The cottage by such feats as these, Grown to a church by just degrees, The hermits then desir'd their host Old goodman Dobson of the green, Remembers, he the trees has seen; He'll talk of them from morn to night, And goes with folks to shew the sight.

On Sundays, after ev'ning prayer, He gathers all the parish there; Points out the place of either yew: "Here Baucis, there Philemon grew; "Till, once, a parson of our town, "To mend his barn, cut Baucis down; "At which, 'tis hard to be believ'd; "How much the other tree was griev'd; "Grew scrubby, died a-top, was stunted; "So the next parson stubb'd, and burnt it."

ON HAPPINESS.

Oh happiness! our being's end and aim; Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er they name, That something still which prompts the eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die: Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies, O'erlook'd, seen double, by the fool, and wise: Plant of celestial seed! if drop'd below, Say, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow: Fair op'ning to some court's propitious shrine; Or deep with di'monds in the flaming mine?

Twin'd with the wreaths Parna.s.sian laurels yield, Or reap'd in iron harvests of the field?

Where grows? where grows it not? If vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.

Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere?

'Tis no where to be found, or every where.

Order is heaven's first law: and this confest, Some are, and must be, greater than the rest; More rich, more wise. But, who infers from hence That such are happier, shocks all common sense; Heaven to mankind impartial we confess, If all are equal in their happiness.

But mutual wants this happiness increase; All natures difference keeps all natures peace.

Condition, circ.u.mstance, is not the thing; Bliss is the same, in subject, or in king; In who obtain defence, or who defend; In him who is, or him who finds a friend.

Fortune her gifts may variously dispose, And these be happy call'd, unhappy those; But heaven's just balance equal will appear, While those are plac'd in hope, and these in fear; Nor present good or ill, the joy or curse, But future views of better, or of worse.

Oh sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise, By mountains pil'd on, mountains, to the skies?

Heaven still, with laughter, the vain toil surveys, And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.

Know, all the good that individuals find, Or G.o.d and nature meant to mere mankind, Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words--Health, Peace, and Competence.

SPEECH OF ADAM TO EVE.

Now morn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl, When Adam wak'd; so custom'd; for his sleep Was airy light, from pure digestion bred, And temperate vapours bland, which the only found Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, Lightly dispers'd, and the thrill matin song Of birds on ev'ry bough. So much the more His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek.

As through unquiet rest. He, on his side Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love, Hung over her enamour'd; and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces. Then, with voice Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, Her hand soft touching, whispered thus; "Awake, "My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found: "Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight, "Awake!--The morning shines, and the fresh field "Calls us. We lose the prime; to mark how spring "Our tended plants; how blows the citron grove: "What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed; "How nature paints her colours; how the bee "Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet."

SOLILOQUY AND PRAYER OF EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE, BEFORE THE BATTLE OF POICTIERS.

The hour advances, the decisive hour, That lifts me to the summit of renown, Or leaves me on the earth a breathless corse, The buzz and bustle of the field before me; The tw.a.n.g of bow-strings, and the clash of spears: With every circ.u.mstance of preparation; Strike with an awful horror!--Shouts are echo'd, To drown dismay, and blow up resolution Even to its utmost swell.--From hearts so firm, Whom dangers fortify, and toils inspire, What has a leader not to hope! And, yet, The weight of apprehension sinks me down-- "O, soul of Nature! great eternal cause, "Who gave, and govern's all that's here below!

"'Tis by the aid of thy almighty arm "The weak exist, the virtuous are secure.

"If, to your sacred laws obedient ever "My sword, my soul, have own'd no other guide, "Oh! if your honour, if the rights of men, "My country's happiness, my king's renown, "Were motives worthy of a warrior's zeal, "Crown your poor servant with success this day: "And be the praise and glory all thy own."

INVOCATION TO PARADISE LOST.

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing heav'nly muse! that on the sacred top Of Oreb, or of Sinai, did'st inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, In the beginning, how the heav'ns and earth Rose out of chaos: or, if Sion hill Delight thee more, and Silo's book that flow'd.

