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How could you say my face was fair,

And yet that face forsake ?
How could you win my virgin heart,

Yet leave that heart to break !
Why did you say my lip was sweet,

And made the scarlet pale?
And why did I, young witless maid!

Believe the flattering tale?
That face, alas! no more is fair,

Those lips no longer red :
Dark are my eyes, now closed in death,

And every charm is filed.
The hungry worm my sister is ;

This winding-sheet I wear:
And cold and weary lasts our night,

Till that last morn appear.
But hark! the cock has warned me hence ;

A long and last adieu !
Come see, false man, how low she lies,

Who died for love of you.
The lark sung loud; the morning smiled

With beams of rosy red :
Pale William quaked in every limb,

And raving left his bed.
He hied him to the fatal place

Where Margaret's body lay;
And stretched him on the green-grass turf

That wrapt her breathless clay.
And thrice he called on Margaret's name,

And thrice he wept full sore;
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,

And word spake never more!

His sister, who, like envy formed,

Like her in mischief joyed, To work them harm, with wicked skill,

Each darker art employed. The father too, a sordid man,

Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the clod

From whence his riches grew. Long had he seen their secret flame,

And seen it long unmoved; Then with a father's frown at last

llad sternly disapproved. In Edwin's gentle heart, a war

Of differing passions strove: His heart, that durst not disobey,

Yet could not cease to love.
Denied her sight, he oft behind

The spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot

Where Emma walked and wept.

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Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste,

Beneath the moonlight shade,
In sighs to pour his softened soul,

The midnight mourner strayed.
His cheek, where health with beauty glowed,

A deadly pale o'ercast;
So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Before the northern blast.

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The parents now, with late remorse,

Hung o'er his dying bed ;
And wearied Heaven with fruitless vows,

And fruitless sorrows shed.
'Tis past ! he cried, but, if your souls

Sweet mercy yet can move,
Let these dim eyes once more behold

What they must ever love!
She came; his cold hand softly touched,

And bathed with many a tear:
Fast-falling o'er the primrose pale,

So morning dews appear.
But oh! his sister's jealous care,

A cruel sister she !
Forbade what Emma came to say;

• My Edwin, live for me!'
Now homeward as she hopeless wept,

The churchyard path along,
The blast blew cold, the dark owl screamed

Her lover's funeral song.
Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hovering shade,

His groan in every sound.
Alone, appalled, thus had she passed

The visionary vale-
When lo! the death-bell smote her ear,

Sad sounding in the gale!
Just then she reached, with trembling step,

Her aged mother's door :
He's gone! she cried, and I shall see

That angel-face no more,
I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Beat high against my side!
From her white arm down sunk her head

She shivered, sighed, and died.

Edwin and Emma.
Far in the windings of a vale,

Fast by a sheltering wood,
The safe retreat of health and peace,

A humble cottage stood.
There beauteous Emma flourished fair,

Beneath a mother's eye;
Whose only wish on earth was now

To see her blest, and die.
The softest blush that nature spreads

Gave colour to her cheek;
Such orient colour smiles through heaven,

When vernal mornings break. Nor let the pride of great ones scorn

This charmer of the plains : That sun, who bids their diamonds blaze,

To paint our lily deigns.
Long had she filled each youth with love,

Each maiden with despair;
And though by all a wonder owned,

Yet knew not she was fair:
Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,

A soul devoid of art ;
And from whose eye, serenely mild,

Shone forth the feeling heart.
A mutual flame was quickly caught,

Was quickly too revealed;
For neither bosom lodged a wish

That virtue keeps concealed.
What happy hours of home-felt bliss

Did love on both bestow!
But bliss too mighty long to last,

Where fortune proves a foe.

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the fall of one of his father's cleavers, or hatchets, The Birks of Invernay.

on his foot-rendered him lame for life, and perThe smiling morn, the breathing spring,

petuated the recollection of his lowly birth. The Invite the tunefu’ birds to sing;

Society of Dissenters advanced a sum for the eduAnd, while they warble from the spray,

cation of the poet as a clergyman, and he repaired Love melts the universal lay.

to Edinburgh for this purpose in his eighteenth Let us, Amanda, timely wise,

year. He afterwards repented of this destination, Like them, improve the hour that flies;

and, returning the money, entered himself as a stuAnd in soft raptures waste the day,

dent of medicine. He was then a poet, and in his Among the birks of Invermay.

Hymn to Science, written in Edinburgh, we see at For soon the winter of the year,

once the formation of his classic taste, and the And age, life's winter, will appear;

dignity of his personal character :At this thy living bloom will fade,

That last best effort of thy skill, As that will strip the verdant shade.

