Sooth'd into love relenting foes admire,
And warmer raptures every friend inspire.

Such are the fruits which from retirement fpring:
Thefe bleffings ease and learned leisure bring.

Yet of the various tasks mankind employ, "Tis fure the hardeft, leifure to enjoy.

For one who knows to tafte this god-like blifs,
What countless swarms of vain pretenders mifs?
Though each dull plodding thing, to ape the wife,
Ridiculously grave, for leifure fighs,

(His boafted with from bufy fcenes to run).
Grant him that leifure, and the fool's undone.
The gods, to curfe poor Demea, heard his vow,
And business now no more contracts his brow:
Nor real cares, 'tis true, perplex his breast,
But thousand fancied ills his peace moleft;
The flighteft trifles folid forrows prove,

And the long ling'ring wheel of life fcarce feems to move,
Ufelefs in bufinefs, yet unfit for ease,

Nor skill'd to mend mankind, nor form'd to please,
Such fpurious animals of worthless race
Live but the public burthen and difgrace:
Like mean attendants on life's ftage are seen,
Drawn forth to fill, but not conduct the fcene.
The mind not taught to think, no useful ftore

To fix reflection, dreads the vacant hour.
Turn'd on its felf its numerous wants are seen,
And all the mighty void that lies within.

Yet cannot wisdom ftamp our joys complete;
"Tis confcious virtue crowns the bleft retreat.
Who feels not that, the private path must shun;
And fly to public view t' efcape his own;
In life's gay scenes uneafy thoughts fupprefs,
And lull each anxious care in dreams of peace.
'Midft foreign objects not employ'd to roam,
Thought, fadly active, ftill corrodes at home:
A serious moment breaks the false repofe,
And guilt in all its naked horror shows.

He who would know retirement's joy refin'd,
The fair recefs muft feek with cheerful mind:
No Cynic's pride, no bigot's heated brain,
No fruftrate hope, nor love's fantastic pain,N
With him must enter the fequefter'd cell,

Who means with pleafing folitude to dwell;
But equal paffions let his bofom rule,
A judgment candid, and a temper cool,

Enlarg'd with knowledge, and in confcience clear,
Above life's empty hopes, and death's vain fear, ...
Such he must be who greatly lives alone;
Such Portio is, in crowded scenes unknown.
For public life with every talent born,
Portio far off retires with decent fcorn;
Though without business, never unemploy'd,
And life, as more at leifure, more enjoy'd ;
For who like him can various science taste,
His mind fhall never want an endless feaft.
VOL. I.

P

In his bleft ev'ning walk may'ft thou, may I,
Oft friendly join in fweet fociety;

Our lives like his in one fmooth current flow,
Nor fwell'd with tempeft, nor too calmly flow,
Whilft he, like fome great fage of Rome or Greece,
Shall calm each rifing doubt, and speak us peace,
Correct each thought, each wayward wish controul,
And ftamp with every virtue all the foul.

Ah! how unlike is Umbrio's gloomy fcene,
Eftrang'd from all the cheerful ways of men !
There fuperftition works her baneful pow'r,
And darkens all the melancholy hour.

Unnumber'd fears corrode and haunt his breaft,
With all that whim or ign'rance can fuggeft.
In vain for him kind nature pours her sweets;
The vifionary faint no joy admits,

But feeks with pious spleen fantastic woes,
And for heav'n's fake heav'n's offer'd good foregoes.
Whate'er's our choice we ftill with pride prefer,
And all who deviate, vainly think must err :
Clodio, in books and abftract notions loft,
Sees none but knaves and fools in honor's poft;
Whilft Syphax, fond on fortune's fea to fail,
And boldly drive before the flatt'ring gale,
(Forward her dang'rous ocean to explore,)
Condemns as cowards thofe who make the shore.
Not fo my friend impartial,-man he views
Useful in what he fhuns as what pursues ;

Sees

Sees different turns to general good confpire,
The hero's paffion and the poet's fire;
Each figure plac'd in nature's wife defign,
With true proportion and exactest line :
Sees lights and fhades unite in due degree,
And form the whole with faireft fymmetry.

GRONGAR HILL.

S1

Near CAERMARTHEN, South Wales.

By Mr. DYER 2.

ILENT nymph, with curious eye!
Who, the purple ev'ning, lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of bufy man,
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet fings;

a Mr. John Dyer was the fecond fon of Robert Dyer of Aberglasney, In Caermarthenshire, a folicitor of great capacity and note. He was born in the year 1700, and received his education at Westminsterfchool, from whence he returned home, being defigned for his father's profeffion. Difliking the study of the law, he relinquished it on the death of his parent, and having an inclination for painting, became a

Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the foreft with her tale;
Come with all thy various hues,
Come, and aid thy fifter Mufe;

Now while Phoebus riding high
Gives luftre to the land and fky!
Grongar Hill invites my fong,
Draw the landskip bright and ftrong i
Grongar, in whose moffy cells
Sweetly mufing Quiet dwells;
Grongar, in whofe filent shade,
For the modeft Mufes made,
So oft I have, the evening ftill,
At the fountain of a rill,

Sate upon a flow'ry bed,

pupil to Mr. Richardíon. He then travelled into Italy, continued fome time at Rome, and came back to England in 1740. His proficiency aɛ an artist seems to have been but inconfiderable; and this circumftance, joined to an ill state of health, and the love of study, determined him to the church. He therefore entered into holy orders, and in 1741 obtained the living of Calthorp, in Leicestershire, on which he lived ten years, and then exchanged it for Belchford, in Lincolnshire. In 1752 he was prefented to the rectory of Coningsby, and soon after had that of Kirkby given him in addition. On the two latter he remained during the rest of his life, which ended in July 1758, of a confumptive disorder, which he had fruggled with many years.