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You reason well. Yet tell me, friend,
Did ever you in courts attend?
For all my fawning rogues agree,
That human heroes rule like me.

With early virtues Piant your breast,
The specious arts of vice detest.

Princes, like beauties, from their youth
Are strangers to the voice of truth;
Learn to contemn all praise betimes,
For flattery is the nurse of crimes :
Friendship by sweet reproof is shown
(A virtue never near a throne);
În courts such freedom must offend,
There none presumes to be a friend.
To those of your exalted station,
Each courtier is a dedication.
Must I, too, flatter like the rest,
And turn my morals to a jest ?
The muse disdains to steal from those
Who thrive in courts by fulsomne prose.
But shall I hide your real praise,
Or tell you what a nation says ?
They in your infant bosom trace
The virtues of your royal race;
In the fair dawning of your mind
Discern you generous, mild, and kind :
They see you grieve to hear distress,
And pant already to redress.
Go on, the height of good attain,
Nor let a nation hope in vain ;
For hence we justly may presage
The virtues of a riper age.
True courage shall your bosom fire,
And future actions own your sire.
Cowards are cruel, but the brave
Love mercy, and delight to save.

A Tiger, roaming for his prey,
Sprung on a Traveller in the way;
The prostrate game a Lion spies,
And on the greedy tyrant flies;
With mingled roar resounds the wood,
Their teeth, their claws, distil with blood;
Till, vanquished by the Lion's strength,
The spotted foe extends his length.
The man besought the shaggy lord,
And on his knees for life implored ;
His life the generous hero gave.
Together walking to his cave,
The Lion thus bespoke his guest :

What hardy beast shall dare contest
My matchless strength? You saw the fight,
And must attest my power and right.
Forced to forego their native home,
My starving slaves at distance roam;
Within these woods I reign alone;
The boundless forest is my own.
Bears, wolves, and all the savage brood,
Have dyed the regal den with blood.
These carcasses on either hand,
Those bones that whiten all the land,
My former deeds and triumphs tell,
Beneath these jaws what numbers fell.

True, says the man, the strength I saw
Might well the brutal nation awe :
But shall a monarch, brave like you,
Place glory in so false a view ?
Robbers invade their neighbour's right.
Be loved ; let justice bound your might.
Mean are anıbitious heroes' boasts
Of wasted lands and slaughtered hosts.
Pirates their power by murders gain :
Wise kings by love and mercy reign.
To me your clemency hath shown
The virtue worthy of a throne.
Heaven gives you power above the rest,
Like Heaven, to succour the distrest.

The case is plain, the monarch said;
False glory hath my youth misled;
For beasts of prey, a servile train,
Have been the flatterers of my reign.

Sweet William's Farewell to Black-Eyed Susan. All in the downs the fleet was moored,

The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard,

Oh! where shall I my true love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me truc,
If my sweet William sails among the crew?
William, who high upon the yard

Rocked with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sighed, and cast his eyes below : The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands. So sweet the lark, high poised in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast
(If chance his mate's shrill call he hear),

And drops at once into her best.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
0! Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;

We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds ! my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find :
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
If to fair India's coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ;
Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,

William shall to his dear return.
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread ; No longer must she stay aboard ;

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land,
Adieu ! she cries, and waved her lily hand.

A Ballad.
[From the 'What-d'ye-call-it ?']
'Twas when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclined.
Wide o'er the foaming billows

She cast a wistful look ;
Her head was crowned with willows,

That trembled o'er the brook.
Twelve months are gone and over,

And nine long tedious days ;
Why didst thou, venturous lover,

Why didst thou trust the seas ?
Cease, cease thou cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest :
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast ?

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The merchant robbed of pleasure,

Parnell was an accomplished scholar and a delight-
Sees tempests in despair;

ful companion. His life was written by Goldsmith,
But what's the loss of treasure,

who was proud of his distinguished countryman, To losing of my dear?

considering him the last of the great school that had Should you some coast be laid on,

modelled itself upon the ancients. Parnell's works Where gold and diamonds grow,

are of a miscellaneous nature-translations, songs, You'd find a richer maiden,

hymns, epistles, &c. His most celebrated piece is But none that loves you so.

the Hermit, familiar to most readers from their inHow can they say that nature

fancy. Pope pronounced it to be very good,' and Has nothing made in vain;

its sweetness of diction and picturesque solemnity Why then, beneath the water,

of style must always please. His Night Piece on
Should hideous rocks remain !

