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Pensive he treads the destin'd
way, And dreads to go, nor dares to stay; "Till on some neighb'ring mountain's brow He stops, and turns his eyes
There, melting at the well-known view,
Drops a last tear, and bids adieu :
So I, thus doom'd from thee to part,
Gay queen of Fancy and of Art,
Reluctant move, with doubtful mind,
Oft ftop, and often look behind.
Companion of my tender age,
Serenely gay, and sweetly fage,
How blithsome were we wont to rove
By verdant hill, or fhady grove,
Where fervent bees, with humming voice,
Around the honey'd oak rejoice,
And aged elms with awful bend
In long cathedral walks extend !
Lulld by the lapse of gliding floods,
Cheard by the warbling of the woods,
How blest my days, my thoughts how free,
In sweet society with thee !
Then all was joyous, all was young,
And years unheeded roll'd along:
But now the pleasing dream is o’er,
These scenes must charm me now no more,
Loft to the field, and torn from you,
Farewell long, a laft adieu.
Me wrangling courts, and Aubborn Law,
To smoak, and crowds, and cities draw;
There selfish Faction rules the day,
And Pride and Av’rice throng the way :
Diseases taint the murky air,
And midnight conflagrations glare ;
Loose Revelry and Riot bold
In frighted streets their orgies hold;
Or, when in silence all is drown'd,
Fell Murder walks her lonely round;
No room for peace, no room
you, Adieu, celestial Nymph, adieo !
Shakespear no more thy fylvan fon,
Nor all the art of Addison,
Pope's heav'n-fțrung lyre, nor Waller's ease,
Nor Milton's mighty felf must please :'
Instead of these, a formal band
In furs and coifs around me stand ;
With sounds uncouth and accents dry,
That grate the soul of harmony,
Each pedant fage unlocks his store
Of myftic, dark, discordant lore;
And points with tott’ring hand the ways
That lead me to the thorny maze.
There, in a winding, close retreat,
Is Justice doom'd to fix her seat,
There, fenc'd by bulwarks of the Law,
She keeps the wond'ring world in awe,
And there, from vulgar light retir'd,
Like eastern queens is more admir'd:
O let me pierce che secret shade
Where dwells the yenerable maid !
There humbly mark, with rev'rent awe,
The guardian of Britannia's Law,
Unfold with joy her sacred page,
(Th' united boast of many an' age,
Where mix'd, yet uniform, appears
The wisdom of a thousand years)
In that pure spring the bottom view,
Clear, deep, and regularly true,
And other doctrines thence imbibe
Than lurk within the fordid fcribe;
Observe how parts with
In one harmonious rule of right;
See countless wheels diftin&ly tend
By various laws to one great end;
While mighty Alfred's piercing soul
Pervades, and regulates the whole.
Then welcome bufiness, welcome strife,
Welcome the cares, the thorns of life,
The visage wan, the pore-blind fight,
The toil by day, the lamp at night,
The tedious forms, the folemn prate,
The pert dispute, the dull debate,
The drowfy bench, the babling Hall,
For thee, fair Justice, welcome all!
Thus tho' my noon of life be past,
Yet let my fetting fun, at last,
Find out the still, the rural cell,
Where fage Retirement loves to dwell!
There let me tafte the homefelt bliss
Of innocence, and inward peace;
Untainted by the guilty bribe;
Uncurs'd amid the harpy-tribe ;
No orphan's cry to wound my ear;
My honour, and my conscience clear ;
Thus may I calmly meet my end,
Thus to the
By Miss Cooper (now Mrs. Madan) in her
Brother's Coke upon
who labour't in this rugged mine,
May'ft thou to gold th' unpolish'd ore refine!
May each dark page unfold its haggard brow!
Doubt not to reap, if thou canst bear to plough.
To tempt thy care, may each revolving night,
Purses and maces swim before thy sight!
From hence in times to come, advent'rous deed !
May'st thou essay, to look and speak like Mead.
When the black bag and rose no more shall shade
With martial air the honours of thy head;
When the full wig thy visage shall enclose;
And only leave to view thy learned nose:
Safely may'st thou defy beaux, wits, and seoffers;
While tenants, in fee simple, ftuff thy coffers.
S O L I T U D E.
An OD E.
O Solitude, romantic Maiden
Whether by nodding-towers you tread,
Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes’ clifted fide, . „O!
Or by the Nile's coy fource abide,
Or starting from your half-year's sleep
From Hecla view the thawing deep,
Or Tadmor's marble wastes survey,
Or in yon roofless cloyfter stray
You, Recluse, again I woo,
And again your steps pursue.
Plum'd Conceit himself surveying,
Folly with her shadow playing,
Purse-proud, elbowing Infolence,
Bloated empirick, puff’d Pretence;