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"Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb."
"Whilst some affect the sun, and some the shade."
Begin, my soul, the exalted lay."
"Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd."
"Friend to the wretch whom every friend forsakes."
"When Music, heavenly maid, was young."
"Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care."?
"But, ah! what wish can prosper, or what prayer."
Hail, mildly pleasing Solitude."
"Darkness, thou first great parent of us all."
"When lovely woman stoops to folly."
THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.
AH! who can tell how hard it is to climb
In life's low vale remote hath pin'd alone,
Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown.
And yet, the languor of inglorious days
Him, who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise,
There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,
Supremely blest, if to their portion fall
Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim Had He, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim.
The rolls of fame I will not now explore;
Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, That a poor villager inspires my strain; With thee let Pageantry and Power abide : The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign; Where thro' wild groves at eve the lonely swain Enraptur'd roams, to gaze on Nature's charms. They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain, The parasite their influence never warms, Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms.
Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn,
But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where they
Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand;
With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow,
Then grieve not, thou, to whom the indulgent Muse Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire;
Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse The imperial banquet and the rich attire. Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre. Wilt thou debase the heart which God refin'd? No; let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire, To fancy, freedom, harmony, resign; Ambition's groveling crew for ever left behind.
Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul,
O how canst thou renounce the boundless store