To gaze at nature in her green array,
Upon the ship's tall fide he ftands, poffeffed
With vifions prompted by intense defire:
Fair fields appear below, fuch as he left
Far diftant, fuch as he would die to find-
He feeks them headlong, and is feen no more.

The spleen is feldom felt where Flora reigns; The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown, And fullen fadnefs, that overfhade, diftort, And mar, the face of beauty, when no cause For fuch immeasurable woe appears,

These Flora banishes, and gives the fair
Sweet fmiles, and bloom lefs tranfient than her own.
It is the conftant revolution, ftale

And taftelefs, of the fame repeated joys,

That palls and fatiates, and makes languid life
A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down.
Health fuffers, and the spirits ebb; the heart
Recoils from its own choice-at the full feaft
Is famished-finds no mufic in the fong,
No smartness in the jeft; and wonders why.
Yet thousands ftill defire to journey on,
Though halt, and weary of the path they tread.

The paralytic, who can hold her cards,

But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand
To deal and fhuffle, to divide and fort
Her mingled fuits and fequences; and fits,
Spectatrefs both and spectacle, a sad
And filent cypher, while her proxy plays.
Others are dragged into the crowded room.
Between fupporters; and, once feated, fit,
Through downright inability to rife,

Till the ftout bearers lift the corpfe again.
These speak a loud memento. Yet even these
Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he
That overhangs a torrent to a twig.
They love it, and yet loath it; fear to die,
Yet fcorn the purposes for which they live.
Then wherefore not renounce them? No-the dread,
The flavish dread of folitude, that breeds
Reflection and remorfe, the fear of shame,
And their inveterate habits, all forbid.

Whom call we gay? That honour has been long

The boaft of mere pretenders to the name.
The innocent are gay-the lark is gay,

That dries his feathers, faturate with dew,

Beneath the rofy cloud, while yet the beams
Of day-fpring overfhoot his humble neft.
The peasant too, a witness of his song,
Himself a fongfter, is as gay as he.

But fave me from the gaiety of those,

Whose head-aches nail them to a noon-day bed;
And fave me too from their's, whose haggard eyes
Flash desperation, and betray their pangs

For property ftripped off by cruel chance;
From gaiety, that fills the bones with pain,

The mouth with blafphemy, the heart with woe.

The earth was made so various, that the mind
Of defultory man, ftudious of change,
And pleased with novelty, might be indulged.
Profpects, however lovely, may be seen
Till half their beauties fade; the weary fight,
Too well acquainted with their smiles, flides off
Faftidious, feeking less familiar fcenes.

Then fnug enclosures in the sheltered vale,
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye,
Delight us; happy to renounce awhile,
Not fenfelefs of its charms, what ftill we love,
That fuch fhort abfence may endear it more.

Then forefts, or the favage rock, may please,
That hides the fea-mew in his hollow clefts
Above the reach of man. His hoary head,
Confpicuous many a league, the mariner
Bound homeward, and in hope already there,
Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waift
A girdle of half-withered fhrubs he fhows,
And at his feet the baffled billows die.

The common, overgrown with fern, and rough
With prickly gorfe, that shapeless and deformed
And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom,
And decks itself with ornaments of gold,
Yields no unpleafing ramble; there the turf
Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous herbs
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the fenfe
With luxury of unexpected fweets.

There often wanders one, whom better days Saw better clad, in cloak of fatin trimmed With lace, and hat with splendid ribband bound. A ferving maid was fhe, and fell in love With one who left her, went to fea, and died. Her fancy followed him through foaming waves To diftant fhores; and fhe would fit and weep

At what a failor fuffers; fancy too

Delufive moft where warmeft wifhes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,

And dream of transports she was not to know.
She heard the doleful tidings of his death-
And never smiled again! and now the roams
The dreary wafte; there spends the livelong day,
And there, unless when charity forbids,
The livelong night. A tattered apron hides,
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown
More tattered ftill; and both but ill conceal
A bosom heaved with never-ceafing fighs.
She begs an idle pin of all the meets,

And hoards them in her fleeve; but needful food,
Though preffed with hunger oft, or comelier clothes,
Though pinched with cold, atks never.-Kate is
crazed.

I fee a column of flow rifing smoke O'ertop the lofty wood, that fkirts the wild. A vagabond and useless tribe there eat Their miserable meal. A kettle, flung Between two poles upon a stick transverse, Receives the morfel-flesh obfcene of dog,