Oh! vaunt of worthless art, the swain

replied, Scowling contempt, how pitiful this pride! What are these specious gifts, these paltry gains,

But base rewards for ignominious pains? With all thy tricking, still for bread we strive,

Thine is, proud wretch! the care that cannot thrive;

By all thy boasted skill and baffled hooks, Thou gainst no more than students by their books;

No more than I for my poor deeds am paid, Whom none can blame, will help, or dare upbraid.

Call this our need, a bog that all devours,Then what thy petty arts, but summerflowers,

Gaudy and mean, and serving to betray The place they make unprofitably gay? Who know it not,some useless beauties see, But ah! to prove it, was reserved for me.

Unhappy state! that, in decay of love, Permits harsh truth his errors to disprove; While he remains, to wrangle and to jar, Is friendly tournament, no fatal war; Love in his play will borrow arms of hate, Anger and rage, upbraiding and debate; And by his power the desperate weapons thrown,

Become as safe and pleasant as his own; But left by him, their natures they assume, And fatal, in their poisoning force, become.

Time fled, and now the swain, compell'd

to see

New cause for fear-Is this thy thrift?
quoth he.
To whom the wife with cheerful voice
replied:-

Thou moody man, lay all thy fears aside,
I've seen a vision;-they, from whom I came,
A daughter promise,promise wealth and fame;
Born with my features, with my arts, yet she
Shall patient, pliant, persevering be,
And in thy better ways resemble thee.
The fairies round shall at her birth attend,
The friend of all in all shall find a friend,
And save that one sad star that hour must
gleam

On our fair child, how glorious were my dream!

This heard the husband, and, in surly smile, Aim'd at contempt, but yet he hoped the while:

Swift fled the days, for now in hope they

fled,

When a fair daughter bless'd the nuptial bed; Her infant-face the mother's pains beguiled, She look'd so pleasing, and so softly smiled; Those smiles, those looks, with sweet sensations moved

The gazer's soul, and, as he look'd, he loved.

And now the fairies came, with gifts, to grace

So mild a nature and so fair a face.
They gave, with beauty, that bewitching art,
That holds in easy chains the human heart;
They gave her skill to win the stubborn
mind,

To make the suffering to their sorrows blind,
To bring on pensive looks the pleasing smile,
And Care's stern brow of every frown beguile.
These magic favours graced the infant-maid,
Whose more enlivening smile the charming
gifts repaid.

Now Fortune changed, who, were she constant long, Would leave us few adventures for our song. A wicked elfin roved this land around, Whose joys proceeded from the griefs he found;

Envy his name:— :—his fascinating eye From the light bosom drew the sudden sigh; Unsocial he, but with malignant mind, He dwelt with man, that he might curse mankind;

Like the first foe, he sought th' abode of joy, Grieved to behold, but eager to destroy ; Round blooming beauty, like the wasp, he flew,

Soil'd the fresh sweet, and changed the rosy hne;

The wise, the good, with anxious heart,he saw,
And here a failing found, and there a flaw;
Discord in families 'twas his to move,
Distrust in friendship, jealousy in love;
He told the poor, what joys the great pos-
sess'd,

The great-what calm content the cottage bless'd;

To part the learned and the rich he tried, Till their slow friendship perish'd in their pride.

Such was the fiend, and so secure of prey, That only Misery pass'd unstung away.

Soon as he heard the fairy-babe was born. Scornful he smiled, but felt no more than

scorn;

low,

In useless spite his lofty malice show? Why, in a mischief of the meaner kind, Exhaust the vigour of a ranc'rous mind? But, soon as Fame the fairy-gifts proclaim'd, Quick-rising wrath his ready soul inflamed, To swear, by vows that e'en the wicked tie, The nymph should weep her varied destiny; That every gift, that now appear'd to shine In her fair face and make her smiles divine, Should all the poison of his magic prove, And they should scorn her, whom she sought for love.

