studiis florens ignoblis oti.
Virg. Georg., Lib. IV.

RURAL RETIREMENT A COMMON CRAVING.
HACKNEYED in business, wearied at that oar,
Which thousands, once fast chained to, quit no more,
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego;
The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,
Where, all his long anxieties forgot
Amid the charms of a sequestered spot,
Or recollected only to gild o'er,

And add a smile to what was sweet before,
He may possess the joys he thinks he sees,
Lay his old age upon the lap of ease,
Improve the remnant of his wasted span,
And, having lived a trifler, die a man.

CONSCIENCE CALLS TO THE QUIET COUNTRY LIFE.

Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast,

Though long rebelled against, not yet suppressed,
And calls a creature formed for God alone,
For heaven's high purposes, and not his own;

Calls him away from selfish ends and aims,
From what debilitates and what inflames,
From cities humming with a restless crowd,
Sordid as active, ignorant as loud,
Whose highest praise is that they live in vain,
The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain,
Where works of man are clustered close around,
And works of God are hardly to be found, -
To regions where, in spite of sin and woe,
Traces of Eden are still seen below,
Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove,
Remind him of his Maker's power and love.

HABITS OF A LIFE BROKEN THROUGH WITH DIFFICULTY.

"Tis well if, looked for at so late a day,
In the last scene of such a senseless play,
True wisdom will attend his feeble call,
And grace his action ere the curtain fall.
Souls, that have long despised their heavenly birth,
Their wishes all impregnated with earth,

For three-score years employed with ceaseless care
In catching smoke and feeding upon air,
Conversant only with the ways of men,
Rarely redeem the short remaining ten.

WONDERS OF INSECT LIFE.

To trace in Nature's most minute design
The signature and stamp of power divine,
Contrivance intricate, expressed with ease,
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees,
The shapely limb and lubricated joint,
Within the small dimensions of a point,
Muscle and nerve miraculously spun,

His mighty work, who speaks, and it is done,
Th' invisible in things scarce seen revealed,
To whom an atom is an ample field;
To wonder at a thousand insect forms,
These hatched, and those resuscitated worms,
New life ordained and brighter scenes to share,
Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, [size,
Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and
More hideous foes than fancy can devise ;
With helmet-heads and dragon-scales adorned,
The mighty myriads, now securely scorned,
Would mock the majesty of man's high birth,
Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth.

GRANDEUR OF THE CONTEMPLATION OF NATURE.

Then with a glance of fancy to survey, Far as the faculty can stretch away, Ten thousand rivers poured at his command From urns, that never fail, through every land; These like a deluge with impetuous force, Those winding modestly a silent course; The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales; Seas, on which every nation spreads her sails; The sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, The crescent moon, the diadem of night; Stars countless, each in his appointed place, Fast anchored in the deep abyss of space. At such a sight to catch the poet's flame, And with a rapture like his own exclaim, These are thy glorious works, thou Source of Good, How dimly seen, how faintly understood ! Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, This universal frame, thus wondrous fair; Thy power divine, and bounty beyond thought, Adored and praised in all that Thou hast wrought. Absorbed in that immensity I see,

I shrink abased, and yet aspire to Thee;

Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day
Thy words more clearly than thy works display:
That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine,
I may resemble Thee, and call Thee mine.

THE HEAVENLY WISDOM IN LIVING.

O blest proficiency! surpassing all
That men erroneously their glory call,
The recompense that arts or arms can yield,
The bar, the senate, or the tented field.
Compared with this sublimest life below,
Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to show?
Thus studied, used and consecrated thus,
On earth what is, seemed formed indeed for us:
Not as the plaything of a froward child,
Fretful unless diverted and beguiled,
Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires
Of pride, ambition, or impure desires,
But as a scale, by which the soul ascends
From mighty means to more important ends,
Securely, though by steps but rarely trod,
Mounts from inferior beings up to God,
And sees, by no fallacious light or dim,
Earth made for man, and man himself for Him.
RETIREMENT MORE FRIENDLY THAN BUSINESS TO SPIRITUAL
PROGRESS.

Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce,
A superstitious and monastic course :
Truth is not local, God alike pervades
And fills the world of traffic and the shades,
And may be feared amidst the busiest scenes,
Or scorned where business never intervenes.
But 't is not easy, with a mind like ours,
Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers,
And in a world where, other ills apart,
The roving eye misleads the careless heart,
To limit thought, by nature prone to stray
Wherever freakish fancy points the way;
To bid the pleadings of self-love be still,
Resign our own and seek our Maker's will;
To spread the page of Scripture, and compare
Our conduct with the laws engraven there;
To measure all that passes in the breast,
Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test;
To dive into the secret deeps within,
To spare no passion and no favorite sin,
And search the themes, important above all,
Ourselves and our recovery from our fall.
But leisure, silence, and a mind released

From anxious thoughts how wealth may be in-
How to secure, in some propitious hour, [creased,
The point of interest, or the post of power,
A soul serene, and equally retired
From objects too much dreaded or desired,
Safe from the clamors of perverse dispute,
At least are friendly to the great pursuit.

THE ISLAND OF LIFE ON THE OCEAN OF ETERNITY.
SAINTED DEAD.

Opening the map of God's extensive plan,
We find a little isle, this life of man;

THE

Eternity's unknown expanse appears, Circling around and limiting his years.

The busy race examine, and explore

Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore,
With care collect what in their eyes excels,
Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells;
Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great,
And happiest he that groans beneath his weight.
The waves o'ertake them in their serious play,
And every hour sweeps multitudes away;
They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep,
Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep.
A few forsake the throng; with lifted eyes
Ask wealth of Heaven, and gain a real prize,
Truth, wisdom, grace, and peace like that above,
Sealed with His signet whom they serve and love;
Scorned by the rest, with patient hope they wait
A kind release from their imperfect state,
And unregretted are soon snatched away
From scenes of sorrow into glorious day.

VARIOUS MOTIVES TO RETIREMENT.

Nor these alone prefer a life recluse, Who seek retirement for its proper use; The love of change, that lives in every breast, Genius, and temper, and desire of rest, Discordant motives in one centre meet, And each inclines its votary to retreat. Some minds by nature are averse to noise, And hate the tumult half the world enjoys, The lure of avarice, or the pompous prize, That courts display before ambitious eyes; The fruits that hang on pleasure's flowery stem, Whate'er enchants them, are no snares to them. To them the deep recess of dusky groves, Or forest, where the deer securely roves, The fall of waters, and the song of birds, And hills that echo to the distant herds, Are luxuries excelling all the glare

The world can boast, and her chief favorites share.

THE POET SEEKS RETIREMENT; NATURE'S PICTURES FOR HIM.
With eager step, and carelessly arrayed,
For such a cause the poet seeks the shade.
From all he sees he catches new delight,
Pleased fancy claps her pinions at the sight;
The rising or the setting orb of day,
The clouds that flit, or slowly float away,
Nature in all the various shapes she wears,
Frowning in storms, or breathing gentle airs;
The snowy robe her wintry state assumes,
Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes ;
All, all alike transport the glowing bard,
Success in rhyme his glory and reward.

NATURE INVOKED TO INSPIRE THE POET.

O Nature! whose elysian scenes disclose His bright perfections at whose word they rose, Next to that Power who formed thee and sustains, Be thou the great inspirer of my strains.

Still, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand
Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand,
That I may catch a fire but rarely known,
Give useful light, though I should miss renown,
And, poring on thy page, whose every line
Bears proof of an intelligence divine,
May feel a heart enriched by what it pays,
That builds its glory on its Maker's praise.
Woe to the man, whose wit disclaims its use,
Glittering in vain or only to seduce.
Who studies nature with a wanton eye,
Admires the work, but slips the lesson by ;
His hours of leisure and recess employs
In drawing pictures of forbidden joys,
Retires to blazon his own worthless name,
Or shoot the careless with a surer aim.

THE LOVER SEEKS RETIREMENT. HIS SIGHS. HIS
IDOLATRY.

The lover too shuns business and alarms,
Tender idolater of absent charms.
Saints offer nothing in their warmest prayers,
That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs ;
"T is consecration of his heart, soul, time,
And every thought that wanders is a crime.
In sighs he worships his supremely fair,
And weeps a sad libation in despair;
Adores a creature, and, devout in vain,
Wins in return an answer of disdain.

MISCHIEFS OF BEING IN LOVE.IT REFINES, BUT UNMANS. — LOVERS UNMANAGEABLE.

As woodbine weds the plant within her reach, Rough elm, or smooth-grained ash, or glossy beech, In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays, But does a mischief while she lends a grace, Straitening its growth by such a strict embrace, So love, that clings around the noblest minds, Forbids the advancement of the soul he binds; The suitor's air indeed he soon improves, And forms it to the taste of her he loves, Teaches his eye a language, and no less Refines his speech, and fashions his address; But farewell promises of happier fruits, Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits; Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break, His only bliss is sorrow for her sake; Who will may pant for glory and excel,Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell! Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name May least offend against so pure a flame, Though sage advice of friends the most sincere Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear, And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild, Can least brook management, however mild; Yet let a poet (poetry disarms The fiercest animals with magic charms) Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood, And woo and win thee to thy proper good.

