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But though experience will not fail to show,
Howe'er its truth man's weakness may upbraid, That what he mostly values here below,
Owes half its relish to kind Fancy's aid;
Yet should not Prudence her light wing command,
She may too far extend her heedless flight; For Pleasure soon shall quit her fairy-land · If Nature's regions are not held in sight.
From Truth's abode, in search of kind deceit,
Within due limits she may safely roam; If roving does not make her hate retreat,
And with aversion shun her proper home.
But thanks to those, whose fond parental care
To Learning's paths my youthful steps confin’d, I need not fhun a state which lets me share
Each calm delight that soothes the studious mind.
While genius lasts, his fame shall ne'er decay,
Whose artful hand first caus'd its fruits to spread; In lasting volumes stampt the printed lay, .
And taught the Muses to embalm the dead.
To him I owe each fair instructive page,
Where Science tells me what her fons have known; Collects their choicest works from every age,
And makes me wise with knowledge not my own.
Books rightly us'd may every state secure:
From fortune's evils may our peace defend; May teach us how to shun, or to endure,
The foe malignant, and the faithless friend.
Should rigid Want withdraw all outward aid,
Kind stores of inward comfort they can bring; Should keen Disease life’s tainted stream invade,
Sweet to the soul from them pure health may spring.
Should both at once man's weakly frame infest,
Some letter'd charm may still relief fupply; 'Gainst all events prepare his patient breast,
And make him quite resign’d to live, or die.
For though no words can time or fate restrain;
No sounds suppress the call of Nature's voice; Though neither rhymes, nor spells, can conquer pain, Nor magic's self make wretchedness our choice ;
Yet reason, while it forms the subtile plan,
Some purer source of pleasure to explore, Must deem it vain for that poor pilgrim, man,
To think of resting 'till his journey's o'er ;
Must deem each fruitless toil, by heav'n design'd ! To teach him where to look for real bliss ; Else why should heav'n excite the hope to find
What balk'd pursuit must here for ever miss ?
The GROTTO: An Ode to SILENCE.
By the Same.
Thy sober influence o'er this darkling cell:
Nor doft thou only love to dwell
For still at eve's serenest hour, . . .
Oft deign’d my secret steps to lead
Or up the dusky lawn, to spy
Wert thou invok'd to consecrate the ground, Ere these rude walls were rear'd remote from fight, · Or ere with moss this shaggy roof was crown'd.
Hail ! blessed parent of each purer thought,
Here wilt thou never fail to find
Thy serious lessons to attend.
What toils his virtue ought to brave,
· H 3
Or if in man redeem'd you bid me trace
'Which in the raptur'd seraph glows above, Where fainted myriads crowd the joyful choir,
And harp their praises round the throne of love.
The trifling fons of Levity and Pride
Nor shall loud Riot's thoughtless train
No foe to peace shall here intrude.
Save such as soothes the listning sense,
Or where the sea's imperfect roar