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the thick-sprung reeds the wat'ry marshes yield,
Seem polish'd lances in a hostile sield.
The stag in limpid currents, with surprize,
Sees crystal branches on his sorehead rise.
The spreading oak, the beach, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the sreezing æther shine.
The srighted birds the rattling branches shun,
That wave and glitter in the distant sun.

When, is a gust os wind arise,
The brittle sorest into atoms flies:
The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends,
And in a spangled show's the prospect ends.
Or, is a southern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintry charm,
The traveller a miry country sees,
And journeys sad beneath the dropping trees.

Like some deluded peasant, Merlin leads
Through sragrant bow'rs, and through delicious meads;
While here enchanted gardens to him rise,
And airy sabrics there attract his eyes,
His wandring seet the magic paths pursue;
And, while he thinks the sair illusion true,.
The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air,
And woods and uilds, and thorny ways appear:
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And as he goes, the transient vision mourns.

Copenhagen, March fth, 1709.

THE FIR E-S I D E.

er DR. COTTOX.

I.

Dear Chloe, white the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,

In solly's maze advance;
Though singularity and pride
lie call'd our choice, we'll step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.

1L

From the gay world we'll ost retire
To our own samily aad sire,

Where love ov.r hours employs;
No noisy neighbours enter here,
No intermeddling stranger near

To spoil our heart-selt joys.

III.

Is solid happiness we prize,
Within our bre?st this jewel lies;

And-they are sools who roam:
The world has nothing to bestow,.
From our own selves our joys must slow,

And that dear hut, our home.

IV.

Os rest was Noali's dove berest,
When with impatient wing she left,

That sase retreat, the ark; Giving her vain excursion o'er, The disappointed bird once more Explor'd the sacred bark.

V.

Though sools spurn hymen's gentle pow'rs^
We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good

A paradise below.

VI.

Our babes shall richest comsorts bring,
Is tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring,

Whence pleasures ever rise:
We'll sorm their minds with studious care,
To all that's manly, good, and sair,

And train them sor the skies.

VII.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,

And crown our hoary hairs:
They'll grow in virtue every day,
And thus our sondest loves repay,

And recompense our cares.

VIII.

No borrow'd joys! they're all our own, While to the world we live unknown,

Or by the world sorgot:
Monarchs! we envy not your state,.
We look with pity on the great,

And bless our humbler lot.

IX.

Our portion is not large indeed,
But then, how little do we need!

For nature's calls are sew!
In this the art os living lies,
To want no more than may suffice,-

And make that little do.

X.

We'll theresore relish with content
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,

Nor aim beyond our pow'r;
For is our stock be very small,
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present hour.

XL

To be resign'd, when ills betide,
Patient, when savours are deny'd,'

And pleas'd with savours giv'n,-
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom'i part,
This is that incense os the heart,

Whose sragrance smells to heav'n,.

XII.

We'll ask no long protracted treat,. (Since winter lise is seldom sweet;)

But when our scast is o'er,
Gratesul from table we'll arise,
Nor grudge our sons with envious eyes,
The relics os our store.

XIII.

Thus hand in hand through lise we'll go,
Its checker'd paths os joy and woe

With cautious steps we'll tread;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear,
Without a trouble or a sear,

And mingle with the dead.

XIV.

While conscience, like a saithsul sriend,
Shall through the gloomy vale attend,

And cheer our dying breath;
Shall, when all other comsorts cease,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,

And smooth the bed os death.

ADAM'S MORNING HYMN.

B r MILTON.

These are thy glorious works, Parent os good,
Almighty ! thine this universal srame,
Thus wondrous sair; thysels how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sitt'll above these heav'ns,

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