His spell prepared,in form an ancient dame, A fiend in spirit, to the cot he came; There gain'd admittance, and the infant press'd

(Muttering his wicked magic) to his breast; And thus he said:-Of all the powers, who wait

On Jove's decrees and do the work of fate, Was I alone, despised or worthless, found, Weak to protect, or impotent to wound? See then thy foe, regret the friendship lost, And learn my skill, but learn it at your cost. Know then, O child! devote to fates severe, The good shall hate thy name, the wise shall fear;

Wit shall deride, and no protecting friend Thy shame shall cover, or thy name defend. Thy gentle sex, who, more than ours, should

Who hates the happy, aims his darts at thée;
But aims in vain; thy favour'd daughter lies,
Serenely blest, and shall to joy arise.
For, grant that curses on her name shall

wait

(So envy wills and such the voice of fate), Yet if that name be prudently suppress'd, She shall be courted, favour'd, and caress'd. For what are names? and where agree mankind,

In those to persons or to acts assign'd? Brave, learn'd, or wise, if some their favourites call,

Have they the titles or the praise from all? Not so, but others will the brave disdain As rash, and deem the sons of wisdom vain; The self-same mind shall scorn or kindness

move,

And the same deed attract contempt and love. So all the powers who move the human soul, With all the passions who the will control, Have various names— One giv'n by Truth divine

(As Simulation thus was fix'd for mine), The rest by man, who now, as wisdom's, prize My secret counsels, now as art despise; One hour,as just, those counsels they embrace, And spurn, the next, as pitiful and base. Thee,too,my child, those fools as Cunning fly, Who on thy counsel and thy craft rely; That worthy craft in others they condemn, But 'tis their prudence, while conducting them.

Be FLATTERY, then, thy happy infant's name,
Let Honour scorn her and let W'it defame;
Let all be true that Envy dooms, yet all,
Not on herself, but one her name, shall fall;
While she thy fortune and her own shall
raise,

And decent Truth be call'd, and loved, as
modest Praise.
O happy child! the glorious day shall shine,
When every ear shall to thy speech incline,
Thy words alluring and thy voice divine:
The sullen pedant and the sprightly wit,
To hear thy soothing eloquence, shall sit;
And both, abjuring Flattery, will agree
That truth inspires, and they must honour
thee.

Envy himself shall to thy accents bend,
Force a faint smile and sullenly attend,
When thou shalt call him Virtue's jealous
friend,

Whose bosom glows with generous rage to find

How fools and knaves are flatter'd by mankind.

The sage retired, who spends alone his days, And flies th' obstreperous voice of public praise;

The vain, the vulgar cry, shall gladly meet, And bid thee welcome to his still retreat; Much will he wonder, how thou cam'st to find A man to glory dead, to peace consign'd.

Fame),

From thee I fly, from thee conceal my name; But thou shalt say: Though Genius takes his flight,

He leaves behind a glorious train of light, And hides in vain: - yet prudent he that flies

The flatterer's art, and for himself is wise. Yes, happy child! I mark th' approaching day,

When warring natures will confess thy sway; When thou shalt Saturn's golden reign restore,

And vice and folly shall be known no more, Pride shall not then in human - kind have place,

Changed by thy skill to Dignity and Grace; While Shame, who now betrays the inward

sense

Of secret ill, shall be thy Diffidence ; Avarice shall thenceforth prudent Forecast be,

And bloody Vengeance Magnanimity;
The lavish tongue shall honest truths impart,
The lavish hand shall show the generous
heart,

And Indiscretion be Contempt of art:
Folly and Vice shall then, no longer known,
Be, this as Virtue, that as Wisdom, shown.
Then shall the Robber, as the Hero, rise
To seize the good that churlish law denies;
Throughout the world shall rove the
generous band,

And deal the gifts of Heaven from hand to hand.