Death was indirectly preferred by Goldsmith to
No eyes the rocks discover

Gray's celebrated Elegy; but few men of taste or
That lurk beneath the deep,

feeling will subscribe to such an opinion. In the
To wreck the wandering lover,

Night Piece,' Parnell meditates among the tombs.
And leave the maid to weep.

Tired with poring over the pages of schoolmen and
All melancholy lying,

sages, he sallies out at midnight to the churchyard-
Thus wailed she for her dear ;

How deep yon azure dyes the sky!
Repaid each blast with sighing,

Where orbs of gold unnumbered lie;
Each billow with a tear.

While through their ranks, in silver pride,
When o'er the white wave stooping

The nether crescent seems to glide.
His floating corpse she spied,

The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe,
Then, like a lily drooping,

The lake is smooth and clear beneath,
She bowed her head, and died.

Where once again the spangled show
Descends to meet our eyes below.

The grounds, which on the right aspire,

In dimness from the view retire:
Another friend of Pope and Swift, and one of the

The left presents a place of graves, popular authors of that period, was THOMAS PAR

Whose wall the silent water laves. NELL (1679-1718). His father possessed consider- That steeple guides thy doubtful sight able estates in Íreland, but was descended of an

Among the livid gleams of night. English family long settled at Congleton, in Che- There pass, with melancholy state, shire. The poet was born and educated in Dublin,

By all

the solemn heaps of fate,
And think, as softly sad you tread
Above the venerable dead,
* Time was, like thee, they life possessed,
And time shall be that thou shalt rest.'
Those with bending osier bound,
That nameless heave the crumbled ground,
Quick to the glancing thought disclose
Where toil and porerty repose.
The flat smooth stones that bear a name,
The chisel's slender help to fame
(Which, ere our set of friends decay,
Their frequent steps may wear away),
A middle race of niortals own,
Men, half ambitious, all unknown.
The marble tombs that rise on high,
Whose dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whose pillars swell with sculptured stones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;
These all the poor remains of state,
Adorn the rich, or praise the great ;
Who, while on earth in fame they live,
Are senseless of the fame they give.

The Hermit.
Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;

The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
went into sacred orders, and was appointed arch. His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well;
deacon of Clogher, to which was afterwards added, Remote from men, with God he passed his days,
through the influence of Swift, the vicarage of Fin. Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.
glass, in the diocese of Dublin, worth £400 a-year. A life so sacred, such serene repose,
Parnell, like Swift, disliked Ireland, and seems to Seemed heaven itself, till one suggestion rose-
have considered his situation there a cheerless and That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey ;
irksome banishment. As permanent residence at This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway;
their livings was not then insisted upon on the part His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
of the clergy, Parnell lived chiefly in London. He And all the tenor of his soul is lost.
married a young lady of beauty and merit, Miss So, when a smooth expanse receives impressed
Anne Minchen, who died a few years after their Calm nature's image on its watery breast,
union. His grief for her loss preyed upon his Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
spirits (which had always been unequal), and hur- And skies beneath with answering colours glow;
ried him into intemperance. He died on the 18th But, if a stone the gentle sea divide,
of October, 1718, at Chester, on his way to Ireland. Swift ruming circles curl on every side,


Thomas Parnell.

And glimmering fragments of a broken sun,

Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. Driven by the wind, and battered by the rain. To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, At length some pity warmed the master's breast To find if books, or swains, report it right

('Twas then his threshold first received a guest); (For yet by swains alone the world he knew,

Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew), And half he welcomes in the shivering pair ; He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore,

One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, And fixed the scallop in his hat before ;

And Nature's fervour through their limbs recalls ; Then, with the rising sun, a journey went,

Bread of the coarsest sort, with meagre wine, Sedate to think, and watching each event.

(Each hardly granted), served them both to dine; The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, And when the tempest first appeared to cease, And long and lonesome was the wild to pass ;. A ready warning bid thern part in peace. But, when the southern sun had warmed the day, With still remark, the pondering hermit viewed, A youth came posting o'er a crossing way;

In one so rich, a life so poor and rude; His raiment decent, his complexion fair,

And why should such (within himself he cried) And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair;

Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside ? Then, near approaching, Father, hail!' he cried, But what new marks of wonder soon take place And, ‘Hail, my son !' the reverend sire replied. In every settling feature of his face, Words followed words, from question answer flowed, When, from his vest, the young companion bore And talk, of various kind, deceived the road;


cup, the generous landlord owned before, Till each with other pleased, and loath to part, And paid profusely with the precious bowl, While in their age they differ, join in heart.