To form the life and rule the will, Our taste of pleasure then is o'er,

Propitious Power ! impart; The feathered songsters are no more;

Teach me to cool my passion's fires, And when they drop and we decay,

Make me the judge of my desires, Adieu the birks of Invermay!

The master of my heart. Some additional stanzas were added to the above

Raise me above the vulgaris breath, by Dr Bryce, Kirknewton. Invermay is in Perth

Pursuit of fortune, fear of death,

And all in life that's mean; shire, the native county of Mallet, and is situated near the termination of a little picturesque stream

Still true to reason be my plan, called the May. The birk' or birch-tree is abun

Still let my actions speak the man, dant, adding grace and beauty to rock and stream.

Through every various scene. Though a Celt by birth and language, Mallet had | A youth animated by such sentiments, promised a none of the imaginative wildness or superstition of

erstition of manhood of honour and integrity. After three his native country. Macpherson, on the other hand, years spent in Edinburgh, Akenside removed to seems to have been completely imbued with it.

Leyden to complete his studies; and in 1744 he was admitted to the degree of M.D. He next esta

blished himself as a physician in London. In HolMARK AKENSIDE.

land he had (at the age of twenty-three) writThe author of The Pleasures of Imagination, one ten his 'Pleasures of Imagination,' which he now of the most pure and noble-minded poems of the offered to Dodsley, demanding £120 for the copyage, was of humble origin. His parents were dis- right. The bookseller consulted Pope, who told senters, and the Puritanism imbibed in his early him to make no niggardly offer, since this was no years seems, as in the case of Milton, to have given every-day writer.' The poem attracted much ata gravity and earnestness to his character, and a tention, and was afterwards translated into French love of freedom to his thoughts and imagination, and Italian. Akenside established himself as a MARK AKENSIDE was the son of a respectable physician in Northampton, where he remained a

year and a-half, but did not succeed. The latter part of his life was spent in London. At Leyden he had formed an intimacy with a young Englishman of fortune, Jeremiah Dyson, Esq., which ripened into a friendship of the most close and enthusiastic description; and Mr Dyson (who was afterwards clerk of the House of Commons, a lord of the treasury, &c.) had the generosity to allow the poet £300 a-year. After writing a few Odes, and attempting a total alteration of his great poem (in which he was far from successful), Akenside made no further efforts at composition. His society was courted for his taste, knowledge, and eloquence; but his solemn sententiousness of manner, his romantic ideas of liberty, and his unbounded admiration of the ancients, exposed him occasionally to ridicule. The physician in Peregrine Pickle, who gives a feast in the manner of the ancients, is supposed to have been a caricature of Akenside. The description, for rich humour and grotesque combinations of learning and folly, has not been excelled by Smollett; but it was unworthy his talents to cast ridicule on a man of high character and splendid genius. Akenside died suddenly of a putrid sore throat, on the 23d of June 1770, in his 49th year, and was buried in St James's church. With a feeling common to poets, as to more ordinary mortals, Akenside, in his latter days, reverted with delight to his native landscape on the banks of the Tyne. In his fragment of a fourth book of The Pleasures of Imagination,' written in the last year of his life, there is the following beau

tiful passage : House in which Akenside was born.

Oye dales batcher at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, where he was born, Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands; where November 9, 1721. An accident in his early years-7 Oft as the giant flood obliquely strides,

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And his banks open and his lawns extend,

learned poet, perhaps superior. His knowledge was Stops short the pleased traveller to view,

better digested. But Gray had not the romantic Presiding o'er the scene, some rustic tower

enthusiasm of character, tinged with pedantry, which Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands :

naturally belonged to Akenside. He had also the O ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook

experience of mature years. The genius of AkenThe rocky pavement and the mossy falls

side was early developed, and his diffuse and florid Of solitary Wensbeck’s limpid stream!

descriptions seem the natural product-marvellous How gladly I recall your well-known seats

of its kind-of youthful exuberance. He was afterBeloved of old, and that delightful time

wards conscious of the defects of his poem. He saw When all alone, for many a summer's day,

that there was too much leaf for the fruit; but in I wandered through your calm recesses, led

cutting off these luxuriances, he sacrificed some of In silence by some powerful hand unseen.

