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Account him an encumbrance on the state,
More golden than that age of fabled gold
away, and so at last, My share of duties decently fulfillid, May some disease, not tardy to perform Its destin'd office, yet with gentle stroke, Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat, Beneath the turf, that I have often trod. It shall not grieve me then, that once when callid To dress a Sofa with the flow'rs of
verse, I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair, With that light task; but soon, to please her more, When flow'rs alone I knew would little please, Let fall th' unfinish'd wreath, and rov'd for fruit; Rov'd far, and gather'd much; some harsh, 'tis true, Prick'd from the thorns and briers of reproof, But wholesome, well-digested; grateful some To palates that can taste immortal truth ; Insipid else, and sure to be despis’d. But all is in His hand, whose praise I seek, In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, If he regard not, though divine the theme. 'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre, To charm his ear, whose eye
is on the heart; Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, Whose approbation-prosper even mine.
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS.
To the REV. WM. CAWTHORNE UNWIN, Rector of Stock, in. Essex, the Tutor of his two Sons, the following POEM, recommending Private Tuition in preference to an Education at School, is inscribed by the Author.
Κεφαλαιον δη παιδειας ορθη τροφη. Ρlato.
It is not from his form, in which we trace
Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil;
Why did the fiat of a God give birth To yon fair Sun, and his attendant Earth? And, when descending he resigns the skies, Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise, Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves, And owns her pow'r on ev'ry shore he laves ?. Why do the seasons still enrich the year, Fruitful and young as in their first career ? Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,' Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze; Summer in haste the thriving charge receives Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews Dye them at last in all their glowing hues"Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, Pow'r misemploy'd, munificence misplac'd, Had not its author dignified the plan, And crown'd it with the majesty of man. Thus form'd, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught, Look where you will, the wonders God has wrought,
The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws
press th' important question on his heart,
Why form’d at all, and wherefore as thou art?": If man he what he seems, this hour a slave, The next mere dust and ashes in the grave; Endu'd with reason only to descry His crimes and follies with an aching eye: With passions, just that he may prove, with pain, The force he spends against their fury vain : And if soon after having burnt, by turns, With ev'ry lust, with which frail Nature burns, His being end, where death dissolves the bond, The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond: Then he, of all that Nature has brought forth, Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth, And useless while he lives and when he dies, Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies.
Truths, that the learn'd pursue with eager thought, Are not important always as dear-bought, Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, A childish waste of philosophic pains; But truths, on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn, Shine by the side of every path we tread With such a lustre, he that runs may read. "Tis true that, if to trifle life away Down to the sunset of their latest day, Then perish on futurity's wide shore Like fleeting exhalations, found no more, Were all that Heav'n requir'd of human kind, And all the plan their destiny design'd, What none could rev'rence all might justly blame, And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame. But reason heard, and nature well perus’d, At once the dreaming mind is disabus’d. If all we find possessing earth, sea, air, Reflect his attributes, whoʻplac'd them there,