The stinted kindness of this churlish soul! Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,

But now the clouds in airy tumult fly;
Thus useful ivy clasps an elm around.

The sun emerging, opes an azure sky;
Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day A fresher green the smelling leaves display,
Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray;

And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day: Nature, in silence, bid the world repose,

The weather courts them from their poor retreat, When, near the road, a stately palace rose.

And the glad master bolts the weary gate. There, by the moon, through ranks of trees they pass, While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought Whose verdure crowned their sloping sides with grass. With all the travail of uncertain thought : It chanced the noble master of the dome

His partner's acts without their cause appear; Still made his house the wandering stranger's home ; 'Twas there a vice, and seemed a madness here: Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, Proved the vain flourish of expensive ease.

Lost and confounded with the various shows. The pair arrive; the liveried servants wait;

Now night's dim shades again involve the sky; Their lord receives them at the pompous gate; Again the wanderer's want a place to lie; The table groans with costly piles of food,

Again they search, and find a lodging nigh.
And all is more than hospitably good.

The soil improved around, the mansion neat,
Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, And neither poorly low, nor idly great ;
Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. It seemed to speak its master's turn of mind,
At length 'tis morn, and, at the dawn of day, Content, and not for praise, but virtue, kind.
Along the wide canals the zephyrs play;

Hither the walkers turn their weary feet,
Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep,, Then bless the mansion, and the master greet.
And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep. Their greeting fair, bestowed with modest guise,
Up rise the guests, obedient to the call,

The courteous master hears, and thus replies An early banquet decked the splendid hall;

Without a vain, without a grudging heart, Rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced,

To him who gives us all, I yield a part; Which the kind master forced the guests to taste. From him you come, for him accept it here, Then, pleased and thankful, from the porch they go ; A frank and sober, more than costly cheer !! And, but the landlord, none had cause of wo; He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, His cup was vanished; for in secret guise,

Then talked of virtue till the time of bed ; The younger guest purloined the glittering prize. When the grave household round his hall repair, As one who spies a serpent in his way,

Warned by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. Glistening and basking in the summer ray,

At length the world, renewed by calm repose, Disordered stops to shun the danger near,

Was strong for toil; the dappled morn arose ; Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept So seemed the sire, when, far upon the road,

Near a closed cradle where an infant slept, The shining spoil his wily partner showed.

And writhed his neck : the landlord's little pride, He stopped with silence, walked with trembling heart, O strange return! grew black, and gasped, and And much he wished, but durst not ask to part;

died ! Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard Horror of horrors ! what! his only son ! That generous actions meet a base reward.

How looked our hermit when the fact was done! While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, The changing skies hang out their sable clouds ; And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. A sound in air presaged approaching rain,

Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, And beasts to covert scud across the plain.

He flies, but trembling, fails to fly with speed ; Warned by the signs, the wandering pair retreat His steps the youth pursues: the country lay To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat.

Perplexed with roads ; a servant showed the way; 'Twas built with turrets on a rising ground,

A river crossed the path ; the passage o'er And strong, and large, and unimproved around; Was nice to find; the servant trod before ; Its owner's temper, timorous and severe,

Long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, Unkind and griping, caused a desert there.

And deep the waves beneath them bending glide. As near the miser's heavy door they drew,

The youth, who seemed to watch a time to sin, Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew;

Approached the careless guide, and thrust him in; The nimble lightning, mixed with showers, began, Plunging he falls, and rising, lifts his head, And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders ran; Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead.


The bending Hermit here a prayer begun, • Lord, as in heaven, on earth thy will be done.' Then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place, And passed a life of piety and peace.


MATTHEW GREEN (1696–1737) was author of a poem, The Spleen, which received the praises of Pope and Gray. He was born in 1696, of dissenting parentage, and enjoyed a situation in the customhouse. His disposition was cheerful; but this did not save him from occasional attacks of low spirits, or spleen, as the favourite phrase was in his time. Having tried all imaginable remedies for his malady, he conceived himself at length able to treat it in a philosophical spirit, and therefore wrote the abovementioned poem, which adverts to all its forms, and their appropriate remedies, in a style of comic verse resembling Hudibras, but which Pope himself allowed to be eminently original Green terminated a quiet inoffensive life of celibacy in 1737, at the age of forty-one.

