CORIN, a poor, but happy wight,
In tranquil ease enjoy'd his mite;
Tho' fmall, 'twas comfort, while the clown
Could juftly call it all his own;
From debts and duns entirely free,
Acquir'd by toilfome industry.
If fortune added to his store,
Tho' grateful, he requir'd no more;
If the deducted, 'twas her will ;
Refign'd was grateful Corin ftill.
By no capricious humour toft,
In no foul gust of passion lost.
A ftoic he, without the rules
Preach'd up in philofophic schools;
And without knowledge, ftill was blefs'd,
By thinking all things for the beft.
Lord of his stock, though very small,
One lamb, a cow, and honest ball,
A horse, so old, fo poor, and lame,
He fcarce deferv'd of horse the name;
Yet, fuch the one that fortune fent,
And grateful Corin was content.
All forrow feel, or foon or late,
None are below the reach of fate;
And 'twas poor Corin's luck to feel
Th' uncertain turns of fortune's wheel.
One night fome pilfering villains came,
And carried off his playful lamb
Next morn he found the fportling ftole;
At first a figh broke from his foul;
But, by reflection's mild relief,
He foon appeas'd his growing grief:
Well, well,' quoth he, it's gone, I trow; Thank God, they have not stole my cow.' Short comfort this; another theft
Poor Corin of his cow bereft.
''Twas cruel hard; zooks! worfe and worfe;
But, patience, they have left my horfe!'
And well the reason you may judge,
They could not get the beast to budge.
Misfortunes one another breed ;
Death fnatch'd away his fav'rite steed.
To top the whole, his landlord sent,
And feiz'd the household stock for rent :
For now, by many ills befet,
The clown was in his worship's debt;
Whose narrow foul, and thirst of pelf,
Began and ended all in felf.
Now, ftripp'd of all his former store,
What must he do? Why, work for more,
And scrape as he had scrap'd before.
With this refolve he quits the cot,
The feat of his once happy lot;
And now, his mind and heart at ease,
Exprefs'd himfelf in words like these—
Why fhould I murmur at my fate?
There's Farmer Giles, tho' rich of late,
Is now reduc'd to bitter want :
May Heav'n a speedy comfort grant !
Yet youth and vigour blefs my life;
And, God be prais'd! I have no wife;
What once they've done, these hands of mine
Can do again; then, why repine?
Come, come, to work, we must of course;.
Thank Providence it is no worse,'
Then o'er his back his flail he fwung,
And, gaily whistling, jogg'd along.
Kind fortune his endeavors crown'd,
And Corin's matters foon came round;
Riches beyond his wifh increase,
And plenty blefs'd his days with peace.
Hence, this important truth we find,
Content is center'd in the mind:
Our portion Heaven allots of care;
Most blefs'd are they who beft can bear;
'Tis manly never to despair.
HOW fweet the birds are heard to fing,
To hail the glad return of spring;
How sweet refounds the vocal grove,
The voice of harmony and love.
How neat their moffy neft is made,
How carefully the eggs are laid;
Among the fhady verdant boughs,
With what sweet joy each bofom glows.
away, each little boy,
And neither bird nor nest destroy;
It is a wicked, base design,
Then let not fuch a crime be thine.
Nor take the tender unfledg'd brood,
Such cruelty can do no good;
But cull the flowrets of the field,
A harmless pleasure that will yield.
NOW winter gives way to the fpring,
What mufic is heard in the grove!
The wood-lark and linnet now fing,
And foft is the coo of the dove.
The blackbird is heard on the bush,
The goldfinch too, fings on the spray,
And, wide o'er the meadows, the thrush
Charms the ear with its musical lay.
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