"There feek the never wafted treasure,.

"Which mutual love and friendship give,"Domestic comfort, spotless pleasure, "And bleft and bleffing you will live.

"If Heav'n with children crowns your dwelling "As mine its bounty does with you, "In fondness fatherly excelling,

"Th' example you have felt purfue."

He paus'd-----for tenderly careffing
The darling of his wounded heart,
Looks had means only of expreffing
Thoughts, language never could impart,

Now night her mournful mantle fpreading,
Had rob'd in black th' horizon round,
And dank dews, from her treffes shedding,
With-genial moisture bath'd the ground;

When back to city follies flying,

'Midft cuftom's flaves he liv'd refign'd, His face, array'd in fmiles, denying The true complexion of his mind.

For seriously around furveying

Each character, in youth and age,
Of fools betray'd, and knaves betraying,
That play'd upon this human stage.

(Peaceful himself and undefigning)

He loath'd the scenes of guile and strife,

And felt each secret with inclining

To leave this fretful farce of life.

Yet to whate'er above was fated,
Obediently he bow'd his foul,

For, what all-bounteous Heaven created,
He thought Heaven only should controul.

O D E.

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF

ETON COLLEGE.

BY GRAY

YE diftant fpires, ye antique towers,

That crown the watery glade Where grateful Science ftill adores

Her Henry's holy shade;

And ye, that from the stately brow

Of Windfor's heights th' expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead furvey,

Whofe turf, whose shade, whofe flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along

His filver-winding way.

Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade!
Ah fields belov'd in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow,

A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary foul they seem to footh,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a fecond spring.

Say, father Thames, (for thou haft feen
Full many a sprightly race,
Difporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleasure trace)
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glaffy wave?
The captive linnet which inthrall?
What idle progeny fucceed

To chafe the rolling circle's speed,.
Or urge the flying ball.

While fome on earnest business bent

Their murm'ring labours ply 'Gainft graver hours, that bring constraint

To fweeten liberty:

Some bold adventurers difdain

The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare defcry:

Still as they run they look behind,

They hear a voice in every wind,

And fnatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Lefs pleasing when poffeft;
The tear forgot as foon as shed,
The funshine of the breaft:
Theirs buxom health of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively cheer of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the eafy night,
The fpirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas, regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!

No fenfe have they of ills to come,

No care beyond to-day:

Yet fee how all around them wait,

The minifters of human fate,

And black misfortune's baleful train! Ah, fhew them where in ambush stand To feize their prey the murd'rous band! Ah, tell them, they are men

These shall the fury paffions tear,

The vultures of the mind,

Difdainful anger, pallid fear,

And fhame that fculks behind;
Or pining love shall waste their youth,
Or jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the fecret heart,
And envy wan, and faded care,
Grim-vifag'd comfortless despair,
And forrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rife,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter fcorn a facrifice,

And grinning infamy.

The ftings of falfehood thofe fhall try,
And hard unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow, And keen remorfe, with blood defil'd, And moody madness laughing wild Amid fevereft woe.

Lo, in the vale of years beneath

A grifly troop are seen,

The painful family of death,

More hideous than their queen:

This racks the joints, this fires the veins That every labouring finew strains;

Those in the deeper vitals rage:

Lo, poverty, to fill the band,