ADVICE TO THE LOVER. BAD EFFECTS OF RURALITIES ON HIM. RECALLED TO DUTY.

Pastoral images and still retreats,
Umbrageous walks and solitary seats,

Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams,
Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day-dreams,
Are all enchantments in a case like thine,
Conspire against thy peace with one design,
Soothe thee to make thee but a surer prey,
And feed the fire that wastes thy powers away.
Up-God has formed thee with a wiser view,
Not to be led in chains, but to subdue ;
Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first
Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst.

WOMAN, HER TRUE POSITION; TO BE BELOVED, NOT ADORED.
Woman, indeed, a gift He would bestow

When He designed a paradise below,
The richest earthly boon his hands afford,
Deserves to be beloved, but not adored.
Post away swiftly to more active scenes,
Collect the scattered truths that study gleans,
Mix with the world, but with its wiser part,
No longer give an image all thine heart;
Its empire is not hers, nor is it thine,-
"T is God's just claim, prerogative divine.

HEBERDEN. THE DISEASE OF MELANCHOLY DESCRIBED; ITS
NEED OF SYMPATHY.-JOB.

Virtuous and faithful Heberden! whose skill
Attempts no task it cannot well fulfil,
Gives melancholy up to Nature's care,
And sends the patient into purer air.

Look where he comes- in this embowered alcove
Stand close concealed, and see a statue move :
Lips busy, and eyes fixed, foot falling slow,
Arms hanging idly down, hands clasped below,
Interpret to the marking eye distress,
Such as its symptoms can alone express.
That tongue is silent now; that silent tongue
Could argue once, could jest or join the song.
Could give advice, could censure or commend,
Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend.
Renounced alike its office and its sport,
Its brisker and its graver strains fall short;
Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway,
And like a summer-brook are past away.
This is a sight for pity to peruse,
Till she resemble faintly what she views,
Till sympathy contract a kindred pain,
Pierced with the woes that she laments in vain.
This, of all maladies that man infest,

Claims most compassion, and receives the least:
Job felt it, when he groaned beneath the rod
And the barbed arrows of a frowning God;
And such emollients as his friends could spare
Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare.
MODERN JOB'S COMFORTERS SATIRIZED. SORROW IS SACRED;
A REALITY AND NOT A FANTASY.

Blessed, rather cursed, with hearts that never
feel,

Kept snug in caskets of close-hammered steel,

With mouths made only to grin wide and eat,
And minds that deem derided pain a treat,
With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire,
And wit that puppet-prompters might inspire,
Their sovereign nostrum is a clumsy joke
On pangs enforced with God's severest stroke.
But, with a soul that ever felt the sting
Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing:
Not to molest, or irritate, or raise

A laugh at his expense, is slender praise;
He that has not usurped the name of man
Does all, and deems too little all, he can,
T'assuage the throbbings of the festered part,
And staunch the bleedings of a broken heart.
"T is not, as heads that never ache suppose,
Forgery of fancy, and a dream of woes;
Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight,
Each yielding harmony disposed aright;
The screws reversed (a task which, if He please,
God in a moment executes with ease),
Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose,
Lost, till He tunes them, all their power and use.

SCENES OF NATURE CANNOT CURE THE WOUNDED SPIRIT. -
GOD ITS ONLY PHYSICIAN.

Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair As ever recompensed the peasant's care, Nor soft declivities with tufted hills, Nor view of waters turning busy mills, Parks in which Art preceptress Nature weds, Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds, Nor gales, that catch the scent of blooming groves, And waft it to the mourner as he roves, Can call up life into his faded eye, That passes all he sees unheeded by ; No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels, No cure for such, till God, who makes them, heals, And thou, sad sufferer under nameless ill, That yields not to the touch of human skill, Improve the kind occasion, understand

A Father's frown, and kiss his chastening hand.

PEACE MADE WITH GOD CHANGES THE WHOLE ASPECT OF
NATURE, FROM GLOOM TO GLADNESS AND Delight.
To thee the dayspring and the blaze of noon,
The purple evening and resplendent moon,
The stars, that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night,
Seem drops descending in a shower of light,
Shine not, or undesired and hated shine,
Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine :
Yet seek Him, in his favor life is found,
All bliss beside, a shadow or a sound:
Then heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull earth,
Shall seem to start into a second birth;
Nature, assuming a more lovely face,
Borrowing a beauty from the works of Grace,
Shall be despised and overlooked no more,
Shall fill thee with delight unfelt before,
Impart to things inanimate a voice,
And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice;
The sound shall run along the winding vales,
And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails.

