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And piles a thousand Mountains to the clouds.
Ill fares the Bark with trembling wretches charged,
That, tossed amid the floating fragments, moors
Beneath the shelter of an icy isle,

While night o'erwhelms the sea, and horror looks
More horrible. Can human force endure

The assembled mischiefs that besiege them round?
Heart-gnawing hunger, fainting weariness,
The roar of winds and waves, the crush of ice,
Now ceasing, now renewed with louder rage,
And in dire echoes bellowing round the main.
More to embroil the deep, Leviathan

And his unwieldy train, in dreadful sport,

Tempest the loosened brine; while, through the gloom,
Far from the bleak inhospitable shore,

Loading the winds, is heard the hungry howl
Of famished Monsters, there awaiting wrecks.
Yet Providence, that ever-waking eye,
Looks down with Pity on the feeble toil

Of mortals lost to Hope, and lights them safe

Through all this dreary labyrinth of fate.

"Tis done! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,

And reigns, tremendous, o'er the conquered Year.

How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!

How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends

His desolate domain. Behold, fond Man!

See here thy pictured Life: pass some few years,

Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength,
Thy sober Autumn, fading into age,

And pale, concluding Winter comes at last,

And shuts the scene.

Ah! whither now are fled

Those Dreams of greatness? those unsolid Hopes

Of happiness? those longings after Fame?

Those restless Cares? those busy, bustling Days?

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Those gay-spent, festive Nights? those veering Thoughts,
Lost between good and ill, that shared thy Life?
All now are vanished! Virtue sole survives,
Immortal, never-failing friend of man,
His guide to Happiness on high. And see!
"Tis come, the glorious Morn! the second birth
Of heaven and earth! awakening Nature hears
The new-creating word, and starts to life,
In every heightened form, from pain and death
Forever free. The great Eternal Scheme,
Involving all, and in a perfect whole

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Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads,
To reason's eye, refined, clears up apace.
Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now,
Confounded in the dust, adore that Power
And Wisdom oft arraigned: see now the cause
Why unassuming Worth in secret lived,
And died neglected: why the good man's share
In life was gall and bitterness of soul:
Why the lone widow and her orphans pined
In starving solitude; while Luxury,

In palaces, lay straining her low thought,
To form unreal wants: why heaven-born Truth,
And Moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of Superstition's scourge: why licensed Pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embosomed foe,
Embittered all our bliss. Ye good, distressed!
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand.
Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile,
And what your bounded view which only saw

A little part-deemed evil, is no more:

The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass,
And one unbounded Spring encircle all.

THE SKEPTIC.

BY DAVID HUME.

[DAVID HUME, Scotch philosopher and historian, was born at Edinburgh, April 26, 1711. At first a merchant's clerk, he went to France to write in seclusion his "Treatise of Human Nature," which fell flat, but is now a classic. He published "Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary," in 1742 and 1752; in the latter year also his "Inquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals," from 1754 to 1761 "The History of England," and in the mean time the "Natural History of Religion." In 1763-1766 he was in France; 1767-1769 an undersecretary of state. He died August 25, 1776.]

I HAVE long entertained a suspicion, with regard to the decisions of philosophers upon all subjects, and found in myself a greater inclination to dispute than assent to their conclusions. There is one mistake, to which they seem liable, almost without exception; they confine too much their principles, and make no account of that vast variety which nature has so much affected in all her operations. When a philosopher has once laid hold of a favorite principle, which perhaps accounts for many natural

effects, he extends the same principle over the whole creation, and reduces to it every phenomenon, though by the most violent and absurd reasoning. Our own mind being narrow and contracted, we cannot extend our conception to the variety and extent of nature; but imagine that she is as much bounded in her operations, as we are in our speculation.

But if ever this infirmity of philosophers is to be suspected on any occasion, it is in their reasonings concerning human life, and the methods of attaining happiness. In that case, they are led astray, not only by the narrowness of their understandings, but by that also of their passions. Almost every one has a predominant inclination, to which his other desires and affections submit, and which governs him, though, perhaps, with some intervals, through the whole course of his life. It is difficult for him to apprehend that anything which appears totally indifferent to him can ever give enjoyment to any person, or can possess charms, which altogether escape his observation. His own pursuits are always, in his account, the most engaging: the objects of his passion, the most valuable and the road, which he pursues the only one that leads to happiness.

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But would these prejudiced reasoners reflect a moment, there are many obvious instances and arguments, sufficient to undeceive them, and make them enlarge their maxims and principles. Do they not see the vast variety of inclinations and pursuits among our species; where each man seems fully satisfied with his own course of life, and would esteem it the greatest unhappiness to be confined to that of his neighbor? Do they not feel in themselves that what pleases at one time, displeases at another, by the change of inclination; and that it is not in their power, by their utmost efforts, to recall that taste or appetite which formerly bestowed charms on what now appears indifferent or disagreeable? What is the meaning therefore of those general preferences of the town or country life, of a life of action or one of pleasure, of retirement or society; when, besides the different inclinations of different men, every one's experience may convince him that each of these kinds of life is agreeable in its turn, and that their variety or their judicious mixture chiefly contributes to the rendering all of them agreeable?

But shall this business be allowed to go altogether at adventures? And must a man consult only his humor and inclination, in order to determine his course of life, without employing his reason to inform him what road is preferable, and leads most

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