Fame through Thebaïs his arrival spread, Half his old friends reproach'd him, and half fled : Of help and common countenance bereft, No creature own'd him, but a dog he left. Compunction touch'd his soul, and, wiser made By bitter suff'rings, he resumed his trade : Thank'd Heav'n for want of power and want of pelf, That he had lost the world, and found himself. Conscience and charity revived their part, And true humility enrich'd the heart, While grace celestial with enliv'ning ray Beam'd forth, to gild the evening of his day.

His neighbours mark'd the change, and each man

strove

By slow degrees t' applaud him, and to love. So Peter, when his tim'rous guilt was o'er, Emerged, and stood twice firmer than before.

CONTENTMENT, INDUSTRY, AND ACQUIESCENCE
UNDER THE DIVINE WILL.
AN ODE.

WHY dwells my unoffended eye

On yon blank desert's trackless waste;
All dreary earth, or cheerless sky,
Like ocean wild, and bleak, and vast?
There Lysidor's enamour'd reed
Ne'er taught the plains Eudosia's praise :
There herds were rarely known to feed,
Or birds to sing, or flocks to graze.
Yet does my soul complacence find;
All, all from thee,

Supremely gracious Deity,
Corrector of the mind!

Tremble, and yonder Alp behold,
Where half-dead nature gasps below,
Victim of everlasting cold,
Entomb'd alive in endless snow.
The northern side is horror all;
Against the southern Phoebus plays;
In vain th' innoxious glimm'rings fall,
The frost outlives, outshines the rays.
Yet consolation still I find ;
And all from thee,
Supremely gracious Deity,
Corrector of the mind!

For nature rarely form'd a soil
Where diligence subsistence wants:
Exert but care, nor spare the toil,
And all beyond, th' Almighty grants.
Each earth at length to culture yields,
Each earth its own manure contains:
Thus the Corycian nurst his fields,
Heav'n gave th' increase, and he the pains.
Th' industrious peace and plenty find;
All due to thee,

Supremely gracious Deity,
Composer of the mind!

Scipio sought virtue in his prime,
And, having early gain'd the prize,
Stole from th' ungrateful world in time,
Contented to be low and wise!

He served the state with zeal and force,
And then with dignity retired;
Dismounting from th' unruly horse,
To rule himself, as sense required,
Without a sigh, he pow'r resign'd.-
All, all from thee,

Supremely gracious Deity,
Corrector of the mind!

When Diocletian sought repose,
Cloy'd and fatigued with nauseous pow'r,
He left his empire to his foes,

For fools t' admire, and rogues devour:
Rich in his poverty, he bought
Retirement's innocence and health,
With his own hands the monarch wrought,
And changed a throne for Ceres' wealth.
Toil sooth'd his cares, his blood refined-
And all from thee,

Supremely gracious Deity,
Composer of the mind!

He, who had ruled the world, exchanged
His sceptre for the peasant's spade,
Postponing (as through groves he ranged,)
Court splendour to the rural shade.
Child of his hand, th' engrafted thorn
More than the victor laurel pleased:
Heart's-ease, and meadow-sweet, adorn
The brow, from civic garlands eased.
Fortune, however poor, was kind.-
All, all from thee,

Supremely gracious Deity,
Corrector of the mind!

Thus Charles, with justice styled the great
For valour, piety, and laws;

Resign'd two empires to retreat,

And from a throne to shades withdraws; In vain (to sooth a monarch's pride,)

His yoke the willing Persian bore :

In vain the Saracen complied,

And fierce Northumbrians stain'd with gore. One Gallic farm his cares confined;

And all from thee,

Supremely gracious Deity,

Composer of the mind!

Observant of th' almighty will,

Prescient in faith, and pleased with toil, Abram Chaldea left, to till

The moss-grown Haran's flinty soil:
Hydras of thorns absorb'd his gain,
The commonwealth of weeds rebell'd,
But labour tamed th' ungrateful plain,
And famine was by art repell'd;
Patience made churlish nature kind.-
All, all from thee,

Supremely gracious Deity,
Corrector of the mind!

Ah! once to fame and bright dominion born,
The earth and smiling ocean saw me rise,
With time coeval and the star of morn,

The first, the fairest daughter of the skies.

Then, when at heaven's prolific mandate sprung
The radiant beam of new-created day,
Celestial harps, to airs of triumph strung,
Hail'd the glad dawn, and angels call'd me May.
Space in her empty regions heard the sound,

And hills, and dales, and rocks, and valleys rung; The sun exulted in his glorious round,

And shouting planets in their courses sung.

