The gloom difpels, the charnel fmiles,
Light flashes through the vaulted iles.
Blow filky foft, thou western gale,
O goddefs of the defart, hail!
She burfts from yon cliff-riven cave,
Infulted by the wintry wave;
Her brow an ivy garland binds,
Her treffes wanton with the winds,
A lion's fpoils, without a zone,
Around her limbs are careless thrown;
Her right-hand wields a knotted mace,
Her eyes roll wild, a ftride her pace;
Her left a magic mirror holds,
In which fhe oft herself beholds.
O goddess of the defart, hail!
And fofter blow, thou western gale!
Since in each scheme of life I've fail'd, And disappointment seems entail'd;
Since all on earth I valued most,
My guide, my stay, my friend is loft;
You, only you, can make me bleft,
And hush the tempeft in my breast.
Then gently deign to guide my feet
Το your hermit-trodden feat,
Where I at laft may die unknown.
I spoke, fhe twin'd her magic ray,'
And thus fhe faid, or feem'd to fay:
Youth, you're miftaken, if you think to find
In fhades a medicine for a troubled mind
Wan Grief will haunt you wherefoe'er you go,
Sigh in the breeze, and in the ftreamlet flow,
There pale Inaction pines his life away,
And, fatiate, curses the return of day:
There naked Frenzy laughing wild with pain,
Or bares the blade, or plunges in the main :
There Superstition broods o'er all her fears,
And yells of dæmons in the Zephyr hears.
But if a hermit you're refolv'd to dwell,
And bid to focial life a laft farewell ;
'Tis impious.
God never made an independent man,
'Twould jar the concord of his general plan':
See every part of that ftupendous whole,
"Whose body Nature is, and God the foul;"
To one great end, the general good, confpire,
From matter, brute, to man, to feraph, `fire.
Should man through Nature folitary roam,
His will his fovereign, every where his home,
What force would guard him from the lion's jaw?
What swiftness wing him from the panther's paw
Or fhould Fate lead him to fome fafer fhore,
Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar;
Where liberal Nature all her charms bestows,
Suns fhine, birds fing, flowers bloom, and water flows, Fool, doft thou think he'd revel on the store,
Abfolve the care of Heaven, nor ask for more?
Tho' waters flow'd, flow'rs bloom'd, and Phoebus shone,
He'd figh, he'd murmur that he was alone.
For know, the Maker on the human breaft
A sense of kindred, country, man, imprest;
And focial life to better, aid, adorn,
faculties each mortal's born.
Though Nature's works the ruling mind declare,
And well deserve enquiry's ferious care,
The God (whate'er Mifanthropy may fay)
Shines, beams in man with most unclouded ray.
What boots it thee to fly from pole to pole,
Hang o'er the fun, and with the planets roll?
What boots through space's furtheft bourns to roam,
If thou, O man, a stranger art at home?
Then know thyself, the human mind furvey,
The use, the pleasure will the toil repay.
Hence Inspiration plans his manner'd lays,
Hence Homer's crown, and, Shakespear, hence thy bays.
Hence he, the pride of Athens, and the shame,
The best and wifeft of mankind became.
Nor study only, practise what you know,
Your life, your knowledge, to mankind you owe.
With Plato's olive wreath the bays entwine:
Those who in study, fhould in practice shine.
Say, does the learned Lord of Hagley's shade,
Charm man fo much by moffy fountains laid,
As when arouz'd, he stems Corruption's courfe,..
And shakes the senate with a Tully's force?
When Freedom gafp'd beneath a Cæfar's feet,
Then public Virtue might to fhades retreat;
But where the breathes, the least may useful be,
And Freedom, Britain, ftill belongs to thee.
Though man's ungrateful, or though Fortune frown
Is the reward of worth a fong, or crown?
Nor yet unrecompens'd are Virtue's pains,
Good Allen lives, and bounteous Brunswick reigns.
On each condition disappointments wait,
Enter the hut, and force the guarded gate.
Nor dare repine, though early Friendship bleed,
From love, the world, and all its cares he's freed.
But know, Adverfity's the child of God;
Whom Heaven approves of moft, moft feel her rod.
When smooth old Ocean and each storm's asleep,
Then Ignorance may plough the watery deep;
But when the dæmons of the tempeft rave,
Skill muft conduct the veffel through the wave.
Sidney, what good man envies not thy blow?
Who would not wifh" Anytus for a foe?
Intrepid Virtue triumphs over Fate,
The good can never be unfortunate.
And be this maxim graven in thy mind,
The height of virtue is to ferve mankind.
But when old age has filver'd o'er thy head,
When memory fails, and all thy vigour's fled,
Then may'st thou seek the ftillness of retreat,
Then hear aloof the human tempest beat,
Then will I greet thee to my woodland cave,
Allay the
pangs of age, and smooth thy grave.
n One of the accufers of Socrates.
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