Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd fky
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling fhow'rs,
Rifing or falling ftill advance his praife.

His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow
Breathe foft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With ev'ry plant in figh of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praife.
Join voices, all ye living fouls; ye birds,
That finging up to heav'n's gate afcend,..
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praife.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and ftately tread, or lowly creep; -
Witnefs if I be filent, morn or even,

To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade
Made vocal by my fong, and taught his praise..
Hail, UNIVERSAL LORD! be bounteous fill
To give us only good; and if the night.
Has gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Difperfe it, as now light difpels the dark..

MILTON

O THOU,

CHAP. VI.

PROMISCUOUS PIECES.

SECTION I.

ODE TO CONTENT.

the nymph with placid eye!

O feldom found, yet ever nigh!

Receive my temperate vow :
Not all the ftorms that thake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul,

And fmooth th' unalter'd brow.
O come, in fimpleft veft array'd,
With all thy fober cheer display'd,
To blefs my longing fight;
Thy mein compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,
And chafte fubdu'd delight.

No more by varying paffions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell;
Where in fome pure and equal fky,
Beneath thy foft indulgent eye,

The modeft virtues dwell.

Simplicity in attic veft,

And innocence with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye;

And hope, who points to distant years,
Fair op'ning thro' this vale of tears
Á vifta to the sky.

There health, thro' whose calm bofom glide
The temperate joys, in even tide,

That rarely ebb or flow;
And patience there, thy fifter meek,
Prefents her mild, unvarying cheek,
To meet the offer'd blow.

Her influence taught the Phrygian fage
A tyrant master's wanton rage,
With fettled fmiles to meet :
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek fubmitted head,
And kiss'd thy fainted feet.

But thou, O nymph retir'd and coy!
In what brown hamlet doft thou joy
To tell thy tender tale;

The lowlieft children of the ground,
Mofs rofe and violet bløffom round,
And lilly of the vale.

O fay what foft propitious hour
I beft may choose to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle fway!
When autumn, friendly to the mufe,
Shall thy own modeft tints diffuse,
And shed thy milder day?

When Eve, her dewy ftar beneath,
Thy balmy fpirit loves to breathe,
And ev'ry storm is laid ?

If fuch an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy foothing voice,
Low whifp'ring through the fhade.

SECTION II.

THE SHEPHERD AND THE PHILOSOPHER..

BARBAULD.. BARBADAL DE

REMOTE from cities liv'd a fwain,
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain;
His head was filver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him fage;
In fummer's heat and winter's cold,
He fed his flock and penn'd the fold;
His hours in cheerful labour flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew :
His wifdóm and his honest fame
Through all the country rais'd his name.
A deep philofopher (whofe rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The fhepherd's homely cottage fought,
And thus explor'd his reach of thought.
"Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil.
O'er books confum'd the midnight oil?
Haft thou old Greece and Rome furvey'd,
And the vast fenfe of Plato weigh'd?
Hath Socrates thy foul refin'd,

And haft thou fathom'd Tully's mind?
Or, like the wife Ulyffes, thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown,
Haft thou through many cities ftray'd,
Their cuftoms, laws, and manners weigh'd?
The fhepherd modeftly reply'd,

"I ne'er the paths of learning try'd ;
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts,
To read mankind, their laws and arts;
For man is practis'd in difguife,'
He cheats the most difcerning eyes,"
Who by that fearch fhall wifer grow?
By that ourselves we never know.
The little knowledge I have gain'd,
Was all from fimple nature drain'd;
Hence
my life's maxims took their rise.

Hence grew my fettled hate to vice.
The daily labours of the bee
Awake my foul to industry.
Who can obferve the careful ant,
And not provide for future want?
My dog (the truftieft of his kind)
With gratitude inflames my mind:
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my fervice copy Tray.
In conftancy and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove.
The hen, who from the chilly air,
With pious wing, protects her care,
And ev'ry fowl that flies at large,
Inftruct me in a parent's charge.'
"From nature too I take my rule;
To fhun contempt and ridicule.
I never, with important air,
In converfation overbear.

Can grave and formal pafs for wife,
When men the folemn owl defspise ?
My tongue within my lips I rein;
For who talks much muft talk in vain.
We from the wordy torrent fly :
Who liftens to the chatt'ring pye ?
Nor would I, with felonies flight,
By stealth invade my neighbour's ri
Rapacious animals we hate ;

Kites, hawks, and wolves, deferve their fate.

Do not we just abhorrence find

Againft the toad and ferpent kind?"

But envy, calumny, and fpite,
Bear ftronger venom in their bite.-
Thus ev'ry object of creation.
Can furnish hints to contemplation;
And, from the most minute and mean,
A virtuous mind can morals glean."
"Thy fame is juft," the fage replies;
"Thy virtue proves thee truly wife.
Pride often guides the author's pen,
Books as affected are as men:

But he who ftudies nature's laws,
From certain truth his maxims draws;
And thofe, without our fchools, fuffice
To make men moral, good, and wife."

SECTION III.

THE ROAD TO HAPPINESS OPEN TO ALL MEN.

OH happiness! our beings end and aim!

GAY.

Good, pleaffre, eafe, content! whate'er thy name;
That fomething ftill which prompts th' eternal figh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die;
Which fo near us, yet beyond us lies,
O'erlook'd, feen double, by the fool and wife;
Plant of celeftial feed, if dropt below,

Say, in what mortal foil thou deign'ft to grow ?
Fair op'ning to fome court's propitious fhine,
Or deep with di'monds in the flaming mine?
Twin'd with the wreaths Parnaffian 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 foil.
Fix'd to no fpot is happiness fincere,

'Tis no where to be found, or ev'ry where;
'Tis never to be bought, but always free;

And, fled from monarchs, St. John! dwells with thee.
Afk of the learn'd the way. The learn'd are blind;
This bids to ferve, and that to fhun mankind:
Some place the blifs in action, fome in eafe,
Thofe call it pleasure, and contentment thefe:
Some funk to beafts, find pleasure end in pain;
Some fwell'd to gods, confefs ev'n virtue vain;
Or indolent. to each extreme they fall,
To truft in ev'ry thing, or doubt of all.
Who thus define it, fay they more or less
Than this, that happiness is happiness?

Take nature's path, and mad opinion's leave;
All states can reach it, and all heads conceive;
Obvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell;
There needs but thinking right, and meaning well;
And mourn our various portions as we please,
Equal is common fenfe, and common eafe.
"the univerfal caufe

Remember man,