And wonted vigour, of paternal cot
Or little farm; of bag, or scrip, or staff,
Cup, dish, spoon, plate, or worldly utensil,
A poet fram'd; yet fram'd not to repine,
And wish the cobler's loftiest site his own;
Nor, partial as they seem, upbraid the Fates,
Who to the humbler mechanism join'd
Goods so superior, such exalted bliss!

See with what seeming ease, what labour'd peace, He, hapless hypocrite! refines his nail,

His chief amusement! then how feign'd, how forc'd,
That care-defying sonnet which implies
His debts discharg'd, and he of half a crown
In full possession, uncontested right

And property. Yet, ah! whoe'er this wight
Admiring view, if such there be, distrust

The vain pretence; the smiles that harbour grief,
As lurks the serpent deep in flow'rs enwreath'd.
Forewarn'd, be frugal; or with prudent rage
Thy pen demolish; choose the trustier flail,
And bless those labours which the choice inspir'd.
But if thou view'st a vulgar mind, a wight
Of common sense, who seeks no brighter name,
Him envy, him admire, him from thy breast,
Prescient of future dignities, salute
Sheriff, or may'r, in comfortable furs

Enwrapt, secure; nor yet the laureat's crown
In thought exclude him! he perchance shall rise
To nobler heights than foresight can decree.
When fir'd with wrath for his intrigues display'd
In many an idle song, Saturnian Jove

Vow'd sure destruction to the tuneful race,
Appeas'd by suppliant Phœbus; ' Bards,' he said,

·

'Henceforth of plenty, wealth, and pomp, debarr'd,
But fed by frugal cares, might wear the bay
Secure of thunder.'-Low the Delian bow'd,
Nor at the' invidious favour dar'd repine.

THE RUINED ABBEY:

OR,

THE EFFECTS OF SUPERSTITION.

Ar length fair Peace, with olive crown'd, regains
Her lawful throne, and to the sacred haupts
Of wood or fount the frighted Muse returns.
Happy the bard who, from his native hills,
Soft musing on a summer's eve, surveys
His azure stream, with pensile woods enclos'd,
Or o'er the glassy surface with his friend,
Or faithful fair, through bordering willows green
Wafts his small frigate. Fearless he of shouts
Or taunts, the rhetoric of the watery crew,
That ape confusion from the realms they rule;
Fearless of these; who shares the gentler voice
Of peace and music; birds of sweetest song
Attune from native boughs their various lay,
And cheer the forest; birds of brighter plume
With busy pinion skim the glitt'ring wave,
And tempt the sun, ambitious to display
Their several merit, while the vocal flute
Or number'd verse, by female voice endear'd,
Crowns his delight, and mollifies the scene.
If Solitude his wandering steps invite

To some more deep recess, (for hours there are
When gay, when social minds to Friendship's voice
Or Beauty's charm her wild abodes prefer)

How pleas'd he treads her venerable shades,
Her solemn courts! the centre of the grove!
The root-built cave, by far-extended rocks
Around embosom'd, how it soothes the soul!
If scoop'd at first by superstitious hands
The rugged cell receiv'd alone the shoals
Of bigot minds, Religion dwells not here,
Yet Virtue pleas'd, at intervals, retires:
Yet here may Wisdom, as she walks the maze,
Some serious truths collect, the rules of life,
And serious truths of mightier weight than gold!
I ask not wealth; but let me hoard with care,
With frugal cunning, with a niggard's art,
A few fix'd principles, in early life,

Ere indolence impede the search, explor'd;
Then like old Latimer, when age impairs
My judgment's eye, when quibbling schools attack
My grounded hope, or subtler wits deride,
Will I not blush to shun the vain debate,
And this mine answer: Thus, 'twas thus I thought,
My mind yet vigorous, and my soul entire ;
Thus will I think, averse to listen more
To intricate discussion, prone to stray.
Perhaps my reason may but ill defend
My settled faith; my mind, with age impair'd,
Too sure its own infirmities declare.

But I am arm'd by caution, studious youth,
And early foresight: now the winds may rise,
The tempest whistle, and the billows roar;
My pinnace rides in port, despoil'd and worn,
Shatter'd by time and storms, but while it shuns
The' unequal conflict, and declines the deep,
Sees the strong vessel fluctuate, less secure.'

Thus while he strays, a thousand rural scenes

Suggest instruction, and instructing please :
And see betwixt the grove's extended arms
An Abbey's rude remains attract thy view,
Gilt by the mid-day sun: with lingering step
Produce thine axe, (for, aiming to destroy
Tree, branch, or shade, for never shall thy breast
Too long deliberate) with timorous hand
Remove the' obstructive bough; nor yet refuse,
Though sighing, to destroy that favourite pine,
Rais'd by thine hand, in its luxuriant prime
Of beauty fair, that screens the vast remains.
Aggriev'd, but constant as the Roman sire,
The rigid Manlius, when his conquering son
Bled by a parent's voice, the cruel meed
Of virtuous ardour timelessly display'd;
Nor cease till, through the gloomy road, the pile
Gleam unobstructed: thither oft thine eye
Shall sweetly wander; thence returning, sooth
With pensive scenes thy philosophic mind.

These were thy haunts, thy opulent abodes,
O Superstition! hence the dire disease
(Balanc'd with which the fam'd Athenian pest
Were a short headach, were the trivial pain
Of transient indigestion) seiz'd mankind.

Long time she rag'd, and scarce a'southern gale
Warm'd our chill air, unloaded with the threats
Of tyrant Rome; but futile all, till she,
Rome's abler legate, magnified their pow'r,
And in a thousand horrid forms attir'd.

Where then was truth to sanctify the page
Of British annals? if a foe expir'd,
The perjur'd monk suborn'd infernal shrieks
And fiends to snatch at the departing soul
With hellish emulation; if a friend,

High o'er his roof exultant angels tune

Their golden lyres, and waft him to the skies. What then were vows, were oaths, were plighted faith?

The sovereign's just, the subject's loyal pact,
To cherish mutual good, annull'd and vain,
By Roman magic, grew an idle scroll
Ere the frail sanction of the wax was cold.
With thee, Plantagenet'! from civil broils
The land awhile respir'd, and all was peace.
Then Becket rose, and, impotent of mind,
From regal courts with lawless fury march'd
The church's blood-stain'd convicts, and forgave,
Bid murderous priests the sovereign frown contemn,
And with unhallow'd crosier bruis'd the crown..
Yet yielded not supinely tame a prince
Of Henry's virtues; learn'd, courageous, wise,
Of fair ambition. Long his regal soul,
Firm and erect, the peevish priest exil'd,
And brav'd the fury of revengeful Rome.
In vain! let one faint malady diffuse

The pensive gloom which Superstition loves,
And see him, dwindled to a recreant groom,
Rein the proud palfrey while the priest ascends!
Was Coeur-de-Lion 2 bless'd with whiter days?
Here the cowl'd zealots with united cries
Urg'd the crusade; and see! of half his stores
Despoil'd the wretch whose wiser bosom chose
To bless his friends, his race, his native land.

Of ten fair suns that roll'd their annual race,
Not one beheld him on his vacant throne;
While haughty Longchamp 3, 'mid his liveried files

1 Henry II.
2 Richard I.
3 Bishop of Ely, Lord Chancellor.