One chorus let all being raise !
All Nature's incenfe rife.

POPES

SECTION XVI.

CONSCIENCE.

O'treach'rous confcience! while fhe feems to fleep
On rofe and myrtle, lull'd with firen fong;
While fhe feems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong appetite the flacken'd rein,
And give us up to licence, unrecall'd,
Unmark'd; fee, from behind her fecret ftand,
The fly informer minutes ev'ry fault,
And her dread diary with horror fills.
Not the grofs act alone employs her pen;
She reconnoitres fancy's airy band,
A watchful foe! the formidable spy,
Lift'ning, o'erhears the whispers of our camp;
Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.

As all rapacious ufurers conceal

Their doomsday book from all confuming heirs ; :
Thus, with indulgence moft fevere, fhe treats
Us fpendthrifts of ineftimable time;
Unnoted, notes each moment mifapply'd;
In leaves more durable than leaves of brafs,
Writes our whole history; which death shall read
In ev'ry pale delinquent's private ear;

And judgment publish; publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless age in groans refound.

SECTION XVII,

ON AN INFANT.

To the dark and filent tomb,
Soon I hafted from the womb ::
Scarce the dawn of life began,
Ere I meafur'd out my span.
I no fmiling pleasures knew;
I no gay delights could view::
Joylefs fojourner was I,
Only born to weep and die..

YOUN

The fchool-boy wand'ring in the wood,

To pull the flow'rs fo

gay,

Starts, thy curious voice to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

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42

Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,

Thou fly'ft thy vocal vale,

An annual gueft, in other lands,
Another fpring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bow'r is ever green,

Thy fky is ever clear;

Thou haft no forrow in thy fong,

No winter in thy year!

O could fly, I'd fly with thee:
We'd make, with focial wing,
Our annual vifit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring..

SECTION XIX.

DAY. A PASTORAL IN THREE PARTS.

MORNING.

In the barn the tenant cock,
Clofe to Partlet perch'd on high,
Brifkly crows, (the fhepherd's clock !)
Jocun'd that the morning's nigh.
Swiftly, from the mountain's brow,
Shadow's nurs'd by night, retire;
And the peeping funbeam, now,
Paints with gold the village fpire.
Philomel forfakes the thorn,
Plaintive where the prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the fhepherd's fight.
From the low roof'd cottage ridge,
See the chatt'ring fwallow fpring;
Darting through the one arch'd bridge,
Quick the dips her dappled wing.
Now the pine tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale;
Kidlings, now, begin to crop
Daifies, on the dewy dale.
From the balmy fweets, uncloy'd,
(Reftlefs till her task be done,)
Now the busy bee's employ'd,
Sipping dew before the fun.

Trickling through the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid stream diftils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock,
When 'tis fun drove from the hills.

Colin's for the promis'd corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious; whilft the huntfman's horn, Boldly founding, drowns his pipe.

LOGAN.

Sweet; O fweet, the warbling throng, On the white emblossom'd spray! Nature's universal song

Echoes to the rifing day.

NOON.

FERVID on the glitt'ring flood,
Now the noontide radiance glows :
Drooping o'er its infant bud,

Not a dew drop's left the rose.
By the brook the fhepherd dines,
From the fierce meridian heat,
Shelter'd by the branching pines,
Pendant o'er his graffy feat.
Now the flock forfakes the glade,
Where uhcheck'd the funbeams fall,
Sure to find a pleasing fhade

By the ivy'd abbey wall.

Echo, in her airy round,

O'er the riveock, and hill, Cannot catch a ingle found,

Save the clack of yonder mill.

Cattle court the zephyrs bland,
Where the streamlet wanders cool,
Or with languid filence stand.
Midway in the marshy pool.
But from mountain, dell, or stream,
Not a flutt'ring zephyr springs;
Fearful left the noontide beam
Scorch its foft, its filken wings.
Not a leaf has leave to ftir,
Nature's lull'd, ferene, and ftill!
Quiet e'en the fhepherd's cur,
Sleeping on the heath clad hill..
Languid is the landscape round
Till the fresh descending show'r,
Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Raifes ev'ry fainting flow'r.

Now the hill, the hedge, are green,

Now the warbler's throat's in tune;

Blithfome is the verdant fcene,
Brighten'd by the beams of Noon!

EVENING.

O'ER the heath the heifer strays
Free, (the furrow'd task is done ;)
Now the village windows blaze,
Burnish'd by the fetting fun.
Now he fets behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden fky:
Can the pencil's mimic fkill
Copy the refulgent dye?
Trudging as the ploughmen go,

(To the fmoking hamlet bound,)
Giant like their fhadows grow,
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground.
Where the rifing forest spreads
Shelter for the lordly dome!
To their high built airy beds,
See the rooks returnikome! .
As the lark with vary'd tune,
Carols to the ev'ning loud; ;
Mark the mild refplendent moon,
Breaking through a parted cloud!
Now the hermit howlet peeps
From the barn or twisted brake;
And the blue mift flowly creeps,
Curling on the silver lake.

As the trout in fpeckled pride,
Playful from its bofom fprings;
To the banks a ruffled tide
Verges in fucceffive rings..
Tripping through the filken grafs
O'er the path divided dale,
Mark the rofe complexion'd lafs
With her well pois'd milking pail !
Linnets with unnumber'd notes,
And the cuckoo bird with two,
Tuning fweet their mellow throats,
Bid the fetting fun adieu.

CUNNINGHAMS