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Down, that anchors on the air;
Clouds, that paint their changes there;
Seas, that smoothly dimpling lic,
While the form impends on high,
Shewing, in an obvious glass,
Joys, that in poffefsion pass ;
Tranfient, fickle, light, and gay,
Flatt'ring, only to betray;
What, alas, can life contain!
Life! like all its circles-vain,
Will the stork, intending rest,
On the billow build her nest?
Will the bee demand his ftore
From the bleak and bladeless fhore?
Man alone, intent to stray,
Ever turns from wisdom's way;
Lays up wealth in foreign land,
Sows the sea, and ploughs the fand.
Soon this elemental mass,
Soon th' incumb'ring world shall pass;
Form be wrapt in wafting fire,
Time be spent, and life expire.
Then, ye boasted works of men,
Where is your asylum then?
Sons of pleasure, sons of care,
Tell me, mortals, tell me where?
Gone, like traces on the deep,
Like a fceptre grasp'd in Neep,
Dews exhal'd from morning glades,
Melting snows, and gliding Ibades.

Pass the world, and what's behind ?
Virtue's gold, by fire refin'd;
From an univerfe deprav’d,
From the wreck of nature sav'd.

Like the life-fupporting grain, Fruit of patience, and of pain, On the fwain's autumnal day, Winnow'd from the chaff away. Little trembler, fear no more, Thou hast plenteous crops in store ; Seed, by genial sorrows sown, More than all thy scorners own. What though hostile earth despise, Heaven beholds with gentler eyes ; Heaven thy friendless steps fhall guide, Cheer thy hours, and guard thy fide. When th' fatal trump fhall sound, When th’immortals pour around, Heaven shall thy return attest, Hail'd by myriads of the bless'd. Little native of the skies, Lovely Penitent, arise ! Calm thy bosom, clear thy brow, Virtue is thy sister now. More delightful are my woes Than the rapture Pleasure knows; Richer far the weeds I bring, Than the robes that grace a king. On my wars,

of shortest date, Crowns of endless triumph wait ;

On my cares a period bless'd ;
On my toils eternal reft.
Come, with Virtue at thy fide ;
Come, be ev'ry bar defy'd,
Till we gain our native shore ;
Sister, came, and turn ao more.

GOLDSMITH.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA,

A BALLAD. “TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,

“ And guide my lonely way, « To where yon taper cheers the vale

“ With hospitable ray. . For here forlorn and loft I tread,

« With fainting steps and now; 6. Where wilds, immeasurably spread,

« Seem length’ning as I go." • Forbear, my son,' the Hermit cries,

• To tempt the dangérons gloom ; For yonder phantom only flies

• To lure thee to thy doom. 6 Here to the houseless child of want

• My door is open fill; * And though my portion is but scant,

* I give it with good will

• Then turn to-night, and freely share

• Whate'er my cell bestows; • My rulhy couch and frugal fare,

• My blessing and repose. • No flocks that range the valley free

• To Naughter I condemn; «Taught by that Pow'r that pities me,

• I learn to pity them: • But from the mountain's graffy lide

• A guiltless feast I bring; • A fcrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,

. And water from the spring, • Then, Pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ;

« All earth-born cares are wrong: • Man wants but little here below,

Nor wants that little long.'
Soft as the dew from heav'n descends,

His gentle accents fell;
The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obfcure

The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,

And strangers led aftray.
No fores beneath its humble thatch

Requir'd a master's care ;
The wicket op'ning with a latch,

Receiv'd the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire

Tu take their ev'ning res,

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The Hermit trimi'd his little fire,

And cheer'd his pensive gụeft; And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily press’d, and smild; And skill'd in legendary.lore,

The ling'ring hours beguild.
Around in sympathetic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,

The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart,

To soothe the stranger's woe ;
For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow,
His rising cares the Hermit spy'd,

With answering care oppress’d: . And whence, unhappy youth,' he cry'd,

• The sorrows of thy breast ? • From better habitations spurn'd,

• Raluctant dost thou rove? • Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,

• Or unregarded love? • Alas! the joys that Fortune brings

• Are trifling, and decay ; • And those who prize the paltry things

• More trifling still than they. • And what is Friendship but a name ;

• A charm that lulls to Deep ; • A fhade that follows wealth or fame,

• And leaves the wretch to weep?

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