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To me thy better gifts impart,
Each moral beauty of the heart,
By studious thought refin'd;

For wealth, the smiles of glad content,
For pow'r, its amplest, best extent,
An empire o'er my mind.

When fortune drops her gay parade,
When pleasure's transient roses fade
And wither in the tomb;
Unchang'd is thy immortal prize,
Thy ever-verdant laurels rise
In undecaying bloom.

By thee protected, I defy
The coxcomb's sneer, the stupid lie

Of ignorance and spite;
Alike contemn the leaden fool,
And all the pointed ridicule

Of undiscerning wit.

From envy, hurry, noise, and strife,
The dull impertinence of life,
In thy retreat I rest;

Pursue thee to thy peaceful groves,
Where Plato's sacred spirit roves,

In all thy graces drest.

He bids Ilisus' tuneful stream
Convey the philosophic theme

Of perfect, fair, and good;
Attentive Athens caught the sound,
And all her list'ning sons around
In awful silence stood.

Reclaim'd, her wild licentious youth Confest the potent voice of truth, And felt its just control;

The passions ceas'd their loud alarms, And virtue's soft persuasive charms O'er all their senses stole.

Thy breath inspires the poet's song,
The patriot's free unbias'd tongue,
The hero's gen'rous strife;
Thine are retirement's silent joys,
And all the sweet endearing ties
Of still domestic life.

No more to fabled names confin'd,
To thee, supreme all-perfect mind,

My thoughts direct their flight: Wisdom's thy gift, and all her force From thee deriv'd, unchanging source Of interlectual light.

O send her sure, her steady ray,
To regulate my doubtful way,

Through life's perplexing road;
The mists of error to control,

And through its gloom direct my soul
To happiness and good!

Beneath her clear discerning eye
The visionary shadows fly

Of folly's painted show;

She sees, thro' ev'ry fair disguise,
That all, but virtue's solid joys,
Are vanity and woe.

TRUE BENEVOLENCE.

Miss Carter.

THE other day, says Ned to Joe,
(Ned Bedlam's confines groping)
"Whene'er I hear the cries of woe
My hand is always open."

"I own," says Joe, "that, to the poor (You prove it ev'ry minute)

Your hand is open, to be sure;

But, then, there's nothing in it."

Anonymous.

ODE TO PEACE.

COME, peace of mind, delightful guest,

Return and make thy downy nest
Once more in this sad heart!

Nor riches I nor power pursue,
Nor hold forbidden joys in view;
We therefore need not part.

Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,
From av'rice and ambition free,
And pleasure's fatal wiles?

For whom, alas! dost thou prepare
The sweets that I was wont to share,
The banquet of thy smiles?

The great, the gay, shall they partake
The heay'n that thou alone canst make?
And wilt thou quit the stream,

That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The
grove, and the sequester'd shade,
To be a guest with them?

For thee I panted, thee I priz'd,
For thee I gladly sacrific'd

Whate'er I lov'd, before;

And shall I see thee start away,

And, helpless, hopeless, hear thee say→

Farewell! we meet no more?

Cowper.

THE SHRUBBERY.

WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION.

OH, happy shades, to me unblest!
Friendly to peace, but not to me!
How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree!

This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders, quiv'ring to the breeze,
Might sooth a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please.

But fix'd unalterable care

Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness ev'ry where, And slights the season and the scene.

For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
While peace possess'd these silent bow'rs,

Her animating smile withdrawn,

Has lost its beauties and its pow'rs.

The saint, or moralist, should tread
This moss-grown alley, musing, slow;
They seek, like me, the secret shade,
But not, like me, to nourish woe!

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