Oh that the voice of clamor and debate,
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state,
Were hush'd, in favor of thy gen'rous plea,
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy
fee!

§ 82. On Domestic Happiness, as the Friend of Virtue; and of the false Good-nature of the Age. COWPER.

DOMESTIC happiness, thou only bliss
Of Paradise that has surviv'd the fall!
Though few now taste thee unimpair'd

pure,

Or, tasting, long enjoy thee; too infirm
Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets
Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup.
Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
Heaven-born, and destin'd to the skies again.
Thou art not known where Pleasure is ador'd,
That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist
And wand'ring eyes, still leaning on the arm
Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support;
For thou art meek and constant, hating change,
And finding in the calm of truth-tied love
Joys that her stormy raptures never yield.
Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we
made

Of honor, dignity, and fair renown,
Till prostitution elbows us aside
In all our crowded streets, and senates seem
Conven'd for purposes of empire less
Than to release th' adult'ress from her bond!
Th' adult'ress! what a theme for angry verse,
What provocation to the indignant heart
That feels for injur'd love! But I disdain
The nauseous task to paint her as she is,
Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame.
No. Let her pass; and, charioted along,
In guilty splendor shake the public ways:
The frequency of crimes has wash'd them
white;

And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch
Whom matrons now, of character unsmirch'd,
And chaste themselves, are not asham'd to

own.

Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time
Not to be pass'd: and she that had renounc'd
Her sex's honor, was renounc'd herself
By all that priz'd it; not for Prudery's sake,
But Dignity's resentful of the wrong.
"Twas hard, perhaps, on here and there a waif
Desirous to return, and not receiv'd;
But was a wholesome rigor in the main,
And taught th' unblemish'd to preserve with

care

That purity, whose loss was loss of all.
Men too were nice in honor in those days,
And judg'd offenders well: and he that sharp'd
And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd,
Was mark'd, and shunn'd as odious. He that
sold

His country, or was slack when she requir'd
His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch,

And specious semblances have lost their use.

§ 83. On the Employments of what is called
an Idle Life. CowPER.
How various his employments whom the world
Calls idle, and who justly, in return,
Esteems the busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen
Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad-
Can he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy?
Me therefore, studious of laborious ease,
Not slothful; happy to deceive the time,
Nor waste it; and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When he shall call his debtors to account
From whom are all our blessings-business
finds

E'en here. While sedulous I seek t' improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd
The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By causes not to be divulg'd in vain,'
To its just point-the service of mankind.
He that attends to his interior self,
That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind
That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks
A social, not a dissipated life-
Has business: feels himself engag'd t' achieve
No unimportant, though a silent task,

A life all turbulence and noise may seem,
To him that leads it, wise, and to be prais'd;
But wisdom is a pearl with most success
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies.
He that is ever occupied in storms
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize.
$84. The Post comes in-the News-paper is
read-the World contemplated at a dis-
COWPER.
HARK! 'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder
bridge,

tance.

That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon

85. A Fragment. MALLET.
FAIR morn ascends: fresh zephyr's breath
Blows lib'ral o'er yon bloomy heath,
Where, sown profusely, herb and flow'r,
Of balmy smell, of healing pow'r,
Their souls in fragrant dews exhale,
And breathe fresh life in ev'ry gale.
Here spreads a green expanse of plains,
Where, sweetly pensive, Silence reigns;
And there, at utmost stretch of eye,
A mountain fades into the sky;
While winding round, diffus'd and deep,
A river rolls with sounding sweep.
Of human heart no traces near,
I seem alone with nature here!

Here are thy walks, O sacred Health!
The monarch's bliss, the beggar's wealth,
The seas'ning of all good below,
The sovereign's friend in joy or woe.
O thou, most courted, most despis'd,
And but in absence duly priz'd!
Pow'r of the soft and rosy face!
The vivid pulse, the vermeil grace,
The spirits, when they gayest shine,
Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine!
O sun of life, whose heavenly ray
Lights up and cheers our various day,
The turbulence of hopes and fears,
The storm of fate, the cloud of years,
Till nature with thy parting light,
Reposes late in Death's calm night:
Fled from the trophied roofs of state,
Abodes of splendid pain and hate;

Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep,
Hot Riot would his anguish steep,
But tosses through the midnight shade,
Of death, of life, alike afraid;

For ever fled to shady cell,

From thought to thought in vision led,
He holds high converse with the dead;
Sages or poets. See, they rise!
And shadowy skim before his eyes,
Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again,
That soften'd savages to men:
Lo! Socrates the Sent of Heaven,
To whom its moral will was given.
Fathers and friends of human kind!
They form'd the nations, or refin'd,
With all that mends the head and heart,
Enlight'ning truth, adorning art.

§ 86. Ode to Evening. J. WARTON.

HAIL, meek-ey'd maiden, clad in sober grey, Whose soft approach the weary woodman

You lightly o'er the misty meadows walk;
The drooping daisies bathe in dulcet dews,
And nurse the nodding violet's tender stalk.
The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat
To inmost bow'rs and cooling caverns ran,
Return, to trip in wanton ev'ning dance;
Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan.
To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair,
Light swims the swallow o'er the wat'ry
[field,
And from the sheep-cot, and fresh-furrow'd
Stout ploughmen meet, to wrestle on the

The swain, that artless sings on yonder rock, His supping sheep and length'ning shadow

Pleas'd with the cool, the calm, refreshing hour, And with hoarse humming of unnumber'd flies.

