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Some hov'ring doubts his anxious bofom mov'd, And virtue, zealous fair! thofe doubts improv❜d.

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Fly, fly, fond youth, the too indulgent maid,
Nor err, by fuch fantastic scenes betray'd.
Tho' in my path the rugged thorn be seen,
And the dry turf disclose a fainter green;
Tho' no gay rofe, or flow'ry product shine,
The barren furface still conceals the mine.
Each thorn that threatens, ev'n the weed that
In virtue's path, fuperior fweets bestows-
Yet fhou'd those boasted, fpecious toys allure,
Whence cou'd fond floth the flatt'ring gifts procure?
The various wealth that tempts thy fond defire,
'Tis I alone, her greatest foe, acquire.

I from old ocean rob the treafur'd ftore;
I thro' each region, latent gems explore;
'Twas I the rugged brilliant first reveal'd,
By num❜rous ftrata deep in earth conceal'd;
'Tis I the surface yet refine, and shew

The modeft gem's intrinfic charms to glow.
Nor fwells the grape, nor fpires its feeble tree
Without the firm fupports of industry.

grows

But grant we floth the scene herself has drawn,
The moffy grotto, and the flow'ry lawn;
Let PHILOMELA tune th' harmonious gale,
And with each breeze eternal fweets exhale;

Let gay POMONA flight the plains around,

And chufe, for faireft fruits, the favour'd ground;

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To bless the fertile vale fhou'd virtue cease,
Nor moffy grots, nor flow'ry lawns cou'd please;
Nor gay POMONA's lufcious gifts avail,
The found harmonious, or the fpicy gale.

Seest thou yon rocks in dreadful pomp arise,
Whose rugged cliffs deform th' encircling skies?
Those fields, whence PHOEBUS all their moisture drains,
And, too profufely fond, difrobes the plains?
When I vouchfafe to tread the barren foil,

Those rocks feem lovely, and those deferts fmile.
The form thou view'ft, to ev'ry scene with ease
Transfers its charms, and ev'ry scene can please.
When I have on those pathless wilds appear'd,
And the lone wand'rer with my prefence chear'd;
Those cliffs the exile has with pleasure view'd,
And call'd that defert blissful folitude!

Nor I alone to fuch extend my care:
Fair-blooming health furveys her altars there.
Brown exercise will lead thee where the reigns,
And with reflected luftre gild the plains.
With her, in flow'r of youth, and beauty's pride,
Her offspring, calm content and peace, refide.
One ready off'ring fuits each neighb'ring shrine;
And all obey their laws, who practise mine.

But health averfe from floth's fmooth region flies;
And, in her absence, pleasure droops and dies.
Her bright companions, mirth, delight, repose,
Smile where the fmiles, and ficken when she goes.

A galaxy

A galaxy of pow'rs! whofe forms appear
For ever beauteous, and for ever near.

Nor will foft fleep to floth's request incline,
He from her couches flies unbid to mine.

Vain is the sparkling bowl, the warbling strain,
Th' incentive fong, the labour'd viand vain!
Where she relentless reigns without controul,
And checks each gay excursion of the foul:
Unmov'd, tho' beauty, deck'd in all its charms,
Grace the rich couch, and spread the fofteft arms:
Till joyless indolence fuggefts defires;

Or drugs are fought to furnish languid fires :
Such languid fires as on the vitals prey,
Barren of blifs, but fertile of decay.

As artful heats, apply'd to thirfty lands,
Produce no flow'rs, and but debafe the fands.

But let fair health her chearing fmiles impart,
How sweet is nature, how fuperfluous art!
'Tis fhe the fountain's ready draught commends,
And smooths the flinty couch which fortune lends.
And, when my hero from his toils retires,
Fills his gay bofom with unufual fires,

And, while no checks th' unbounded joy reprove,
Aids and refines the genuine fweets of love,
His faireft profpect rifing trophies frame :
His sweetest music is the voice of fame;
Pleasures to floth unknown! fhe never found
How fair the profpect, or how fweet the found.

See

See fame's gay ftructure from yon fummit charms,
And fires the manly breast to arts or arms :
Nor dread the steep afcent, by which you rife
From grov'ling vales to tow'rs which reach the skies.
Love, fame, esteem, 'tis labour must acquire;
The fmiling offspring of a rigid fire!

To fix the friend, your fervice must be shewn;
All, ere they lov'd your merit, lov'd their own.
That wond'ring GREECE your portrait may admire,
That tuneful bards may ftring for you their lyre,
That books may praife, or coins record your name,
Such, fuch rewards 'tis toil alone can claim !
And the fame column which displays to view
The conqu'ror's name, displays the conqueft too.
'Twas flow experience, tedious mistress! taught
All that e'er nobly spoke, or bravely fought.
'Twas fhe the patriot, fhe the bard refin'd,
In arts that serve, protect, or please mankind.
Not the vain vifions of inactive schools;

Not fancy's maxims, not opinion's rules

E'er form'd the man whofe gen'rous warmth extends
T'enrich his country, or to serve his friends.
On active worth the laurel war beftows :
Peace rears her olive for industrious brows:
Nor earth, uncultur'd, yields its kind supplies :

Nor heav'n, its fhow'rs without a facrifice.

See far below fuch grov'ling fcenes of fhame, As lull to reft IGNAVIA'S flumb'ring dame.

VOL. I.

S

Her

Her friends, from all the toils of fame fecure,
Alas! inglorious, greater toils endure.
Doom'd all to mourn, who in her cause engage,
A youth enervate, and a painful age!

A fickly fapless mafs, if reafon flies;
And, if the linger, impotently wife!

A thoughtless train, who pamper'd, fleek, and gay,
Invite old age, and revel youth away;
From life's fresh vigour move the load of care,
And idly place it where they least can bear.
When to the mind, difeas'd, for aid they fly,
What kind reflection shall the mind supply?
When, with loft health, what fhou'd the loss allay,
Peace, peace is loft: a comfortless decay!
But to my friends, when youth, when pleasure flies,
And earth's dim beauties fade before their eyes,
Thro' death's dark vifta flowery tracts are seen,
Elyfian plains, and groves for ever green.
If o'er their lives a refluent glance they cast,
Their's is the present who can praise the past.
Life has its blifs for thefe, when past its bloom,
As wither'd roses yield a late perfume.

Serene, and fafe from paffion's ftormy rage,
How calm they glide into the port of age!
Of the rude voyage lefs depriv'd than eas'd;

More tir'd than pain'd, and weaken'd than diseas'd.

For health on age, 'tis temp'rance must bestow;
And peace from piety alone can flow;

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