the finest blossoms. Posterity has been more just Nor will I e'er forget you; nor shall e'er

to his fame, by almost wholly disregarding this The graver tasks of manhood, or the advice

second copy of his philosophical poem. In his youthOf vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim

ful aspirations after moral and intellectual greatThose studies which possessed me in the dawn

ness and beauty, he seems, like Jeremy Taylor in Of life, and fixed the colour of my mind

the pulpit, an angel newly descended from the For every future year: whence even now

visions of glory. In advanced years, he is the proFrom sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn,

fessor in his robes; still free from stain, but stately, And, while the world around lies overwhelmed

formal, and severe. The blank verse of 'The PleaIn idle darkness, am alive to thoughts

sures of Imagination' is free and well-modulated, and Of honourable fame, of truth divine

seems to be distinctively his own. Though apt to Or moral, and of minds to virtue won

run into too long periods, it has more compactness By the sweet magic of harmonious verse.

of structure than Thomson's ordinary composition. The spirit of Milton seems to speak in this strain of

Its occasional want of perspicuity probably arises lofty egotism!

from the fineness of his distinctions, and the diffiThe Pleasures of Imagination' is a poem seldom

culty attending mental analysis in verse. He might read continuously, though its finer passages, by fre

also wish to avoid all vulgar and common expresquent quotation, particularly in works of criticism

sions, and thus err from excessive refinement. A

redundancy of ornament undoubtedly, in some pas. and moral philosophy, are well known. Gray censured the mixture of spurious philosophy—the spe

sages, takes off from the clearness and prominence culations of Hutcheson and Shaftesbury—which the

of his conceptions. His highest flights, however-work contains. Plato, Lucretius, and even the papers

as in the allusion to the death of Cæsar, and his by Addison in the Spectator, were also laid under | exquisitely-wrought parallel between art and na. contribution by the studious author. He gathered

ture—have a flow and energy of expression, with sparks of enthusiasm from kindred minds, but the

appropriate imagery, which mark the great poet. train was in his own. The pleasures which his poem

His style is chaste, yet elevated and musical. He professes to treat of, 'proceed,' he says, “either from

never compromised his dignity, though he blended natural objects, as from a flourishing grove, a clear

sweetness with its expression. and murmuring fountain, a calm sea by moonlight, or from works of art, such as a noble edifice, a mu

[Aspirations after the Infinite.] sical tune, a statue, a picture, a poem.' These, with Say, why was man so eminently raised the moral and intellectual objects arising from them, I Amid the vast creation : why ordained furnish abundant topics for illustration ; but Aken- | Through life and death to dart his piercing eye, side dealt chiefly with abstract subjects, pertaining | With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame; more to philosophy than to poetry. He did not | But that the Omnipotent might send him forth seek to graft upon them human interests and pas. | In sight of mortal and immortal powers, sions. In tracing the final causes of our emotions, As on a boundless theatre, to run he could have described their exercise and effects in | The great career of justice; to exalt scenes of ordinary pain or pleasure in the walks His generous aim to all diviner deeds : of real life. This does not seem, however, to have To chase each partial purpose from his breast; been the purpose of the poet, and hence his work is And through the mists of passion and of sense, deficient in interest. He seldom stoops from the And through the tossing tide of chance and pain, heights of philosophy and classic taste. He con- | To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice sidered that physical science improved the charms of Of Truth and Virtue, up the steep ascent nature. Contrary to the feeling of an accomplished Of Nature, calls him to his high reward, living poet, who repudiates these cold material | The applauding smile of Heaven? Else wherefore burns laws,' he viewed the rainbow with additional plea- | In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, sure after he had studied the Newtonian theory of That breathes from day to day sublimer things, lights and colours.

And mocks possession wherefore darts the mind Nor ever yet

With such resistless ardour to embrace The melting rainbow's vernal tinctured hues

Majestic forms; impatient to be free, To me have shone so pleasing, as when first

Spurning the gross control of wilful might; The hand of Science pointed out the path

Proud of the strong contention of her toils; In which the sunbeams gleaming from the west

Proud to be daring? who but rather turns Fall on the watery cloud, whose darksome veil

To Heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view, Involves the orient.

Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame!

Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eye Akenside's Hymn to the Naiads has the true classical | Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey spirit. He had caught the manner and feeling, the Nilus or Ganges, rolling his bright wave varied pause and harmony, of the Greek poets, with

Through mountains, plains, through empires black such felicity, that Lloyd considered his Hymn as with shade, fitted to give a better idea of that form of compo- | And continents of sand, will turn his gaze sition, than could be conveyed by any translation | To mark the windings of a scanty rill pf Homer or Callimachus. Gray was an equally | That murmurs at his feet? The high-born soul

Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing
Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth
And this diurdal scene, she springs aloft
Through fields of air; pursues the flying storm;
Rides on the vollied lightning through the heavens ;
Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast,
Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars
The blue profound, and, hovering round the sun,
Bebolds him pouring the redundant stream
Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve
The fated rounds of Time. Thence far effused,
She darts her swiftness up the long career
Of devious comets; through its burning signs
Exulting measures the perennial wheel
Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars,
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone,
Intest the orient. Now, amazed she views
The enpyreal waste, where happy spirits hold,
Beyond this concare heaven, their calm abode;
And fields of radiance, whose unfading light
Has trarelled the profound six thousand years,
Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things.
Even on the barriers of the world, untired
She meditates the eternal depth below;
Till half recoiling, down the headlong steep
She plunges; soon o'erwhelmed and swallowed up
In tbat immense of being. There her hopes
Rest at the fated goal. For from the birth
Of mortal man, the sovereign Maker said,
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of Renown,
Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap,
The soul should find enjoyment: but from these
Turning disdainful to an equal good,
Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view,
Till every bound at length should disappear,
Add infinite perfection close the scene.

Of atoms moving with incessant change
Their elemental round: behold the seeds
Of being, and the energy of life
Kindling the mass with ever-active flame:
Then to the secrets of the working mind
Attentive turn; from dim oblivion call
Her fleet, ideal band ; and bid them, go!
Break through time's barrier, and o'ertake the hour
That saw the heavens created : then declare
If aught were found in those external scenes
To move thy wonder now. For what are all
The forms which brute unconscious matter wears,
Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts?
Not reaching to the heart, soon feeble grows
The guperficial impulse ; dull their charms,
And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye.
Not so the moral species, nor the powers
Of genius and design: the ambitious mind
There sees herself: by these congenial forms
Touched and awakened, with intenser act
She bends each nerve, and meditates well-pleased
Her features in the mirror. For of all
The inhabitants of earth, to man alone
Creative Wisdom gave to lift his eye
To truth's eternal measures ; thence to frame
The sacred laws of action and of will,
Discerning justice from unequal deeds,
And temperance from folly. But beyond
This energy of truth, whose dietates bind
Assenting reason, the benignant Sire,
To deck the honoured paths of just and good,
Has added bright imagination's rays:
Where virtue, rising from the awful depth
Of truth's mysterious bosom, doth forsake

The unadorned condition of her birth;
| And, dressed by fancy in ten thousand hues,
Assumes a various feature to attract
With charms responsive to each gazer's eye,
The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk,
The ingenious youth, whom solitude inspires
With purest wishes, from the pensive shade
Beholds her moving, like a virgin-muse
That wakes her lyre to some indulgent theme
Of harmony and wonder : while among
The herd of servile minds her strenuous form
Indignant flashes on the patriot's eye,
And through the rolls of memory appeals
To ancient honour, or, in act serene
Yet watchful, raises the majestic sword
Of public power, from dark ambition's reach,
To guard the sacred volume of the laws.

[Intellectual Beauty-Patriotism.] Mind, mind alone (bear witness earth and heaven!) The living fountains in itself contains Of beauteous and sublime: here hand in hand Sit paramount the Graces; here enthroned, Celestial Venus, with divinest airs, Invites the soul to never-fading joy. Look, then, abroad through Nature, to the range Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres, Wbeeling unshaken through the void immense ; And speak, oh man! does this capacious scene With half that kindling majesty dilate Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose Refulgent from the stroke of Cæsar's fate, Amid the crowd of patriots; and his arm Aloft extending, like eternal Jove When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel, and bade the father of his country, hail ! For lo! the tyrant prostrate on the dust, And Rome again is free! Is aught so fair In all the dewy landscapes of the spring, In the bright eye of Hesper, or the morn, In Nature's faireat forms, is aught so fair As virtuous friendship? as the candid blush Of him who strives with fortune to be just ? The graceful tear that streams for others' woes, Or the mild majesty of private life, Where Peace, with ever-blooming olive, crowns The gate; where Honour's liberal hands effuse Unenvied treasures, and the snowy wings Of Innocence and Love protect the scene ! Once more search, undismayed, the dark profound Where nature works in secret ; view the beds Of mineral treasure, and the eternal vault That bounds the hoary ocean ; trace the forms

[Operations of the Mind in the Production of Worics

of Imagination.]
By these mysterious ties, the busy power
Of memory her ideal train preserves
Entire ; or when they would elude her watch,
Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste
Of dark oblivion ; thus collecting all

The various forms of being, to present | Before the curious eye of mimic art

Their largest choice: like spring's unfolded blooms
Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee
May taste at will from their selected spoils
To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse
Of living lakes in summer's noontide calm,
Reflects the bordering shade and sun-bright heavens
With fairer semblance; not the sculptured gold
More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace,
Than he whose birth the sister powers of art
Propitious viewed, and from his genial star
Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind,
Than his attempered bosom must preserve

The seal of nature. There alone, unchanged
| Her form remains. The balmy walks of May

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to 1780.

