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"And hugg'd the chain that, glittering on their


"Seems to outshine the pomp of heaven's empyreal blaze.

"The end and the reward of toil is rest. "Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace. "Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possess'd,

"Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease! "Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece, "The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious string,

"The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece, "All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring,


'If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride, the bosom wring!

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Along yon glittering sky what glory streams! "What majesty attends night's lovely queen! "Fair laugh our vallies in the vernal beams, "And mountains rise, and oceans roll between,

And all conspire to beautify the scene. “But, in the mental world, what chaos drear! "What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious

mien !

"O when shall that eternal morn appear, "These dreadful forms to chase, this chaos dark to clear!

“O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven, "In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light, "Rose from th' abyss; when dark confusion,


"Down down the bottomless profound of night,

"Fled, where he ever flies Thy piercing sight; "O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray, "To blast the fury of oppressive might; “ Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway, "And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the way."

Stanza 40.


Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart, "And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight: "To joy each heightening charm it can impart, "But wraps the hour of wo in tenfold night, "And often, where no real ills affright,

"Its visionary fiends, an endless train, "Assail with equal or superior might, "And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain,

"And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal pain.

"And yet, alas, the real ills of life

“Claim the full vigour of a mind prepared, "Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife, "Its guide Experience, and Truth its guard. "We fare on earth as other men have fared: "Were they successful? Let not us despair. "Was disappointment oft their sole reward? "Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declare, "How they have borne the load ourselves are doom'd to bear.



DEAR Cloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In Folly's maze advance ;

Tho' Singularity and Pride

Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,
Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where Love our hours employs;
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,

To spoil our heart-felt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,

And they are fools who roam;
The world hath nothing to bestow,
From our own selves our bliss must flow,
And that dear hut our home.

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When, with impatient wing, she left
That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursions o'er,
The disappointed bird once more
Explor'd the sacred bark.

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Tho' fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,
We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good,
A paradise below.

Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring
Whence pleasures ever rise;

We'll form their minds with studious care
To all that's manly, good, and fair,
And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,
And crown our hoary hairs;
They'll grow in virtue every day,
And they our fondest loves repay,
And recompense our cares.

No borrow'd joys! they're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,
Or by the world forgot;
Monarchs! we envy not your state,
We look with pity on the great,
And bless our humble lot.

Our portion is not large, indeed,
But then how little do we need,

For Nature's calls are few!
In this the art of living lies,

To want no more than may suffice,
And make that little do.


We'll therefore relish with content,
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,

Nor aim beyond our power;
For, if our stock be very small,
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present hour.

To be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are denied,

And pleas'd with favours given; Dear Cloe, this is wisdom's part, This is that incense of the heart

Whose fragrance smells to heaven.

We'll ask no long-protracted treat,
Since winter-life is seldom sweet;

But, when our feast is o'er,
Grateful from table we'll arise,
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes,
The relics of our store.

Thus hand in hand thro' life we'll go, Its checker'd paths of joy and woe

With cautious steps we'll tread; Quit its vain scenes without a tear, Without a trouble or a fear,

And mingle with the dead.

While Conscience, like a faithful friend,
Shall thro' the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;
Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,
And smooth the bed of death,

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