Fast by the oracle of G.o.d; I thence Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song, That, with no middle flight, intends to soar Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme And chiefly thou, O Spirit! that dost prefer Before all temples, th' upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou, from the first, Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread, Dove-like sat'st brooding o'er the vast abyss, And mad'st it pregnant; what in me is dark, Illumine: what is low, raise and support; That, to the height of this great argument, I may a.s.sert eternal providence, And justify the ways of G.o.d to men.

MORNING HYMN.

These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!

Almighty! thine this universal frame, Thus wond'rous fair: thyself, how wond'rous, then, Unspeakable! who fit'st above these heav'ns, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine-- Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels!--for ye behold him, and, with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne, rejoicing. Ye in heav'n!-- On earth, join all ye creatures, to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end, Fairest of stars! last in the train of night, If better then, belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.

Thou fun! of this great world both eye and foul, Acknowledge him thy greater: found his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, And when high noon has gain'd, and when thou fall'st, Moon! that now meet'st the orient fun, now fly'st With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies; And ye five other wand'ring fires! that move In mystic dance, not without song; resound His praise, who out of darkness, call'd up light.

Air, and ye elements! the eldest birth Of nature's womb, that, in quaternion, run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change Vary, to our great Maker, still new praise, Ye mists and exhalations! that now rise From hill or streaming lake, dusky or grey, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honour to the world's great Author, rise; Whether to deck with clouds, th' uncolour'd sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs, Rising, or falling, still advance his praise.

His praise, ye winds! that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud! and wave your tops, ye pines!

With ev'ry plant, in sign of worship, wave, Fountains! and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise.--- Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye birds, That, singing, up to heaven-gate ascend, Bear, on your wings, and in your notes, his praise.-- Ye, that in waters glide! and ye, that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep!

Witness, if I be silent, morn or ev'n, To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.-- Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still, To give us only good: and, if the night Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd-- Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

THE HERMIT.--_BY DR. BEATIE_.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove; When nought, but the torrent, is heard on the hill; And nought, but the, nightingale's song, in the grove; 'Twas then, by the cave of the fountain afar; A hermit his song of the night thus began; No more with himself, or with nature at war, He thought as a sage, while he felt as a man.

'Ah! why thus abandon'd to darkness and woe?

'Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain?

'For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 'And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.

'Yet, if pity inspire thee, ah! cease not thy lay; 'Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; 'Oh! soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine, pa.s.s away, 'Full quickly they pa.s.s--but they never return.

'Now, gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, 'The moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays; 'But lately I mark'd; when majestic: on high 'She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.

'Roll on, thou fair orb! and with; gladness pursue 'The path that conducts thee to splendor again-- 'But man's faded glory no change shall renew: 'Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain.

''Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; 'I mourn; but ye woodlands! I mourn not for you: 'For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, 'Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew.

'Nor, yet, for the ravage of winter I mourn; 'Kind nature the embryo blossom will save-- 'But, when shall spring visit the mould'ring urn?

'O! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!'

'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd, That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind; My thoughts want to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.

'O! pity, great father of light!' then I cry'd, 'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee; Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: From doubt, and from darkness, thou only canst free.'

And darkness, and doubt, are now flying away, No longer I roam, in conjecture forlorn, So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.

See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!

On the cold cheek of death, smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb,

COMPa.s.sION.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whole trembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whole days are dwindled to the shortest span, Oh! give relief and heav'n will bless your store, These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak, Those h.o.a.ry locks proclaim my lengthen'd years; And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

You house erected on the rising ground, With tempting aspect, drew me from my road, For plenty there a residence has found, And grandeur a magnificent abode.

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!

Here, as I crav'd a morsel of their bread, A pamper'd menial drove me from the door, To seek a shelter in an humbler shed.

Oh! take me to your hospitable dome; Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold: Short is my pa.s.sage to the friendly tomb, For I am poor and miserably old.