The blue profound, and hovering round the fun,
Beholds him pouring the redundant ftream
Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve

The fated rounds of time. Thence far effus'd
She darts her swiftnefs up the long career
Of devious comets; thro' its burning figns
Exulting measures the perennial wheel

Of nature, and looks back on all the stars,
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone,
Invefts the orient. Now amaz'd she views
Th' empyreal wafte, where happy fpirits hold,
Beyond this concave heav'n, their calm abode;
And fields of radiance, whofe unfading light
Has travell'd the profound fix thousand years,
Nor yet arrivesin fight of mortal things.
Ev'n on the barriers of the world untir'd
She meditates th' eternal depth below;
Till, half recoiling, down the headlong steep
She plunges; foon o'erwhelm'd and swallow'd up
In that immenfe of being. There her hopes
Reft at the fated goal. For from the birth
Of mortal man, the fovereign Maker said,
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of renown,
Pow'r's purple robes, nor pleafure's flow'ry lap,
The foul should find enjoyment: but from these
Turning difdainful to an equal good,

'Thro' all th' afcent of things enlarge her view,
Till every bound at length fhould disappear,
And infinite perfection close the scene.

AKENSIDE.

CHAP. XXXI.

NOVELTY.

CALL new to mind what high capacious pow'rs
Lie folded up in man: how far beyond

The praise of mortals, may th' eternal growth
Of nature to perfection half divine

Expand the blooming foul. What pity then
Should floth's unkindly fogs deprefs to earth
Her tender blossom; choak the ftreams of life,
And blast her spring! Far otherwise defign'd
Almighty wifdem; nature's happy cares

Th' obedient heart far otherwife incline.
Witnefs the fprightly joy when aught unknown
Strikes the quick fenfe, and wakes each active pow'r
To brifker measures: witness the neglect

Of all familiar prospects, tho' beheld
With transport once; the fond attentive gaze
Of young aftonishment; the fober zeal
Of age, commenting on prodigious things.
For fuch the bounteous providence of Heav'n,
In every breaft implanting this defire
Of objects new and ftrange, to urge us on
With unremitted labour to pursue

Thofe facred ftores that wait the ripening foul,
In truth's exhauftlefs bofom. What need words
To paint its pow'r? For this, the daring youth
Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms,
In foreign climes to rove; the pensive sage,
Heedlefs of fleep, or midnight's harmful damp,
Hangs o'er the fickly taper; and untir'd
The virgin follows, with inchanted step,
The mazes of fome wife and wond'rous tale,
From morn to eve; unmindful of her form,

Unmindful of the happy drefs that stole
The wishes of the youth, when every maid
With envy pin'd. Hence finally by night
The village matron, round the blazing hearth,
Sufpends the infant audience with her tales,
Breathing aftonifhment of witching rhimes
And evil fpirits; of the death-bed call
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd
The orphan's portion; of unquiet fouls.
Ris'n from the grave to eafe the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life conceal'd: of fhapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave
The torch of hell around the murd'rer's bed.
At every folemn paufe the crowd recoil

Gazing each other fpeechlefs, and congeal'd
With fhiv'ring fighs: till eager for th' event,
Around the beldam all erect they hang,

Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd.

AKENSIDE.

CHAP. XXXII.

PHILANTHROPY.

WHEN erft contagion, with mephitic breath

And wither'd famine urg'd the work of death;
Marfeilles' good bishop, London's generous mayor,

With food and faith, with medicine and with prayer,
Rais'd the weak head and ftay'd the parting figh,
Or with new life relum'd the swimming eye.-
And now, Philanthropy thy rays divine
Dart round the globe from Zembla to the line;
O'er each dark prifon plays the cheering light,
Like northern luftres o'er the vault of night.-
From realm to realm, with cross or crefcent crown'd,
Where'er mankind and mifery are found,

O'er

O'er burning fands, deep waves, or wilds of fnow,
Thy HowARD journeying feeks the houfe of woe.
Down many a winding ftep to dungeons dank,
Where anguish wails aloud, and fetters clank;
To caves beftrew'd with many a mouldering bone,
And cells, whofe echoes only learn to groan;
Where no kind bars a whispering friend difclofe,
No fun-beam enters, and no zephyr blows,
He treads, inemulous of fame or wealth,
Profufe of toil, and prodigal of health;
With foft affuafive eloquence expands
Power's rigid heart, and opes his clenching hands;
Leads ftern-ey'd Juftice to the dark domains,
If not to fever, to relax the chains;

Or guides awaken'd mercy through the gloom,
And fhews the prifon, fifter to the tomb!-
Gives to her babes the felf-devoted wife,
To her fond husband liberty and life !-
-The fpirits of the good, who bend from high
Wide o'er thefe earthly fcenes their partial eye,
When first, array'd in Virtue's pureft robe,
They faw her Howard traverfing the globe;
Saw round his brows her fun-like glory blaze
In
circles of unwearied rays;
arrowy
Miftook a mortal for an angel gueft,
And afk'd what feraph-foot the earth imprest.
Onward he moves!-Difeafe and death retire,
And murmuring demons hate him, and admire.
DARWIN.

CHAP. XXXIII.

THE ROSE.

THE rofe had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower, Which Mary to Anna convey'd,

The plentiful moisture incumber'd the flower, And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

The cup was all fill'd and the leaves were all wet, And it feem'd, to a fanciful view,

To weep for the buds it had left with regret
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I haftily feiz'd it, unfit as it was
For a nofegay, fo dripping and drown'd,
And fwinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I fnapp'd it-it fell to the ground.

And fuch, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,

Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to forrow refign'd.

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile;
And the tear that is wip'd with a little address,
May be follow'd perhaps by a fmile.

CHAP. XXXIV.

COWPER,

THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.

To MRS. THROCKMORTON.

MARIA! I have ev'ry good

For thee wifh'd many a time, Both fad, and in a cheerful mood, But never yet in rhime.

To with thee fairer is no need,

More prudent, or more sprightly,
Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper flaws unfightly.
What favour, then, not yet poffefs'd,
Can I for thee require,

In wedded love already bleft,
To thy whole heart's defire ?

None here is happy but in part;

Full blifs is blifs divine;

There