Paradife of earthly blifs,

Heav'n o'th' other world, and this!

Tell me where thy court abides ?

Where thy glorious chariot rides ?

Eden knew thee for a day,
But thou would❜ft no longer ftay;
Outed for poor Adam's fin,

By the flaming cherubim ;

Yet thou lov'ft that happy fhade
Where thy beauteous form was made;

And thy kindness still remains
To the woods and flow'ry plains.

Happy David found thee there,
Sporting in the open air,
As he led his flocks along,
Feeding on his rural fong ;

But when courts and honours had

Snatch'd away the lovely lad,

2

Thou who there no room could'ft find, Let him go, and stay'd behind.

His wife fon, with care and pain,

Search'd all nature's frame in vain;
For a while, moft anxious, he

Search'd it round, but found not thee:

Beauty own'd fhe knew thee not;

Plenty had thy name forgot;

Mufic only did aver,

Once you came and danc'd with her.

All the world ftill hunt about :
Happy he who finds thee out!

Some have dream'd thou ftill doft fit
Circl'd round with Mirth and Wit.
In a cloyfter or a pew,

Others always feek for you ;
But their fearch alike is vain;
Thefe morofe, and thofe profane.

The mother only, with fond care,
Hugs her child, and finds thee there;
Kiffes whilft asleep it lies,,

And upon it feafts her eyes,

'Till the little bantling came

Juft to lifp its mammy's name;
Then her airy hopes decay,
Like vifionary fhades, away.

Oh! then, Contentment,

Since thy throne thou doft not place
In a palace, or a face :
Since thou coyly paffeft by
Pleasures, riches, harmony;

Since we cannot find thee out
With the witty, or devout;

Since I here of thee despair,

I'll aim at Heav'n, and find thee there.

H.

Ode to Truth.

SAY, will no white-rob'd Son of Light, Swift darting from his heav'nly height,

Here

Here deign to take his hallow'd ftand;

Here wave his amber locks; unfold

His pinions cloath'd with downy gold; Here fmiling ftretch his tutelary wand? hoft of faints, for ye have

And you, ye known

Each dreary path in life's perplexing maze, Tho' now ye circle yon eternal throne With harpings high of inexpreffive praife, Will not your train defcend in radiant

ftate,

To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of Fate?

'Tis filence all. No Son of Light
Darts fwiftly from his heav'nly height:
No train of radiant Saints defcend.
'Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,
If guilt, if fraud has ftain'd your mind,
Or Saint to hear, or Angel to de-
fend.'

So Truth proclaims. I hear the facred found

Burst from the centre of her burning throne: aye fhe fits with star-wreath'd luftre crown'd:

Where

A bright Sun clasps her adamantine zone.. So Truth proclaims: her awful voice I

hear:

With many a folemn pause it flowly meets iny car.

Attend, ye fons of Men; attend, and fay,

Does not enough of my refulgent ray

Break through the veil of your mortality? Say, does not reafon in this form defcry Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that furpafs The Angel's floating pomp, the Scraph's glowing grace?

Shall then your earth-born daughters

vie

With me? Shall fhe, whofe brightest

eye

But