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ON

THE

Pleasure arising from Vicissitude.

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W the golden Morn aloft

Waves her dew-bespangled wing;
With vermil cheek, and whifper foft

She wooes the tardy Spring :
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground
And lightly o'er the living scene
Scatters his fresheft, tenderest green.

New-born flocks, in rustic dance,

Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance

The birds his presence greet:
But chief the Sky-lark warbles high
His trembling thrilling extacy ;
And leffening from the dazzled fight,
Melts into air and liquid light.

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I 2

Rise,

Rise, my Soul! on wings of fire,

Rise the rapt’rous Choir among ;
Hark! 'tis Nature strikes the Lyre,

And leads the general song :
Warm let the lyric transport flow,
Warm, as the ray that bids it glow;
And animates the vernal grove
With health, with harmony and love,

Yesterday the fullen year

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,

The herd stood drooping by :
Their raptures now that wildly flow,
No yesterday, nor morrow know ;
'Tis Man alone that joy descries
With forward, and reverted eyes.

Smiles on paft Misfortune's brow

Soft Reflection's hand can trace ;
And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw

A melancholy grace ;
While Hope prolongs our happier hour,
Or deepest shades, that dimly lower
And blacken round our weary way,
Gilds with a gleam of distant day.

Still,

Still, where rofy Pleafure leads,

See a kindred Grief pursue ;
Behind the steps that Misery treads

Approaching Comfort view :
The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chaftis’d by fabler tints of woe ;
And blended form, with artful ftrife,
The strength and harmony of life.

See the Wretch, lhat long has toft

On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour loft,

And breathe, and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that fwells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To Him are opening Paradise.

Humble Quiet builds her cell,

Near the source whence Pleasure flows ;
She eyes the clear * crystalline well,

And tastes it as it goes.
While far below the madding Croud
Rush headlong to the dangerous flood,
Where broad and turbulent it sweeps,
And perish in the boundless deeps.

* So Milton accents the word :
On the crystalline lky, in fapphire thron'd.

P. L. Book yi. v. 772. I 3

Mark

Mark where Indolence, and Pride,

Sooth'd by Flattery's tinkling found,
Go, softly rolling, fide by side,

Their dull, but daily round :
To these, if Hebe's felf should bring
The purest cup from Pleafure's spring,
Say, can they taste the flavour high
Of fober, fimple, genuine Foy?

Mark Ambition's march fublime

Up to Power's meridian height:
While pale-cy'd Envy fees him climb,

And fickens at the fight.
Phantoms of Danger, Death, and Dread,
Float hourly round Ambition's head ;
While Spleen, within his rival's breast,
Sits brooding on her fcorpion neft.

Happier he, the Peasant, far,

From the pangs of Pafion free,
That breathes the keen yet wholesome air

Of rugged Penuty.
He, when his morning task is done,
Can flumber in the noontide fun;
And hie him home, at evening's close,
To sweet repast, and calm repose.

He,

He, unconscious whence the bliss,

Feels and owns in carols rude,
That all the circling joys are his

Of dear Vicistude.
From toil he wins his fpirits light,
From busy day, the peaceful night ;
Rich, from the very want of wealth,
In Heav'n's best treafures, Peace and Health.

O DE

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