They hear a voice in every wind,
And fnatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Lefs pleasing when poffeft;
The tear forgot as foon as shed,
The funshine 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! regardlefs 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! Alr, fhew them where in ambush stand To feize their prey the murd'rous band! tell them they are men!

Ah,

Thefe fhall the fury paffions tear,
The vultures of the mind,

Difdainful anger, pallid fear, t
And fhame, that foulks behind;
Or pining love fhall wafte 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 forrow'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 falsehood those fhall try,
And hard unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow, And keen remorie with blood defil'd, And moody madnefs laughing wild

Amid feverest woe,

Lo, in the vale of years beneath
A grifly troop are seen,
The painful family of death,

More hideous than their queen:

This racks the joints, this fires the veins; That every labouring sinew strains ; Thofe in the deeper vitals rage:

Lo, poverty, to fill the band,

That numbs the foul with icy hard,
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 too fwiftly flies:
Thought would destroy their paradife.
No more: where ignorance is blifs,
'Tis folly to be wife.

THE

COUNTRY CLERGYMAN,

BY DR. GOLDSMITH.

[EAR yonder copfe, where once the garden finil'd,

Nand fill where many a garden flower grows wild;

There, where a few torn shrubs the place difclofe,
The village preacher's modeft mansion rofe.
A man he was, to all the country dear,
And paffing rich with forty pounds 2-year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wifh'd to change his place; 1

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 raise the wretched, than to rise.
His houfe was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain.
The long remember'd beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast:
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd:
The broken foldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire and talk'd the night away;

Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of forrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and fhew'd how fields were won.
Pleas'd with his guefts, the good man learn'd to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their

woe; Careless their merits, or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's fide;
But in his duty prompt at every call,

He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all;
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the fkies,
He try'd each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Befide the bed where parting life was laid,
And forrow, guilt, and pains, by turns dismay'd

The reverend champion ftood. At his controul, Defpair and anguifh fled the ftruggling foul, Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raife, And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;

Truth from his lips prevail'd with double fway,
And fools who came to fcoff, remain'd to pray.
The fervice past, around the pious man,

With ready zeal, each honeft rustic ran;
Ev'n children follow'd with endearing wile,

And pluck'd his gown, to fhare the good man's smile.
His ready fmile a parent's warmth expreft,

Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares diftreft;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given;
But all his ferious thoughts had reft in heaven.
As fome tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the florm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are fpread,
Eternal funfhine fettles on its head.

TO THE NEW YEAR, 1769.

BY CUNNINGHAM.

AQUARIUS rules the frozen fkies,

Deep frowning clouds on clouds arif,

L