FROM 1727

CYCLOPÆDIA OF

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There breathe perennial sweets: the trembling chord
Resounds for ever in the abstracted ear,
Melodious; and the virgin's radiant eye,
Superior to disease, to grief, and time,
Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at length
Endowed with all that nature can bestow,
The child of fancy oft in silence bends
O'er these mixed treasures of his pregnant breast
With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves
To frame he knows not what excelling things,
And win he knows not what sublime reward
Of praise and wonder. By degrees the mind
Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powers
Labour for action : blind emotions heave
His bosom; and with loveliest frenzy caught,
From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye,
From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes,
Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call,
Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth,
From ocean's bed they come: the eternal heavens
Disclose their splendoury, and the dark abyss
Pours out her births unknown. With fixed gaze
He marks the rising phantoms. Now compares
Their different forms; now blends them, now divides;
Enlarges and extenuates by turns ;
Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands,
And infinitely varies. Hither now,
Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim,
With endless choice perplexed. At length his plan
Begins to open. Lucid order dawns:
And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds
Of nature at the voice divine repaired
Each to its place, till rosy earth unveiled
Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun
Sprưng up the blue serene ; by swift degrees
Thus disentangled, his entire design

Emerges. Coloury mingle, features join,
| And lines converge: the fainter parts retire;

The fairer eminent in light advance; And every image on its neighbour smiles. Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy Contemplates. Then with Promethean art Into its proper vehicle he breathes The fair conception; which, embodied thus, And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears An object ascertained: while thus inforined, The various objects of his mimic skill, The consonance of sounds, the featured rock, The shadowy picture, and impassioned verse, Beyond their proper powers attract the soul By that expressive semblance, while in sight Of nature's great original we scan The lively child of art; while line by line, And feature after feature, we refer To that divine exemplar whence it stole Those animating charms. Thus beauty's palm Betwixt them wavering hangs : applauding love Doubts where to choose ; and mortal man aspires To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud Of gathering hail with limpid crusts of ice Enclosed, and obvious to the beaming sun, Collects his large effulgence; straight the heavens With equal flames present on either hand The radiant visage : Persia stands at gaze, Appalled ; and on the brink of Ganges doubts The snowy.vested seer, in Mithra's name, To which the fragrance of the south shall burn, To which his warbled orisons ascend.

in species? This, nor gems nor stores of gold,
Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow;
But God'alone, when first his active hand
Imprints the secret bias of the soul.
He, mighty parent ! wise and just in all,
Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven,
Reveals the charms of nature. Ask the swain
Who journies homeward from a summer day's
Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils
And due repose, he loiters to behold
The sunshine gleaming, as through amber clouds,
O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween,
His rude expression and untutored airs,
Beyond the power of language, will unfold
The form of beauty smiling at his heart,
How lovely! how commanding! But though heaven
In every breast hath sown these early seeds
Of love and adiniration, yet in vain,
Without fair culture's kind parental aid,
Without enlivening suns, and genial showers,
And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope
The tender plant should rear its blooming head,
Or yield the harvest promised in its spring.
et will eve

stores
Repay the tiller's labour; or attend
His will, obsequious, whether to produce
The olive or the laurel. Different minds
Incline to different objects: one pursues
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ;
Another sighs for harmony, and grace,
And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightning firem
The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground;
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,
And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky,
Amid the mighty uproar, while below
The nations tremble, Shakspcare looks abroad
From some high cliff superior, and enjoys
The elemental war. But Waller longs
All on the margin of some flowery stream
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool
Of plantain shades, and to the listening deer
The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain
Resound soft-warbling all the live-long day:
Consenting zephyr sighs; the weeping rill
Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves;
And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.
Such and so various are the tastes of men.

O blest of heaven! whom not the languid songs Of luxury, the siren! not the bribes Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils Of pageant honour, can seduce to leave Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store Of nature fair imagination culls To charm the enlivened soul! What though not all Of mortal offspring can attain the heights Of envied life; though only few possess Patrician treasures or imperial state; Yet nature's care, to all her children just, With richer treasures and an ampler state, Endows at large whatever happy man Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns The princely dome, the column and the arch, The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold, Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the spring Distils her dews, and from the silken gem Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him the hand Of autumn tinges every fertile branch With blooming gold and blushes like the morn. Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain

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