For ever then I led the constant year;

Saw youth, and joy, and love's enchanting wiles; Saw the mild graces in my train appear,

And infant beauty brighten in my smiles. No Winter frown'd. In sweet embrace allied, Three sister seasons danced th' eternal green; And Spring's retiring softness gently vied With Autumn's blush, and Summer's lofty mien. Too soon, when man profaned the blessings giv'n, And vengeance arm'd to blot a guilty age, With bright Astrea to my native heav'n I fled, and flying saw the deluge rage; Saw bursting clouds eclipse the noontide beams, While sounding billows from the mountains roll'd, With bitter waves polluting all my streams, My nectar'd streams, that flow'd on sands of gold. Then vanish'd many a sea-girt isle and grove,

Their forests floating on the wat❜ry plain : Then, famed for arts and laws derived from Jove, My Atalantis sunk beneath the main.

No longer bloom'd primæval Eden's bow'rs,

Nor guardian dragons watch'd th' Hesperian steep:

With all their fountains, fragrant fruits and flow'rs,
Torn from the continent to glut the deep.

No more to dwell in sylvan scenes I deign'd,
Yet oft descending to the languid earth,
With quick'ning powers the fainting mass sus-

tain'd,

And waked her slumb'ring atoms into birth.

And ev'ry echo taught my raptured name,

And ev'ry virgin breath'd her am'rous vows,
And precious wreaths of rich immortal fame,
Shower'd by the Muses, crown'd by lofty brows.
But chief in Europe, and in Europe's pride,
My Albion's favour'd realms, I rose adored;
And pour'd my wealth, to other climes denied ;
From Amalthea's horn with plenty stored.

Ah me! for now a younger rival claims
My ravish'd honours, and to her belong
My choral dances, and victorious games,
To her my garlands and triumphal song.

O say what yet untasted beauties flow,
What purer joys await her gentler reign?
Do lilies fairer, vi'lets sweeter blow?

And warbles Philomel a softer strain?

Do morning suns in ruddier glory rise ?
Does ev'ning fan her with serener gales?
Do clouds drop fatness from the wealthier skies,
Or wantons plenty in her happier vales?
Ah! no: the blunted beams of dawning light
Skirt the pale orient with uncertain day;
And Cynthia, riding on the car of night,
Through clouds embattled faintly wings her way.
Pale, immature, the blighted verdure springs,
Nor mounting juices feed the swelling flower;
Mute all the groves, nor Philomela sings

When silence listens at the midnight hour.
Nor wonder, man, that nature's bashful face,
And op'ning charms her rude embraces fear :
Is she not sprung from April's wayward race,
The sickly daughter of th' unripen'd year?
With show'rs and sunshine in her fickle eyes,
With hollow smiles proclaiming treach'rous peace,
With blushes, harb'ring, in their thin disguise,
The blasts that riot on the Spring's increase?
Is this the fair invested with my spoil

By Europe's laws, and senates' stern command? Ungen'rous Europe! let me fly thy soil,

And waft my treasures to a grateful land;

Again revive, on Asia's drooping shore,

My Daphne's groves, or Lycia's ancient plain ; Again to Afric's sultry sands restore

Embow'ring shades, and Lybian Ammon's fane: Or haste to northern Zembla's savage coast, There hush to silence elemental strife; Brood o'er the regions of eternal frost,

And swell her barren womb with heat and life. Then Britain-Here she ceased. Indignant grief, And parting pangs, her falt ring tongue suppress'd: Veil'd in an amber cloud she sought relief, And tears and silent anguish told the rest.

SONG TO *

WHAT! bid me seek another fair

In untried paths of female wiles? And posies weave of other hair,

And bask secure in other smiles? Thy friendly stars no longer prize, And light my course by other eyes? Ah no!-my dying lips shall close,

Unalter'd love, as faith, professing; Nor praising him who life bestows,

Forget who makes that gift a blessing. My last address to Heaven is due ; The last but one is all-to you.

IN Phœbus' region while some bards there be
That sing of battles, and the trumpet's roar;
Yet these, I ween, more powerful bards than me,
Above my ken, on eagle pinions soar !
Haply a scene of meaner view to scan,

Beneath their laurel'd praise my verse may give, To trace the features of unnoticed man ;

Deeds, else forgotten, in the verse may live! Her lore, mayhap, instructive sense may teach, From weeds of humbler growth within my lowly reach.

A wight there was, who single and alone

Had crept from vigorous youth to waning age, Nor e'er was worth, nor e'er was beauty known His heart to captive, or his thought engage: Some feeble joyaunce, though his conscious mind Might female worth or beauty give to wear, Yet to the nobler sex he held confined

The genuine graces of the soul sincere, And well could show with saw or proverb quaint All semblance woman's soul,and all her beauty paint.

In plain attire this wight apparel'd was,

(For much he conn'd of frugal lore and knew) Nor, till some day of larger note might cause,

From iron-bound chest his better garb he drew: But when the Sabbath-day might challenge more, Or feast, or birth-day, should it chance to be, A glossy suit devoid of stain he wore,

And gold his buttons glanced so fair to see, Gold clasp'd his shoon, by maiden brush'd so sheen, And his rough beard he shaved, and donn'd his linen clean.

