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When a thaw shall ensue, and the waters increase,
And the rivers all insolent grow;
When the fishes from prison obtain a release ;
When in danger the travellers go :
When the meadows are hid with the proud swelling flood;
When the bridges are useful no more ;
When in health you enjoy every thing that is good,
Can you grumble to think on the poor?
Soon the day will be here, when a Saviour was born,
All the world should agree as one voice;
All nations unite to salute the blest morn;
Grim death is depriv'd of his all killing sting,
And the grave is triumphant no more;
Saints, angels, and men, hallelujah's shall sing,
And the rich shall remember the poor.
Rural Charms. SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain! Where health and plenty cheers the labouring ewain ; Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid, And parting summer's ling’ring blooms delay'd. Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease! Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please! How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! How often have I naus’d on every charm The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church, that topp'd the neighbouring bill ; The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made.
How often have I blest the coming day, When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play“ And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ! While many a pastime circled in the shade. The young contending as the old survey'd! And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And slights of art, and feats of strength, went round; And still as each repeated pleasure tir’d, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd: The dancing pair, that simply sought renown, By holding out, to tire each other down, The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter titter'd round the place : The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love; The matron's glance, that would those looks reprove.
Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose.
There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below.
The swain, responsive as the milk-maid sung ;
The sober herd, that low'd to meet their young ;
The noisy geese, that gabbled o'er the pool ;
The playful children, just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice, that bay'd the whisp ring wind;
And thể loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind:
These all, in soft confusion, sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
Unhappy close of Life.
How shocking must thy summons be, O Death!'
To him that is at ease in his possessions!
Who, counting on long years of pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnish'd for the world to come!
In that dread moment, how the frantic'soul
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement;
Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help
But shrieks in vain 1 How wishfully she looks
On all she's leaving, now no longer her's !
A little longer, yet a little longer,
O might she stay to wash away her stains,
And it her for her passage! Mournful sight!
Her very eyes weep blood; and every groan
She heaves is big with horrour. But the foe,
Like a staunch murd'rer, steady io his purpose,
Pursues her close through ev'ry lane of life :
Nor misses once the track, but presses on,
Till, forc'd at last to the tremendous verge,
At once she sinks to everlasting ruin.
How sweet to the heart is the thought of to-morrow,
When hope's fairy pictures bright colours display!
How sweet when we can from futurity borrow
A balm for the griefs that afflict us to-day!
When wearisome sickness has taught me to languish,
For health and the comfort it bears on its wing,
Let me hope! (O! how soon it would lessen my anguish)
That to-morrow will peace and serenity bring.
When trav’ling alone, quite forlorn, unbefriended,
Sweet the hope that to-morrow my wand'rings will cease ;
That at home, then, with care sympathetic attended,
I shall rest unmolested, and slumber in peaos.
Or, when from the friends of my heart long divided,
The fond expectation with joy how replete ;
That from far distant regions by Providence guided,
To-morrow will see us most happily ineet.
A kind and gentle temper of great importance to the happiness
SINCE trifes make the sum of human things,
And half our mis’ry from our foibles springs ;
Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease,
And few can save, or serve, but all can please.
0! let th' ungentle spirit learn from hence,
A small unkindness is a great offence :
Large bounties to bestow, we wish in vain ;
But all may shun the
guilt of giving pain.
To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth,
With pow'r to grace them, or to crown with
Our little lot depies ; but Heav'n decrees
To all, the gift of minist'ring to ease.
The gentle offices of patient love,
Berond all flatt'ry, and all price above;
The mild forbearance of another's fault;
The taunting word suppress'd as soon as thought:
On these Heav'n bade the sweets of life depend;
Apd crush'd ill fortune when it made a friend.
A solitary blessing few can find;
Our joys with those we love are intertwin'd:
And he whose wakeful tenderness removes
Th obstructing thorn which wounds the friend he loves,
Smooths not another's rugged path alone,
But scatters roses to adorn his own.
Small slights, contempts, neglect, unmix'd with hate,
Make up in number what they want in weight :
Thesc, and a thousand griefs minute as these,
Corrode our comforts, and destroy our peace.
The Progress of Improvement.
COME, bright Improvement! on the car of Timc,
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime ;
Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore,
Trace every wave, and culture every shore.
Oni Erie's banks, where tigers steal along,
And the dread Indian chants a dismal song,
Where human fiends on midnight errands walk,
And bathe in brains the murd'rous tomahawk;
There shall the flocks on thymy pastures stray,
And shepherds dance at Summer's op'ning day ;
Each wand'ring genius of the lonely glen
Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men,
And silence watch, on woodland heights around,
The village curfew as it tolls profound.-
Truth shall pervade th' unfathom'd darkness there,
And light the dreadful features of despair.-
Hark! the stern captive spurns his heavy load,
And asks the image back that heaven bestow'd !
Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns,
And, as the slave departs, the man returns.
Now my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The season's difference; as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body
Ev'n till I shrink with cold, I smile and say,
This is no fattery ; these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity ;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in its head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunts,
tongues in trees, books in the running brook, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
A FOOL!-a fool, I met a fool i' th' forest,
A motly fool;a miserable varlet!
As I do live by food, I met a fool ;
Who laid him down, and bask'd him in the slin,
And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms;
In good set terms,--and yet a motly fool ;
Good morrow, fool, quóth I; No, Sir, quoth he,
Call me not fool, till heav'n hath sent me fortune ;
And then he drew a dial from his poke,
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock;
Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags;
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven:
And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep contemplative:
And I did laugh, sans intermission,
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.
Raillery. Let me play the fool With mirth and laughter; so let wrinkles come, And let my liver rather beat with wine, Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio, (I love thee, and it is my love that speaks,) There is a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, And do a wilful stillness entertain, With purpose to be drest in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit, As who should say, I am, Sir, Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark! I'll tell thee more of this another time; But fish not with this melancholy bait For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. Come, good Lorenzo, fare ye well a while, I'll end my exhortation after dinner.
IMOINDA, Oh! this separation,
Has inade you dearer if it can be so
Than you were ever to me : you appear
Like a kind star to my benighted steps,
To guide me on my way to happiness;
I cannot miss it now. Governour, friend,
You think me rad: but let me biess you all
Who any ways have been the instruments
of finding her again. Imoinda's found !
And every thing that I would have in her.
I have a thousand things to ask of her,
And she as many more to know of me,
But you have made me happier, I confess,
Acknowledge it much happier, than I
Have words or power to tell you. Captain, you,
Ey'n you, who most have wrong'd me, I forgive :
I will not say you have betrayed me now,
I'll think you but the minister of fate
To bring me to my lov'd Imoinda here.
Let the fools
Who follow fortune live upon her smiles,
All our prosperity is plac'd in love,
We have enough of that to make us happy ;
This little spot of earth you stand upon,
Is more to me than the extended plains
Of my great father's kingdom ; here I reign
In full delight, in joys to pow'r unknown,
Your love my empire, and your heart my throne.