In thy blest days no tyrant shall be seen,
Thy gracious kings shall rule contented men;
In thy blest days shall not a rebel be,
But patriots all and well approved of thee.
Such powers are thine, that man, by thee,
shall wrest

The gainful secret from the cautious breast;
Nor then, with all his care, the good retain,
But yield to thee the secret and the gain.
In vain shall much experience guard the heart
Against the charm of thy prevailing art;
Admitted once, so soothing is thy strain,
It comes the sweeter, when it comes again;
And when confess'd as thine, what mind so
strong

Forbears the pleasure it indulged so long?
Soft'ner of every ill! of all our woes
The balmy solace! friend of fiercest foes!
Begin thy reign, and like the morning rise!
Bring joy, bring beauty, to our eager eyes;
Break on the drowsy world like opening
day,

While grace and gladness join thy flow'ry way;

While every voice is praise, while every heart is gay.

surveys,

And for his Eden asks the traveller's praise, Which yet, unview'd of thec, a bog had been,

Where spungy rushes hide the plashy green. I see thee breathing on the barren moor, That seems to bloom although so bleak before;

There, if beneath the gorse the primrose spring,

Or the pied daisy smile below the ling, They shall new charms, at thy command, disclose,

And none shall miss the myrtle or the rose. The wiry moss, that whitens all the hill, Shall live a beauty by thy matchless skill; Gale from the bog shall yield Arabian balm, And the gray willow wave a golden palm. I see thee smiling in the pictured room, Now breathing beauty, now reviving bloom; There, each immortal name 'tis thine to give,

To graceless forms, and bid the lumber live.

Shouldst thou coarse boors or gloomy martyrs see,

These shall thy Guidos, those thy Teniers be; There shalt thou Raphael's saints and angels trace,

There make for Rubens and for Reynolds place,

And all the pride of art shall find, in her, disgrace.

Delight of either sex! thy reign commence; With balmy sweetness soothe the weary

A smiling friend, to every class, she spoke Assumed their manners, and their habits took;

Her, for her humble mien, the modest loved;

Her cheerful looks the light and gay ap proved;

The just beheld her firm; the valiant brave: Her mirth the free, her silence pleased the grave;

ear,

them?

true, The learn'd confess'd that she their merits knew;

Thus on her name though all disgrace attend,

In every creature she beholds a friend.

Yet thus, when we our way discern,
And can upon our care depend,
To travel safely when we learn,

Behold! we're near our journey's end.
We've trod the maze of error round,
Long wand'ring in the winding glade;
And now the torch of truth is found,
It only shows us where we stray'd:
Light for ourselves, what is it worth,
When we no more our way can choose?
For others, when we hold it forth,
They, in their pride, the boon refuse.

By long experience taught, we now
Can rightly judge of friends and foes,

Can all the worth of these allow,
And all their faults discern in those;
Relentless hatred, erring love,

We can for sacred truth forego;
We can the warmest friend reprove,

And bear to praise the fiercest foe: To what effect? Our friends are gone, Beyond reproof, regard, or care; And of our foes remains there one,

The mild relenting thoughts to share?

Now 'tis our boast that we can quell
The wildest passions in their rage;
Can their destructive force repel,

And their impetuous wrath assuage:
Ah! Virtue, dost thou arm, when now
This bold rebellious race are fled;
When all these tyrants rest, and thou
Art warring with the mighty dead?
Revenge, ambition, scorn, and pride,
And strong desire and fierce disdain,
The giant-brood, by thee defied,

Lo! Time's resistless strokes have slain.

Yet Time, who could that race subdue, O'erpow'ring strength, appeasing rage, Leaves yet a persevering crew,

To try the failing powers of age. Vex'd by the constant call of these, Virtue awhile for conquest tries, But weary grown and fond of ease,

She makes with them a compromise: Av'rice himself she gives to rest,

But rules him with her strict commands; Bids Pity touch his torpid breast, And Justice hold his eager hands.