But in his common garb a coat he wore,

A faithful coat that long its lord had known, That once was black, but now was black no more, Attinged by various colours not its own. All from his nostrils was the front imbrown'd, And down the back ran many a greasy line, While, here and there, his social moments own'd The generous signet of the purple wine. Brown o'er the bent of eld his wig appear'd, Like fox's trailing tail by hunters sore affeir'd.

One only maid he had, like turtle true,

But not like turtle gentle, soft, and kind ; For many a time her tongue bewray'd the shrew, And in meet words unpack'd her peevish mind. Ne form'd was she to raise the soft desire

That stirs the tingling blood in youthful vein, Ne form'd was she to light the tender fire,

By many a bard is sung in many a strain : Hook'd was her nose, and countless wrinkles told What no man durst to her, I ween, that she was old.

When the clock told the wonted hour was come When from his nightly cups the wight withdrew, Right patient would she watch his wending home, His feet she heard, and soon the bolt she drew. If long his time was past, and leaden sleep

O'er her tired eye-lids 'gan his reign to stretch, Oft would she curse that men such hours should keep,

And many a saw 'gainst drunkenness would preach;

Haply if potent gin had arm'd her tongue, All on the reeling wight a thundering peal she rung.

For though the blooming queen of Cyprus' isle
O'er her cold bosom long had ceased to reign,
On that cold bosom still could Bacchus smile,
Such beverage to own if Bacchus deign:
For wine she prized not much, for stronger
drink

Its medicine, oft a cholic-pain will call,
And for the medicine's sake, might envy think,
Oft would a cholic-pain her bowels enthral;
Yet much the proffer did she loath, and say
No dram might maiden taste, and often answer'd
nay.

So as in single animals he joy'd,

One cat, and eke one dog, his bounty fed; The first the cate-devouring mice destroy'd, Thieves heard the last, and from his threshold fled :

All in the sun-beams bask'd the lazy cat,

Her mottled length in couchant posture laid; On one accustom'd chair while Pompey sat,

And loud he bark'd should Puss his right invade. The human pair oft mark'd them as they lay, And haply sometimes thought like cat and dog were they.

A room he had that faced the southern ray,
Where oft he walk'd to set his thoughts in tune,
Pensive he paced its length an hour or tway,
All to the music of his creeking shoon.
And at the end a darkling closet stood,

Where books he kept of old research and new,
In seemly order ranged on shelves of wood,
And rusty nails and phials not a few:
Thilk place a wooden box beseemeth well,
And papers squared and trimm'd for use unmeet
to tell.

For still in form he placed his chief delight,
Nor lightly broke his old accustom❜d rule,
And much uncourteous would he hold the wight
That e'er displaced a table, chair, or stool;
And oft in meet array their ranks he placed,

And oft with careful eye their ranks review'd;
For novel forms, though much those forms had
Himself and maiden-minister eschew'd: [graced,
One path he trod, nor ever would decline
A hair's unmeasured breadth from off the even line.

A Club select there was, where various talk
On various chapters pass'd the ling'ring hour,
And thither oft he bent his evening walk,
And warm'd to mirth by wine's enlivening
pow'r.

And oft on politics the preachments ran,

If a pipe lent its thought-begetting fume: And oft important matters would they scan,

And deep in council fix a nation's doom: And oft they chuckled loud at jest or jeer, Or bawdy tale the most, thilk much they loved to hear.

For men like him they were of like consort,

Thilk much the honest muse must needs condemn,

Who made of women's wiles their wanton sport, And bless'd their stars that kept the curse

from them!

No honest love they knew, no melting smile

That shoots the transports to the throbbing Thilk knew they not but in a harlot's guile [heart! Lascivious smiling through the mask of art : And so of women deem'd they as they knew, And from a Demon's traits an Angel's picture drew.

But most abhorr'd they Hymeneal rites,

And boasted oft the freedom of their fate : Nor 'vail'd, as they opined, its best delytes

Those ills to balance that on wedlock wait; And often would they tell of hen-peck'd fool

Snubb'd by the hard behest of sour-eyed dame. And vow'd no tongue-arm'd woman's freakish rule Their mirth should quail, or damp their generous flame:

Then pledged their hands, and toss'd their

bumpers o'er,

And Io! Bacchus ! sung, and own'd no other pow'r.

If e'er a doubt of softer kind arose

Within some breast of less obdurate frame, Lo! where its hideous form a Phantom shows Full in his view, and Cuckold is its name. Him Scorn attended with a glance askew, And Scorpion Shame for delicts not his own, Her painted bubbles while Suspicion blew,

And vex'd the region round the Cupid's throne: "Far be from us," they cry'd, "the treach'rous bane, "Far be the dimply guile, and far the flowery chain !"

NN