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But now what milder fcenes arife!
The tyrant drops his hoftile guise;
He feems a youth divinely fair,
His graceful ringlets wave his hair;
His wings their whit'ning plumes display,
His burnish'd plumes reflect the day;
Light flows his fhining azure veft,
And all the angel ftands confefs'd.

I view'd the change with fweet furprise;
And, Oh! I panted for the fkies;

Thank'd Heav'n, that e'er I drew my breath;
And triumphed in the thoughts of Death.





The Vanity of Wealth.

No MORE thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With Av'rice painful vigils keep;

Still unenjoy'd the present store,

Still endless fighs are breath'd for more
O! quit the fhadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys!
To purchase heav'n has gold the pow'r?
Can gold remove the mortal hour? .
In life can love be bought with gold?
Are Friendship's pleasures to be fold?
No-all that's worth a wifh-a thought,
Fair Virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind;
Let nobler views engage thy mind.




Nothing formed in Vain.

LET no prefuming impious railer tax
Creative Wisdom, as if aught was form'd
In vain or not for admirable ends.

Shall little haughty Ignorance pronounce

His works unwife, of which the smallest part
Exceeds the narrow vifion of her mind?
As if, upon a full-proportion'd dome,
On fwelling columns heav'd, the pride of art!
A critic-fly, whofe feeble ray scarce spreads
An inch around, with blind prefumption bold,
Should dare to tax the ftructure of the whole.
And lives the man, whose universal eye
Has swept at once th' unbounded fcheme of things;
Mark'd their dependence so, and firm accord,
As with unfault'ring accent to conclude,
That This availeth nought? Has any feen

The mighty chain of beings, lefs'ning down
From infinite perfection, to the brink
Of dreary nothing, defolate abyfs!

From which aftonish'd Thought, recoiling, turns?
Till then alone let zealous praife afcend,
And hymns of holy wonder, to that POWER,
Whose wisdom fhines as lovely in our minds,
As on our fmiling eves his fervant-sun.



On Pride.

Of all the caufes, which confpire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and mifguide the mind,
What the weak head with ftrongest bias rules,
Is Pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
Whatever Nature has in worth deny'd
She gives in large recruits of needlefs pride!
For, as in bodies, thus in fouls, we find

What wants in blood and spirits, fwell'd with wind.

Pride, where wit fails, fteps in to our defence,
And fills up all the mighty void of fenfe.
If once right Reason drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day.
Truft not yourself; but, your defects to know,
Make use of ev'ry friend-and ev'ry foe.
A little learning is a dang'rous thing;
Drink deep, or tafte not the Picrian spring:
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain;
And drinking largely fobers us again.

Fir'd at first fight with what the Mufe imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts,
While, from the bounded level of our mind,
Short views we take, nor fee the lengths behind;
But, more advanc'd, behold, with strange surprise,
New diftant scenes of endless science rife!

So pleas'd at firft the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and feem to tread the fky;
Th' eternal fnows appear already past,

And the first clouds and mountains feem the last:
But, thofe attain'd, we tremble to furvey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;
Th' increasing profpect tires our wand'ring eyes;
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arife.



Cruelty to Brutes cenfured.

I WOULD not enter on my lift of friends, (Though grac'd with polifh'd manners and fine fenfe, Yet wanting fenfibility,) the man

Who needlefsly fets foot upon a worm.

An inadvertent ftep may crush the fnail,
That crawls at evening in the public path;.
But he that has humanity, forewarn'd,

Will tread afide, and let the reptile live.
The creeping vermine, loathfome to the fight,
And charg'd perhaps with venom, that intrudes
A vifiter unwelcome into fcenes

Sacred to neatnefs and repofe, th' alcove,
The chamber, or refectory, may die.
A necefsary act incurs no blame.

Not fo, when held within their proper bounds,
And guiltlefs of offence, they range the air,
Or take their paftime in the fpacious field:
There they are privileg'd. And he that hunts
Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong;
Diflurbs th' economy of Nature's realm,
Who when the form'd, defign'd'them an abode.
The fum is this; if man's convenience, health,
Or fafety, interfere, his rights and claims
Are paramount, and muft extinguish theirs.
Elfe they are all-the meaneft things that are,
As free to live and to enjoy that life,

As God was free to form them at the first,
Who, in his for'reign wifdom, made them all.
Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your fons
To love it too. The fpring-time of our years
Is foon difhonour'd and defil'd, in moft,
By budding ills, that afk a prudent hand
To check them. But, alas! none fooner fhoots,
If unreftrain'd, into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty, most dev'lish of them all.
Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule
And righteous limitation of its act,

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