What tho' the dome be wanting, whofe proud gate,
Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd
Of flatterers falfe, and in their turns abus'd!
Vile intercourfe! What tho' the glittering robe,
Of every hue reflected light can give,

Or floated loofe, or stiff with maffy gold,
The pride and gaze of fools oppress him not?
What tho', from utmost land and sea púrvey'd,
For him each rarer tributary life

Bleeds not, and his infatiate table heaps
With luxury and death? What tho' his bowl
Flames not with coftly juice; nor funk in beds
Oft of gay care, he toffes out the night,
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state?
What tho' he knows not those fantastic joys,
That ftill amuse the wanton, ftill deceive;
A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain;
Their hollow moments undelighted all ?
Sure peace is his; a folid life eftrang'd
To difappointment and fallacious hope:
Rich in content, in nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the spring,
When heaven defcends in fhowers; or bends the bough
When fummer reddens, and when autumn beams;

Or in the wint'ry glebe whatever lies

Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest fap :
Thefe are not wanting, nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant, fpread o'er all the lowing vale;
Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams,.
And hum of bees, inviting fleep fincere
Into the guiltless breaft, beneath the fhade,.
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor ought befides of profpect, grove, or song,
Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear.
Here too dwells fimple truth; plain innocence;

Unfullied beauty; found unbroken youth,
Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd;
Health ever blooming; unambitious toil;
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.

The rage of nations, and the crush of ftates, Move not the man, who, from the world escap'd, In still retreats, and flowery folitudes,

To nature's voice attends, from month to month,
And day to day, thro' the revolving year:
Admiring, fees her in her every shape;

Feels all her fweet emotions at his heart;
Takes what the liberal gives, nor thinks of more.
He, when young fpring protudes the bursting gems,
Marks the first bud, and fucks the healthful gale
Into his freshen'd foul; her genial hours
He full enjoys; and not a beauty blows,
And not an opening blossom breathes, in vain.
In fummer he, beneath the living shade,
Such as o'er frigid l'empe wont to wave,
Or Hemus cool, reads what the muse, of these,
Perhaps, has in immortal numbers fung;
Or what the dictates writes: and, oft an eye
Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year.
When autumn's yellow luftre gilds the world,
And tempts the fickled fwain into the field,
Seiz'd by the general joy, his heart diftends
With gentle throes; and, thro' the tepid gleams
Deep mufing, then he best exerts his fong.
Even winter wild to him is full of blifs.

The mighty tempeft, and the hoary wafte,

Abrupt, and deep, ftretch'd o'er the buried earth,
Awake to folemn thought. At night the skies,
Difclos'd, and kindled, by refining froft,
Pour every luftre on th' exalted eye.

A friend, a book, the ftealing hours fecure,

And mark them dowu for wisdom. With swift wing,
O'er land and fea the imagination roams;

Or truth, divinely breaking on his mind,
Elates his being, and unfolds his powers;
Or in his breaft heroic virtue burns.
The touch of kindred too and love he feels;
The modeft eye, whose beams on him alone
Extatic fhine; the little ftrong embrace
Of prattling children, twisted round his neck,
And emulous to please him, calling forth
The fond parental foul. Nor purpose gay,
Amusement, dance, or song, he flernly scorns ;
For happiness and true philosophy

Are of the focial, ftill, and finiling kind.
This is the life which thofe who fret in guilt,
And guilty cities, never knew; the life,
Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt,

When angels dwelt, and god himself, with man!

THOMSON.

CHAPTER XXIX.

GENIUS.

FROM Heav'n my ftrains begin; from Heav'n descends

The flame of genius to the human breast,

And love and beauty, and poetic joy,

And inspiration. Ere the radiant fun

Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night
The moon fufpended her ferener lamp;

Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn'd the globe,
Or wisdom taught the fons of men her lore;
Then liv'd th' Almighty One: then deep retir'd
In his unfathom'd effence, view'd the forms,
The forms eternal of created things;

The radiant fun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,

The mountains, woods, and ftreams, the rolling globe,

And wifdom's mien celeftial. From the first

Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd,
His admiration: till in time complete,

What he admir'd, and lov'd, his vital smile
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame,

Hence the green earth, and wild refounding waves ;
Hence light and shade alternate; warmth and cold;
And clear autumnal skies and vernal show'rs,
And all the fair variety of things.

But not alike to every mortal eye

Is this great:fcene unveil'd. For fince the claims
Of focial life to different labours urge
The active pow'r's of man; with wife intent
The hand of nature on peculiar minds
Imprints a different bias, and to each

Decrees its province in the common toil.
To fome she taught the fabric of the sphere,
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,
The golden zones of Heaven: to fome she gave
To weigh the moment of eternal things,
Of time and space, and fate's unbroken chain,
And will's quick impulfe: others by the hand
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore
What healing virtue fwells the tender veins
Of herbs and flow'rs; or what the beams of morn
Draws forth, diftilling from the clefted rind
In balmy tears. But fome, to higher hopes
Were deftin'd; fome within a finer mould
She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame.
To thefe the Sire Omnipotent unfolds
The world's harmonious volume, there to read
The tranfcript of himself. On every part
They trace the bright impreffions of his hand :

In earth or air, the meadow's purple ftores,
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form
Blooming with rofy fmiles, they fee pourtray'd
That uncreated beauty, which delights.
The mind fupreme.. They alfo feel her charms,
Enamour'd; they partake th' eternal joy.

CHAPTER XXX.

GREATNESS.

SAY, why was man fo eminently raised
Amid the vaft creation; why ordain'd
Thro' life and death to dart his piercing eye,
With thoughts beyond the limits of his frame;
But that th' Omnipotent might send him forth
In fight of mortal and immortal pow'rs,
As on a boundless theatre, to run

AKENSIDE.

The great career of justice; to exalt
His generous aim to all diviner deeds;
To chafe each partial purpose from his breaft;
And thro' the mists of passion and of sense,
And thro' the toffing tide of chance and pain,
To hold his course unfault'ring, while the voice
Of truth and virtue, up the fleep afcent
Of nature, calls him to his high reward,

Th' applauding fmile of Heaven: elfe wherefore burns . In mortal bofoms this unquenched hope,

That breathes from day to day fublimer things,
And mocks poffeffion? Wherefore darts the mind,
With fuch refiftlefs ardour to embrace

Majestic forms? Impatient to be free,
Spurning the grofs control of wilful might;
Proud of the strong contention of her toils;
Proud to be daring? Who but rather turns
To Heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view,