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See the blind beggar dance, the cripple fing,
The sot a hero, lunatic a king ;
The starving chemist in his golden views,
Supremely bleft; the poet in his muse.

See some strange comfort ev'ry state attend,
And pride bestow'd on all, a common friend ;
See some fit paflion, ev'ry age supply ;
Hope travels thro', nor quits us when we die.

Behold the child, by nature's kindly law, Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw : Some livelier play-thing gives his youth delight, A little louder, but as empty quite : Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper ftage : And beads and pray’r-books are thc toys of age : Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before ; 'Till tir’d he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

Mean-while opinion gilds with varying rays Those painted clouds that beautify our days ; Each want of happiness by hope supply'd, And each vacuity of sense by pride : These build as fast as knowledge can destroy ; In folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy ; One prospect lost, another still we gain ; And not a vanity is given in vain ; Ev'n mean self-love becomes, by force divine, The scale to measure others' wants by thinc.

See! and confess, one comfort ftill must rise, 'Tis this, tho' man's a fool, yet GOD IS WISE.

POPE.

National CharaEters. FAR to the right where Appenine ascends, , Bright as the summer, Italy extends ; Her uplands Noping deck the mountain's side, Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; While oft some temple's mould'ring tops

between, With venerable grandeur mark the scene.

Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, The fons of Italy were surely blest. Whatever fruits in different climes are found, That proudly rise, or humbly court the

ground; Whatever blooms in torrid traĉts

appear, Whose bright succession decks the varied

year ; Whatever sweets salute the northern sky With vernal lives that blossom but to die ;

These

These here difporting own the kindred soil, Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; While sea-born gales their gelid wings ex

pand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land.

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all this nation knows. In Aorid beauty groves and fields appear, Man seems the only growth that dwindles

here. Contrasted faults through all his manners

reign ; Though poor, luxurious; though submissive,

vain ;

Though grave, yet trilling; zealous, yet

untrue ; And ev’n in penance planning fins ancw. All evils here contaminate the mind, That opulence departed leaves behind ; For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the

date, When commerce proudly fourish'd through

the state : At her command the palace learnt to rise, Again the long-fall'n column fought the skies;

The

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The canvass glow'd beyond e'en nature warm, The pregnant quarry teem'd with human

form. Till, more unsteady than the fouthern gale, Commerce on other shores display'd her fale ; While nought remain'd of all that riches

gave, But towns unmann'd, and lords without a

flave : And late the nation found with fruitless skill Its former strength was but plethoric ill.

Yet ftill the loss of wealth is here supplied By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride; From these the feeble heart and long-fallin

mind, An easy compensation seem to find. Here may

be seen in bloodless pomp array’d,
The paste-board triumph and the cavalcade ;
Processions formn'd for piety and love,
A mistress or a faint in every grove.
By sports like these are all their cares be.

guild,
The sports of children satisfy the child;
Each nobler aim represt by long controul,
Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the foul

While

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While low delights, fucceeding fast behind,
In happier meanness occupy the mind :
As in those domes, where Cæsars once bore

sway,
Defac'd by time and tottering in decay,
Amidit the ruin, heedless of the dead,
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed,
And, wond'ring man could want the larger

pile, Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile.

My soul turn from them, turn me to survey Where rougher climes à nobler race display, Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions

tread, And force a churlish soil for scanty bread; No product here the barren hills afford, But man and steel, the foldier and his sword. No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, But meteors glare, and stormy glooms in

veft. Yet still, eyen here, Content can spread a

charin, Redress the clime, and all its rage

disarm.

Though

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