ODE TO POVERTY.

""Tis better to be lowly born,

And range with humble livers, in content,
Than to be perk'd up in a glitt'ring grief,
And wear a golden sorrow."

SHAKSPEARE.

"The learn'd is happy, nature to explore; The fool is happy, that he knows no more; The rich is happy in the plenty giv'n:

The poor contents him with the care of Heav'n.

POPE.

HAIL POVERTY! in tatter'd weeds array'd;

The scorn of wealth, and all the gay-deck'd crowd; Oft by thy sons despis'd,

Who bow to pride.

Tho' in thy train, the spectre, care, appears,
With wrinkl'd sorrow, pale-fac'd misery,

These haunt the costly pile,

Where grandeur dwells.

Then wherefore shall men shudder at thy name,
Unmindful of the fix'd decrees of fate?

To HIM who rules on high,

We all must bow.

Death waits alike the portals of the great,
And the craz'd cottage. Virtue makes us blest ;
And when she deigns to smile,

She ne'er deceives.

No foe art thou to genius. They whose names
Immortal live, high on the rolls of fame,

Companions were of thine,

Yet died in peace.

What Bard than DRYDEN tun'd more sweet the lyre?
And who like OTWAY call'd forth pity's tear?
Still BUTLER'S humour gives

To laughter birth.

While seasons roll, and nature speeds her course, While liberty shall swell the virtuous breast, Still THOMSON's classic lays

New praise will claim!

While SCOTIA's sons shall harmony admire,

The mournful dirge sublime, the past'ral song,

ERIN, dear Isle! of courts the scorn, the scourge Long as the shamrock marks thy fertile vales, Thy GOLDSMITH's name shall rise, A country's pride!

Hail Poverty! the wisest, and the best

*

Of Kings, to whom our dearest rights we owe,

With thee enjoy'd content,
In lowly guise.

The arts, the sciences, thou ne'er forsak'st; Thy sons, industrious, claim our nation's care; Their deeds on land and main,

The world well knows.

Let not proud mortals cast a scornful sneer
At toil-worn brethren, still their chief support;
The lordling and the slave

Bow to the tomb!

*Alfred the Great.

e!

Unwelcome visitor, by millions deem'd,

Like day's bright orb thou'rt to no state confin'd; Where'er man treads the earth,

There art thou found.

My parents, kindred, still own'd thee a guest:
Thou rock'd my cradle; watch'd my youthful years
And now, in life's decline,
Attend'st me still.

Tho' dark the prospect of my future days,
Unfriended traveller in this dreary vale;
Blest with the Muse and health,
I'll ne'er repine.

Then, hail! companion of life's chequer'd scenes, Who ne'er forsook me, nor wert e'er despis'd;

With thee I've liv'd in peace,

With thee must die!

Vol. II.

". INSCRIPTION FOR AN OAK SEAT

ON THE SUMMIT OF A HILI.

STOP, gentle traveller, on this rude Seat,
Rest thee awhile; and ponder on mankind:
Turn nature's volume o'er, with prying eye;
And in each page thou'lt find a sweet reward.
If thou hast journey'd long thro' life's dark vale,
And poverty hath thy companion been,
Offend not Gon, by murmuring at his will;
But let religion ever be thy guide.

Remember what thou art; what thou must be;
How life's dull path is short, o'er which thou stray'st,
And thou art on eternity's dread brink-
Eternity!-Ah! word but little weigh'd!

Now turn thine eye, yon mansion gay behold,
Its parks, its pleasure grounds, diverted streams,
Lakes, woods umbrageous, temples, and cascades,
Where art with nature almost dares to vie ;
And if thou envy'st its proud pamper'd lord,

Whose pow'r and rich domains extend afar ;
Check the vain thought. Know wealth is rapt in.

cares,

And but the virtuous are the truly great!