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Soon this elemental mass,
Soon th' incumb'ring world shall pass,
Form be wrapt in wasting fire,
Time be spent, and life expire.

Then, ye boasted works of men,
Where is your assylum then ?
Sons of Pleasure, sons of Care,
Tell me, mortals, tell me where?

Gone, like traces on the deep,
Like a scepter, grasp'd in sleep,
Dews, exhal'd from morning glades,
Melting snows, and gliding shades.

Pass the world, and what's behind?
Virtue's gold, by fire refind;
From an universe depray'd,
From the wreck of nature sav'd.

Like the life-supporting grain,
Fruit of patience, and of pain,
On the swain's autumnal day,
Winnow'd from the chaff

Little trembler, fear no more,
Thou haft plenteous crops in store,
Seed, by genial forrows sown,
More than all thy scorners own.

What though hostile earth despise,
Heav'n beholds with gentler eyes;
Heav'n thy friendless steps shall guide,
Chcar thy hours, and guard thy side.

When the fatal trump shall found, When th' immortals pour around,

Vol. II.


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Hear'n fall thy return attest,
Hail'd by myriads of the bless’d.

Little native of the skies,
Lovely penitent, arise,
Calm thy bosom, clear thy brow,
Virtue is thy sister now.

More delightful are my woes,
Than the rapture pleasure knows;
Richer far the weeds I bring,
Than the robes that grace a king.

On my wars, of hortelt date, -
Crowns of endless triumphs wait;
On my cares, a period bless'd;
On my toils, eternal reft.

Come, with Virtue at thy fide,
Come, be ev'ry bar defy'd,
Till we gain our native shore,
Sifter, come, and turn no more.

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This little poem, by Mr. Nugent, is very pleasing.

The easiness of the poetry, and the justice of the thoughts, constitute its principal beauty,


LARINDA, dearly lov'd, attend

The counsels of a faithful friend ; Who, with the warmest wishes fraught, Feels all, at least, that friendship ought! But since, by ruling Heav'n's design, An other's fate shall influence thine ; 0! may

these lines for him prepare A bliss, which I wou'd die to share !

Man may for wealth or glory roam,
But woman must be blest at home;
To this should all her studies tend,
This, her great object and her 'end.
Diftafte unminglid pleasures bring,
And use can blunt AMiction's sting ;
Hence perfect bliss no mortals know,
And few are plung'd in utter woe;
While Nature, arm'd againft Despair,
Gives pow'r to mend, or strength to bear ;
And half the thought content may gain,
Which spleen employs to purchase pain.



Trace not the fair domestic plan,
From what you wou'd, but what you can!
Nor, peevith, spurn the scanty store,


you merit more!
Bliss ever differs in degree,
Thy share alone is meant for thee ;
And thou shou’dst think, however small,
That share enough, for 'tis thy all :
Vain scorn will aggravate distress,
And only make that little less.

Admit whatever trifes come,
Units compofe the largest fum :
O! tell them o'er, and say how vain
Are those who form Ambition's train ;'
Which swell the monarch's gorgeous ftate,
And bribe to ill the guilty great!
But thou, more bleft, more wise than these,
Shalt build up happiness on ease.
Hail sweet Content! where joy serene,
Guilds the mild soul's unrufi'd scene;
And, with blith Fancy's pencil wrought,
Spreads the white web of flowing thought;
Shines lovely in the chearful face,
And clothes each charm with native grace ;


of bliss fincere, A vestment for a god to wear.

Far other ornaments compose
The garb that shrouds difsemblid woes,
Piec'd out with motley dies and forts,
Freaks, whimfies, festivals, and sports :


The troubl'd mind's fantastic dress,
Which madness titles happiness.
While the gay wretch to revels bears.
The pale remains of sighs and tears ;
And seeks in crowds, like her undone,
What only can be found in one.

But, chief, my gentle friend ! remove
Far from thy couch seducing Love !
0! fun the false magician's art,
Nor trust thy yet unguarded heart!
Charm'd by his spells fair Honour flies,
And thousand treacherous phantoms rise;
Where Guilt, in Beauty's ray, beguiles,
And Ruin lurks in Friendthip’s smiles.
Lo! where th' enchanted captive dreams,
Of warbling groves, and purling streams;
Of painted meads, of flow'rs that thed
Their odours round her fragrant bed.
Quick shifts the scene, the charm is loft, .
She wakes upon a desert coast;
No friendly hand to lend its aid,
No guardian bow'r to spread its shade;
Expos’d to ev'ry chilling blast,
She treads th' inhospitable wafte;
And down the drear decline of life,
Sinks a forlorn, dishonour'd wife.
Neglect not thou the voice of Fame,
But, clear from crime, be free from blame!
Tho' all were innocence within,
'Tis guilt to wear the garb of fin,

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