* The Spleen' was first published by Glover, the author of Leonidas,' himself a poet of some pretensions in his day. Gray thought that even the wood-notes of Green often break out into strains of real poetry and music.' As · The Spleen' is almost unknown to modern readers, we present a few of its best passages. The first that follows contains che line (marked by Italic) which is certainly one of the happiest and wisest things ever said by a British author. It seems, however, to be imitated from Shakspeare

Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
And he retires.

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While sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, • Detested wretch !'-but scarce his speech began, When the strange partner seemed no longer man ! Ilis youthful face grew more serenely sweet; His robe turned white, and flowed upon his feet; Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; Celestial odours breathe through purpled air; And wings, whose colours glittered on the day, Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, And moves in all the majesty of light. Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do; Surprise, in secret chains, his words suspends, And in a calm, his settling temper ends, But silence here the beauteous angel broke (The voice of Music ravish'd as he spoke) :

* Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown,
In sweet memorial rise before the throne :
These charms success in our bright region find,
And force an angel down to calm thy mind;
For this coinmissioned, I forsook the sky:
Nay, cease to kneel-thy fellow servant I.
Then know the truth of government divine,
And let these scruples be no longer thine.
The Maker justly claims that world he made;
In this the right of Providence is laid;
Its sacred majesty through all depends
On using second means to work his ends:
'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye,
The power exerts his attributes on high ;
Your action uses, nor controls your will,
And bids the doubting sons of men be still.
What strange events can strike with more surprise,
Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes?
Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just,
And, where you can't unriddle, learn to trust.
The great vain man, who fared on costly food,
Whose life was too luxurious to be good;
Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine,
And forced his guests to morning draughts of wine;
llas, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.
The mean suspicious wretch, whose bolted door
Ne'er moved in pity to the wandering poor;
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind
That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
And feels con passion touch his grateful soul.
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon its head;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
And, loose from dross, the silver runs below.
Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,
But now the child half-weaned his heart from God;
(Child of his age) for him he lived in pain,
And measured back his steps to earth again.
To what excesses had his dotage run !
But God, to save the father, took the son,
To all but thee, in fits he seemed to go,
And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow.
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owns in tears the punishment was just.
But how had all his fortunes felt a wrack,
Had that false servant sped in safety back!
This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal,
And what a fund of charity would fail!
Thus Heaven instructs thy mind : this trial o'er,
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more.'

On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew,
The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew;
Thus looked Elisha, when, to mount on high,
His aster took the chariot of the sky;
The fiery pomp ascending left the view;
The prophet gazed, and wished to follow too.

[Cures for Melancholy.] To cure the mind's wrong bias, spleen, Some recommend the bowling-green ; Some hilly walks; all exercise; Fling but a stone, the giant dics; Laugh and be well. Monkeys have been Extreme good doctors for the spleen; And kitten, if the humour hit, Has harlequined away the fit.

Since mirth is good in this behalf,
At some particulars let us laugh.
Witlings, brisk fools-
Who buzz in rhyme, and, like blind flies,
Err with their wings for want of eyes.
Poor authors worshipping a calf;
Deep tragedies that make us laugh ;
Folks, things prophetic to dispense,
Making the past the future tense;
The popish dubbing of a priest ;
Fine epitaphs on knaves deceased ;
A miser starving to be rich;
The prior of Newgate's dying speech ;
A jointured widow's ritual state;
Two Jews disputing tête-à-tête;
New almanacs composed by seers;
Experiments on felons' ears;
Disdainful prudes, who ceaseless ply
The superb muscle of the eye;
A coquette's April-weather face ;
A Queen'brough mayor behind his mace,
And fops in military show,
Are sovereign for the case in view,

If spleen-fogs rise at close of day,
I clear my evening with a play,
Or to some concert take my way.
The company, the shine of lights,
The scenes of humour, music's flights,
Adjust and set the soul to rights.

In rainy days keep double guard,
Or spleen will surely be too hard ;
Which, like those fish by sailors met,
Fly highest while their wings are wet.
In such dull weather, so unfit
To enterprise a work of wit;
When clouds one yard of azure sky,
That’s fit for simile, deny,
I dress my face with studious looks,
And shorten tedious hours with books.
But if dull fogs invade the head,
That memory minds not what is read,
I sit in window dry as ark,
And on the drowning world remark:
Or to some coffeehouse I stray
For news, the manna of a day,
And from the hipped discourses gather,
That politics go by the weather.