Now ev'ry Passion sleeps: desponding Love,
And pining Envy, ever-restless Pride;
And holy Calm creeps o'er my peaceful soul,
Anger and mad Ambition's storm subside.

O modest Evening! oft let me appear
A wandering votary in thy pensive train;
List'ning to every wildly-warbling note
That fills with farewell sweet thy dark'ning
plain.

§ 87. Isis. An Elegy. MASON.

FAR from her hallow'd grot, where, mildly bright,

The pointed crystals shot their trembling light;
From dripping moss, where sparkling dew-
drops fell,
[ed shell,
Where coral glow'd, where twin'd the wreath-
Pale Isis lay; a willow's lowly shade
Spread its thin foliage o'er the sleeping maid;
Clos'd was her eye, and from her heaving breast
In careless folds loose flow'd her zoneless
vest;

While down her neck her vagrant tresses flow,
In all the awful negligence of woe ;
Her urn sustain'd her arm, that sculptur'd vase
Where Vulcan's art had lavish'd all his grace.
Here, full with life, was heaven-taught Sci-
ence seen,

Known by the laurel-wreath and musing mien;
There cloud-crown'd Fame, here Peace, scdate
and bland,
[wand;
Swell'd the loud trump, and wav'd the olive
While solemn domes, arch'd shades, and vistas
green,

At well-mark'd distance close the sacred scene.
On this the goddess cast an anxious look,
Then dropt a tender tear, and thus she spoke:
Yes, I could once with pleas'd attention trace
The mimic charms of this prophetic vase;
Then lift my head, and with enraptur'd eyes
View on yon plain the real glories rise.
Yes, Isis! oft hast thou rejoic'd to lead
Thy liquid treasures o'er yon fav'rite mead :
Oft hast thou stopp'd thy pearly car to gaze,
While ev'ry Science nurs'd its growing bays;
While ev'ry Youth, with fame's strong impulse
fir'd,

Press'd to the goal, and at the goal untir'd,
Snatch'd each celestial wreath to bind his brow
The Muses, Graces, Virtues, could bestow.

E'en now fond Fancy leads th' ideal train, And ranks her troops on Memory's ample

plain;

See! the firm leaders of my patriot line,
See! Sydney, Raleigh, Hampden, Somers,
shine.

See Hough, superior to a tyrant's doom,
Smile at the menace of the slave of Rome :
Each soul whom truth could fire, and virtue
move,
[love,
Each breast strong panting with its country's
All that to Albion gave their heart or head,
That wisely counsell'd, or that bravely bled,
All, all appear; on me they grateful smile,
The well-earn'd prize of ev'ry virtuous toil
To me with filial reverence they bring,
And hang fresh trophies o'er my honor'd spring.
Ah! I remember well yon beechen spray,
There Addison first tun'd his polish'd lay;

Each British eye shall drop the patriot tear! And, rous'd to glory by the nervous strain, Each youth shall spurn at slavery's abject reign,

Shall guard with Cato's zeal Britannia's laws, And speak, and act, and bleed, in freedom's cause."

The hero spoke; the bard assenting bow'd; The lay to Liberty and Cato flow'd; While Echo, as she rov'd the vale along, Join'd the strong cadence of his Roman song.

But, ah! how Stillness slept upon the ground, How mute attention check'd each rising sound, Scarce stole a breeze to wave the leafy spray, Scarce trill'd sweet Philomel her softest lay, When Locke walk'd musing forth! e'en now I view

Majestic Wisdom thron'd upon his brow; View Candor smile upon his modest cheek, And from his eye all Judgment's radiance break.

"Twas here the sage his manly zeal express'd, Here stripp'd vain Falsehood of her gaudy vest: Here Truth's collected beams first fill'd his mind,

Ere long to burst in blessings on mankind; Ere long to show to reason's purged eye, That "Nature's first best gift was Liberty."

Proud of this wondrous son, sublime I stood, (While louder surges swell'd my rapid flood ;) Then, vain as Niobe, exulting cried, Ilissus! roll thy fam'd Athenian tide; Though Plato's steps oft mark'd thy neighb'ring glade,

Though fair Lycæum lent its awful shade,
Though ev'ry Academic green impress'd
Its image full on thy reflecting breast,
Yet my pure stream shall boast as proud a

name,

And Britain's Isis flow with Attic fame.

Alas! how chang'd! where now that Attic

boast ?

See! Gothic License rage all o'er my coast: See! Hydra Faction spreads its impious reign, Poison each breast, and madden ev'ry brain : Hence frontless crowds that, not content to

fright

The blushing Cynthia from her throne of night,
Blast the fair face of day; and, madly bold,
To Freedom's foes infernal orgies hold:
To Freedom's foes, ah! see the goblet crown'd,
Hear plausive shouts to Freedom's foes re-

sound;

The horrid notes my refluent waters daunt, The Echoes groan, the Dryad quits their haunt, Learning, that once to all diffus'd her beam, Now sheds, by stealth, a partial private gleam In some lone cloister's melancholy shade, Where a firm few support her sickly head,