And filver-ftreams through meadows stray,
And Naiads on the margin play,
And leffer nymphs on fide of hills
From play-thing urns pour down the rills.
Thus fhelter'd, free from care and strife,
May I enjoy a calm through life;
See faction, fafe in low degree,
As men at land fee ftorms at fea,
And laugh at miserable elves,
Not kind, fo much as to themselves,
Curs'd with fuch fouls of bafe alloy,
As can poffefs, but not enjoy;
Debar'd the pleasure to impart
By av'rice, sphincter of the heart,
Who wealth, hard earn'd by guilty cares,
Bequeath untouch'd to thankless heirs.
May I, with look ungloom'd by guile,
And wearing Virtue's liv'ry-fmile,
Prone the diftreffed to relieve,
And little trefpaffes forgive,
With income not in Fortune's pow'r,
And skill to make a busy hour,
With trips to town life to amuse,
To purchase books, and hear the news,
To fee old friends, brufh off the clown,
And quicken tafte at coming down,
Unhurt by fickness' blasting rage,
And flowly mellowing in age,
When Fate extends its gathering gripe,
Fall off like fruit grown fully ripe,
Quit a worn being without pain,
Perhaps to bloffom soon again.
But now more serious fee me grow,
And what I think, my Memmius, know.
Th' enthufiaft's hopes, and raptures wild,
Have never yet my reason foil'd.
His fpringy foul dilates likes air,
When free from weight of ambient care,
And, hufh'd in meditation deep,
Slides into dreams, as when asleep;
Then, fond of new discoveries grown,
Proves a Columbus of her own,
Difdains the narrow bounds of place,
And through the wilds of endless space,
Borne up on metaphyfic wings,
Chafes light forms, and fhadowy things,
And in the vague excurfion caught,
Brings home fome rare exotic thought.
L 3
The melancholy man fuch dreams,
As brightest evidence, esteems;
Fain would he fee fome distant scene
Suggested by his reftlefs Spleen,
And Fancy's telescope applies
With tinctur'd glass to cheat his eyes.
Such thoughts, as love the gloom of night,
I close examine by the light;
For who, though brib'd by gain to lie,
Dare fun-beam-written truths deny,
And execute plain common sense
On faith's mere hearsay evidence?
That fuperftition mayn't create, And club its ills with thofe of fate,
many a notion take to task,
Made dreadful by its visor-mask.
Thus fcruple, fpafm of the mind,
Is cur'd, and certainty I find,
Since optic reason fhews me plain,
I dreaded spectres of the brain,
And legendary fears are gone,
Though in tenacious childhood fown.
Thus in opinions I commence
Freeholder in the proper fense,
And neither fuit nor fervice do,
Nor homage to pretenders fhew,
Who boast themselves by fpurious roll
Lords of the manor of the foul;
Preferring fenfe, from chin that's bare,
To nonsense thron'd in whifker'd hair.
To thee, Creator uncreate,
O Entium Ens! divinely great!—
Hold, Muse, nor melting pinions try,
Nor near the blazing glory fly,
Nor ftraining break thy feeble bow,
Unfeather'd arrows far to throw :
Through fields unknown nor madly ftray,
Where no ideas mark the way,
With tender eyes, and colours faint,
And trembling hands forbear to paint.
Who features veil'd by light can hit ?
Where can, what has no outline, fit?
My foul, the vain attempt forego,
Thyself, the fitter fubject, know.
He wifely fhuns the bold extreme,
Who foon lays by th' unequal theme,
Nor runs, with wisdom's Sirens caught,
On quickfands fwall'wing fhipwreck'd thought;
But, conscious of his distance, gives
Mute praise, and humble negatives.
In one, no object of our fight,
Immutable and infinite,
Who can't be cruel, or unjust,
Calm and refign'd, I fix my truft;
To him my paft and present state
I owe, and must my future fate.
A ftranger into life I'm come,
Dying may be our going home,
Transported here by angry Fate,
The convicts of a prior state.
Hence I no anxious thoughts bestow
On matters, I can never know;
Through life's foul way, like vagrant pafs'd,
He'll grant a settlement at last,
And with fweet ease the wearied crown,
By leave to lay his being down.
If doom'd to dance th' eternal round
Of life no fooner loft but found,
And diffolution foon to come,
Like fpunge, wipes out life's present fum,
But can't our state of pow'r bereave
An endless series to receive;
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