On eager wing the fpoiler came,

And fearch'd for crannies in the frame,
Urg'd his attempt on ev'ry fide,

To ev'ry pane his trunk applied ;
But ftill in vain, the frame was tight,
And only pervious to the light;
Thus having wafted half the day,
He trimm'd his flight another way.
Methinks, I faid, in thee I find
The fin and madness of mankind.
To joys forbidden man aspires,
Confumes his foul with vain defires;
Folly the fpring of his purfuit,
And difappointment all the fruit.
While Cynthio ogles as the paffes

The nymph between two chariot glaffes,
She is the pine-apple, and he

The filly unfuccessful bee.

The maid, who views with penfive air

The fhow-glafs fraught with glitt'ring ware,
Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets,
But fighs at thought of empty pockets;
Like thine, her appetite is keen,
But ah, the cruel glafs between!

Our dear delights are often fuch,
Expos'd to view, but not to touch:
The fight our foolish heart inflames,
We long for pine apples in frames:
With hopeless with one looks and lingers;
One breaks the glass, and cuts his fingers;
But they whom truth and wisdom lead,
Can gather honey from a weed.

HORACE. Вook the 2d. ODE the 10th.

I.

RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach,

So fhalt thou live beyond the reach

Of adverfe Fortune's pow'r;
Not always tempt the diftant deep,

Nor always timorously creep

Along the treach'rous shore.

II.

He, that holds fast the golden mean,

And lives contentedly between

The little and the great,

Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,

Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Imbitt'ring all his state.

III.

The tallest pines feel most the pow'r
Of wintry blafts; the loftieft tow'r
Comes heavieft to the ground;

The bolts, that spare the mountain's fide,
His cloud-capt eminence divide,

And spread the ruin round.

IV.

The well-inform'd philosopher
Rejoices with an wholesome fear,

And hopes, in fspite of pain;
If winter bellow from the north,

Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth,

And nature laughs again.

V.

What if thine heav'n be overcaft,

The dark appearance will not laft;

Expect a brighter sky.

The God that ftrings the filver bow
Awakes fometimes the muses too,

And lays his arrows by.

VI.

If hindrances obftruct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,

And let thy ftrength be feen;
But oh! if Fortune fill thy fail
With more than a propitious gale,
Take half thy canvass in.

A REFLECTION

ON THE FOREGOING

ODE.

AND is this all? Can reafon do no more

Than bid me fhun the deep and dread the shore?
Sweet moralift! afloat on life's rough fea,

The Chriftian has an art unknown to thee:
He holds no parley with unmanly fears;
Where duty bids he confidently fteers,
Faces a thousand dangers at her call,

And, trufting in his God, furmounts them all.