant of the south

CRABBE.

YOUNG.

Has spent his fhort liv'd rage. More grateful hours
Move filent on. The skies no more repel

The dazzled fight; but, with mild maiden beams
Of temper'd light. invite the cherish'd eye
To wander o'er their sphere; where. hung aloft,
Dian's bright crefcent, like a filver bow

New ftrung in heaven, lifts high its beamy horns,
Impatient for the night, and feems to push
Her brother down the fky. Fair Venus fhines
E'en in the eye of day, with sweetest beam
Propitious fhines, and fhakes a trembling flood
Of foften'd radiance from her dewy locks.
The fhadows fpread apace; while meeken'd eve,
Her cheek yet warm with blushes, flow retires
Thro' the Hefperian gardens of the west,
And fhuts the gates of day. 'Tis now the hour
When contemplation, from her funless haunts,
The cool damp grotto, or the lonely depth
Of unpierc'd woods, where, wrapt in filent fhade,
She mus'd away the gaudy hours of noon,

And fed on thoughts unripen'd by the fun,
Moves forward; and with radiant finger points
To yon blue concave, fwell'd by breath divine,
Where, one by one, the living eyes of heaven
Awake, quick kindling o'er the face of ether
One boundless blaze; ten thousand trembling fires,
And dancing luftres, where th' unsteady eye,
Reftlefs and dazzled, wanders unconfin'd
O'er all this field of glories: fpacious field,
And worthy of the Mafter! he whofe hand,
With hieroglyphics elder than the Nile,
Infcrib'd the myftic tablet, hung on high
To public gaze; and said, Adore, O man,
The finger of thy God! From what pure wells
Of milky light, what foft o'erflowing urn,
Are all thefe lamps fo fill'd? these friendly lamps,
Forever streaming o'er the azure deep,

To point our path, and light us to our home.
How foft they flide along their lucid spheres !
And filent as the foot of time, fulfil

Their destin'd courfes. Nature's self is hush'd,
And, but a fcatter'd leaf, which ruftles thro'
The thick-wove foliage, not a found is heard
To break the midnight air! tho' the rais'd ear,
Intenfely lift'ning, drinks in every breath.
How deep the filence, yet how loud the praise !
But are they filent all? or is there not
A tongue in every ftar that talks with man,
And woos him to be wife: nor woos in vain :
This dead of midnight is the noon of thought,
And wisdom mounts her zenith with the itars.
At this ftill hour the felt-collected foul

Turns inward, and beholds a stranger there
Of high defcent, and more than mortal rank;
An embryo God; a spark of fire divine,
Which must burn on for ages, when the fun
(Fair tranfitory creature of a day,)

Has clos'd his golden eye, and wrapt in fhades,
Forgets his wonted journey thro' the east.

Ye citadels of light, and feats of bliss!
Perhaps my future home, from whence the foal,
Revolving periods paft, may oft look back,
With recollected tenderness, on all
The various bufy fcenes fhe left below,

Its deep laid projects, and its ftrange events,
As on fome fond and doting tale that footh'd
Her infant hours.-O be it lawful now

To tread the hallow'd circle of your courts,
And, with mute wonder and delighted awe,
Approach your burning confines !-Seiz'd in thought,
On fancy's wild and roving wing I fail

t;

From the green borders of the peopled earth,
And the pale moon, her dutious fair attendant
From folitary Mars; from the vast orb
Of Jupiter, whose huge gigantic bulk
Dances in ether like the lighteft leaf;
To the dim verge, the fuburbs of the system,
Where cheerlefs Saturn, 'midst his wat'ry moons,
Girt with a lucid zone, in gloomy pomp,
Sits like an exil'd monarch. Fearlefs thence
I launch into the tracklefs deeps of space,
Where, burning round, ten thousand funs appear,
Of elder beam; which afk no leave to fhine
Of our terrestrial ftar, nor borrow light
From the proud regent of our fcanty day :
Sons of the morning, firft-born of creation,
And only less than he who marks their track,
And guides their fiery wheels. Here muft I ftop,
Or is there aught beyond? What hand unfeen
Impels me onward, thro' the glowing orbs
Of habitable nature, far remote,

To the dread confines of eternal night,
To folitudes of vast unpeopled space,
The deferts of creation, wide and wild,
Where embryo systems and unkindled funs
Sleep in the womb of chaos? Fancy droops,
And thought astonish'd stops her bold career.
But, oh, thou mighty MIND! whofe pow'rful word
Said, Thus let all things be, and thus they were,
Where fhall I feek thy prefence? how, unblam'd,
Invoke thy dread perfection?

