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To inhabit a manfion remote

From the clatter of ftreet-pacing steeds, And by Philomel's annual note

To measure the life that she leads.

With her book, and her voice, and her lyre,
To wing all her moments at home,
And with scenes that new rapture inspire
As oft as it fuits her to roam,

She will have juft the life the prefers,
With little to wifh or to fear,

And ours will be pleasant as hers,

Might we view her enjoying it here.

THE MORALIZER CORRECTED.

A TALE.

A HERMIT (or if 'chance you hold
That title now too trite and old)
A man, once young, who lived retired
As hermit, could have well defired,
His hours of ftudy closed at laft,
And finished his concise repaft,
Stoppled his crufe, replaced his book
Within its cuftomary nook,

And, ftaff in hand, fet forth to fhare
The fober cordial of sweet air,
Like Ifaac, with a mind applied
To ferious thought at evening-tide.
Autumnal rains had made it chill,
And from the trees, that fringed his hill,
Shades flanting at the close of day
Chilled more his elfe delightful way.

Distant a little mile he fpied

A western bank's ftill funny fide,

And right toward the favoured place
Proceeding with his nimblest pace,
In hope to bask a little yet,

Juft reached it when the fun was fet.
Your hermit, young and jovial, firs!
Learns fomething from whate'er occurs-
And hence, he said, my mind computes
The real worth of man's pursuits.
His objec chofen, wealth or fame,
Or other fublunary game,
Imagination to his view

Prefents it decked with every hue,
That can feduce him not to spare
His powers of best exertion there,
But youth, health, vigour to expend
On fo defirable an end.

Ere long approach life's evening fhades,
The glow that fancy gave it fades;
And, earned too late, it wants the grace,
Which firft engaged him in the chase.
True, answered an angelic guide,
Attendant at the fenior's fide-
But whether all the time it coft
To urge the fruitless chase be loft,

302

THE MORALIZER CORRECTED.

Must be decided by the worth

Of that, which called his ardour forth:
Trifles pursued, whate'er the event,
Muft caufe him fhame or difcontent;
A vicious object ftill is worse,
Successful there he wins a curfe;
But he, whom ev'n in life's last stage
Endeavours laudable engage,

Is paid, at least in peace of mind,
And fenfe of having well defigned;

And if, ere he attain his end,
His fun precipitate defcend,

A brighter prize than that he meant
Shall recompenfe his mere intent.

No virtuous with can bear a date
Either too early or too late.

THE FAITHFUL FRIEND.

THE green-house is my fummer feat; My fhrubs displaced from that retreat Enjoyed the open air;

Two goldfinches, whose sprightly fong Had been their mutual folace long, Lived happy prisoners there.

They fang, as blithe as finches fing,
That flutter loose on golden wing,
And frolic where they lift;

Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,

But that delight they never knew,
And therefore never miffed.

But nature works in every breast;
Inftinct is never quite fuppreffed;

And Dick felt fome defires,
Which, after many an effort vain,
Inftructed him at length to gain

A país between his wires.

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