THE DISAPPOINTED STATESMAN SEEKS RETIREMENT.

Ye groves (the statesman at his desk exclaims,
Sick of a thousand disappointed aims),
My patrimonial treasure and my pride,
Beneath your shades your gray possessor hide,
Receive me languishing for that repose
The servant of the public never knows.
Ye saw me once (ah, those regretted days,
When boyish innocence was all my praise !)
Hour after hour delightfully allot

To studies then familiar, since forgot,
And cultivate a taste for ancient song,
Catching its ardor as I mused along;

Nor seldom, as propitious Heaven might send,
What once I valued and could boast, a friend,
Were witnesses how cordially I pressed
His undissembling virtue to my breast;
Receive me now, not incorrupt as then,
Nor guiltless of corrupting other men,

But versed in arts, that, while they seem to stay
A falling empire, hasten its decay.
To the fair haven of my native home,
The wreck of what I was, fatigued I come;
For once I can approve the patriot's voice,
And make the course he recommends my choice:
We meet at last in one sincere desire,

THE SHEPHERD-BOY.— FREEDOM AS IT APPEARS TO HIM AND TO THE STATE DRUDGE.

Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of morn First shakes the glittering drops from every thorn, Unfolds his flock, then under bank or bush Sits linking cherry-stones, or platting rush, How fair is freedom?- he was always free : To carve his rustic name upon a tree, To snare the mole, or with ill-fashioned hook To draw th' incautious minnow from the brook, Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view, His flock the chief concern he ever knew; She shines but little in his heedless eyes, The good we never miss we rarely prize : But ask the noble drudge in state affairs, Escaped from office and its constant cares, What charms he sees in freedom's smile expressed, In freedom lost so long, now repossessed; The tongue, whose strains were cogent as commands, Revered at home, and felt in foreign lands, Shall own itself a stammerer in that cause, Or plead its silence as its best applause.

THE STATE DRudge's relisH OF NATURE AND THE COUNTRY. -HEDGE-ROWS. MEADS.-DOWNS. THE SEA-BOY.

He knows indeed that, whether dressed or rude, Wild without art, or artfully subdued, Nature in every form inspires delight, But never marked her with so just a sight.

Her hedgerow shrubs, a variegated store,
With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er,
Green balks and furrowed lands, the stream, that
[spreads
Its cooling vapor o'er the dewy meads,
Downs, that almost escape th' inquiring eye,
That melt and fade into the distant sky,
Beauties he lately slighted as he passed,
Seem all created since he travelled last.
Master of all th' enjoyments he designed,
No rough annoyance rankling in his mind,
What early philosophic hours he keeps,
How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps!
Not sounder he, that on the mainmast head,
While morning kindles with a windy red,
Begins a long look-out for distant land,
Nor quits till evening watch his giddy stand,
Then swift descending, with a seaman's haste,
Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast.

RURAL COMPANIONS OF THE RETIRED STATESMAN. — THE
MECHANIC.

He chooses company, but not the squire's, Whose wit is rudeness, whose good-breeding tires ; Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come, Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home; Nor can he much affect the neighboring peer, Whose toe of emulation treads too near ; But wisely seeks a more convenient friend, With whom, dismissing forms, he may unbend! A man, whom marks of condescending grace Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place; Who comes when called, and at a word withdraws, Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause; Some plain mechanic, who, without pretence To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes offence; On whom he rests well pleased his weary powers, And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. The tide of life, swift always in its course, May run in cities with a brisker force, But nowhere with a current so serene, Or half so clear, as in the rural scene.

AMBITION RETURNS FROM RURAL DELIGHTS TO ITS TREADMILL OF PATRIOTIC CARES.

Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss! What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss! Some pleasures live a month, and some a year, But short the date of all we gather here; No happiness is felt, except the true, That does not charm the more for being new. This observation as it chanced, not made, Or if the thought occurred, not duly weighed, He sighs for after all by slow degrees The spot he loved has lost the power to please; To cross his ambling pony day by day, Seems at the best but dreaming life away; The prospect, such as might enchant despair, He views it not, or sees no beauty there; With aching heart, and discontented looks, Returns at noon to billiards or to books, But feels, while grasping at his faded joys, A secret thirst of his renounced employs.