Have the broad eye-lids of the morn beheld thee ?
Or does the beamy shoulder of Orion

Support thy throne? O look with pity down
On erring, guilty man! not in thy names
Of terror clad; not with those thunders arm'd
That confcious Sinai felt, when fear appall'd
The scatter'd tribes; thou hast a gentler voice,

That whispers comfort to the fwelling heart,
Abafh'd, yet longing to behold her Maker.

But now, my foul, unus'd to stretch her pow'rs In flight fo daring, drops her weary wing, And feeks again the known accuftom'd spot, Dreft up with fun, and shade, and lawns, and streams; A manfion fair and fpacious for its gueft, And full replete with wonders. Let me here, Content and grateful, wait th' appointed time, And ripen for the skies: the hour will come When all thefe fplendours, burfting on my fight, Shall ftand unveil'd, and to my ravish'd fenfe Unlock the glories of the world unknown.

SECTION VII.
Cheerfulness.

BARBAULD.

FAIR as the dawning light! aufpicious gueft,
Source of all comfort to the human breast!
Depriv'd of thee, in fad despair we moan,
And tedious roll the heavy moments on.
Though beauteous objects all around us rise,
To charm the fancy, and delight the eyes;
Tho' art's fair works and nature's gifts confpire
To please each sense, and fatiate each defire,
'Tis joyless all-till thy enlivening ray
Scatters the melancholy gloom away.
Then opens to the foul a heavenly scene,
Gladness and peace, all fprightly, all ferene.
Where doft thou deign, fay, in what bleft retreat,
To choose thy mansion, and to fix thy feat?
Thy facred prefence how fhall we explore ?
Can av'rice gain thee with her golden ftore?
Can vain ambition, with her boasted charms,
Tempt thee within her wide-extended arms?
No, with content alone canst thou abide,
Thy filter, ever smiling by thy fide.

When boon companions, void of every care,
Crown the full bowl, and the rich banquet share,
And give a loose to pleasure-art thou there?
Or when the assembled great and fair advance
To celebrate the mafk, the play, the dance,
Whilft beauty spreads its sweetest charms around,
And airs ecstatic fwell their tuneful found,
Art thou within the pompous circle found ?

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Does not thy influence more sedately shine?
Can fuch tumultuous joys as these be thine?
Surely more mild, more conftant in their courfe,
Thy pleafures iffue from a nobler fource;
From fweet difcretion ruling in the breast,
From paffions temper'd, and from lufts repreft;
From thoughts unconscious of a guilty fmart,
And the calm tranfports of an honest heart.
Thy aid, O ever faithful, ever kind!

Thro' life, thro' death, attends the virtuous mind :
Of angry fate wards from us ev'ry blow,
Cures every ill, and softens every wo.
Whatever good our mortal state defires,
What wifdom finds, or innocence infpires;
From nature's bounteous hand whatever flows,
Whate'er our Maker's providence bestows,
By thee mankind enjoys; by thee repays
A grateful tribute of perpetual praise.

SECTION VIII.

Providence.

FITZGERALD.

Lo! now the ways of heaven's eternal King
To man are open!

Review them and adore! Hear the loud voice
Of wisdom founding in her works !" Attend,
Ye fons of men! ye children of the duft,
Be wife! Lo! I was prefent, when the Sire
Of heaven pronounc'd his fiat; when his eye
Glanc'd thro' the gulf of darkness, and his hand
Fashion'd the rifing univerfe ;-I faw,

O'er the fair lawns, the heaving mountains raife
Their pine-clad fpires; and down the fhaggy cliff
I gave the rill to murmur. The rough mounds
That bound the madd'ning deep; the ftorm that roars
Along the defert; the volcano fraught

With burning brimftone; I prefcribe their ends.
I rule the rushing winds, and, on their wings
Triumphant, walk the tempeft,-To my call
Obfequious bellows the red bolt, that tears
The cloud's thin mantle, when the gufhing fhower
Defcending copious bids the desert bloom.

"I gave to man's dark search superior light; And clear'd dim reason's misty view, to mark His powers, as through revolving ages tried,.

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