Sometimes I dress, with women sit,
And chat away the gloomy fit;
Quit the stiff garb of serious sense,
And wear a gay impertinence,
Nor think nor speak with any pains,
But lay on fancy's neck the reins.

Law, licensed breaking of the peace,
To which racation is disease ;
A gipsy diction scarce known well
By the magi, who law-fortunes tell,
I shun; nor let it breed within
Anxiety, and that the spleen.

I never game, and rarely bet,
Am loath to lend or run in debt.
No Compter-writs me agitate;
Who moralising pass the gate,
And there mine eyes on spendthrifts turn,
Who vainly o'er their bondage mourn.
Wisdom, before beneath their care,
Pays her upbraiding visits there,
And forces folly through the grate
Her panegyric to repeat.
This view, profusely when inclined,
Enters a caveat in the mind :
Experience, joined with common sense,
To mortals is a providence.
Reforming schemes are none of mine;
To mend the world's a vast design:
Like theirs, who tug in little boat
To pull to them the ship afloat,
While to defeat their laboured end,
At once both wind and stream contend:
Success herein is seldorn seen,
And zeal, when baffled, turns to spleen.

Happy the man, who, innocent,
Grieves not at ills he can't prevent;
His skiff does with the current glide,
Not puffing pulled against the tide.
He, paddling by the scuffling crowd,
Sees unconcerned life's wager rowed,
And when he can't prevent foul play,
Enjoys the folly of the fray.
Yet philosophic love of ease
I suffer not to prove disease,
But rise up in the virtuous cause
Of a free press, and equal laws.

Since disappointment galls within,
And subjugates the soul to spleen,
Most schemes, as money snares, I hate,
And bite not at projector's bait.
Sufficient wrecks appear each day,
And yet fresh fools are cast away.
Ere well the bubbled can turn round,
Their painted vessel runs aground;
Or in deep seas it oversets
By a fierce hurricane of debts;
Or helm-directors in one trip,
Freight first embezzled, sink the ship.

When Fancy tries her limning skill
To draw and colour at her will,
And raise and round the figures well,
And show her talent to excel,
I guard my heart, lest it should woo
Unreal beauties Fancy drew,
And, disappointed, feel despair
At loss of things that never were.

[Contentment- A Wish.]
Forced by soft violence of prayer,
The blithsome goddess soothes my care ;
I feel the deity inspire,
And thus she models my desire :
Two hundred pounds half-yearly paid,
Annuity securely made,
A farm some twenty miles from town,
Small, tight, salubrious, and my own;
Two maids that never saw the town,
A serving-man not quite a clown,
A boy to help to tread the mow,
And drive, while t’other holds the plough;
A chief, of temper formed to please,
Fit to converse and keep the keys;
And better to preserve the peace,
Commissioned by the name of niece ;
With understandings of a size,
To think their master very wise.
May heaven (it's all I wish for) send
One genial room to treat a friend,
Where decent cupboard, little plate,
Display benevolence, not state.
And may my humble dwelling stand
Upon some chosen spot of land :
A pond before full to the brim,
Where cows may cool, and gecse may swim;
Behind, a green, like velvet neat,
Soft to the eye, and to the feet;
Where odorous plants in evening fair
Breathe all around ambrosial air;
From Eurus, foe to kitchen ground,
Fenced by a slope with bushes crowned,
Fit dwelling for the feathered throng,
Who pay their quit-rents with a song;
With opening views of hill and dale,
Which sense and fancy do regale,
Where the half-cirque, which vision bonnds,
Like amphitheatre surrounds :
And woods impervious to the breeze,
Thick phalanx of embodied trees;
From hills through plains in dusk array,
Extended far, repel the day ;
Here stillness, height, and solemn shade,
Invite, and contemplation aid :
Here nymphs from hollow oaks relate
The dark decrees and will of fate :
And dreams, beneath the spreading beech
Inspire, and docile fancy teach ;
While soft as breezy breath of wind,
Impulses rustle through the mind :
Here Dryads, scorning Phæbus' ray,
While Pan melodious pipes away,
In measured motions frisk about,
Till old Silenus puts them out.
There see the clover, pea, and bean,
Vie in variety of green ;
Fresh pastures speckled o'er with sheep,
Brown fields their fallow Sabbaths keep,
Plump Ceres golden tresses wear,
And poppy top-knots deck her hair,
And silver streams through meadows stray,
And Naiads on the margin play,
And lesser nymphs on side of hills,
From plaything urns pour down the rills.

Thus sheltered free from care and strife, May I enjoy a calm through life;

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