I feel

To live again in these wild woods forlorn?
Should God create another Eve, and I
Another rib afford, yet lofs of thee
Would never from my heart; no, no,
The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh,
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy ftate
Mine never fhall be parted, blifs or woe.

EVE'S LAMENTATION upon her being doomed to quit
PARADISE. [MILTON.]

Unexpected stroke, worse than of Death!
Muft I thus leave thee, Paradife? thus leave
Thee, native foil, thefe happy walks and fhades,
Fit haunt of Gods? where I had hope to spend,
Quiet though fad, the refpite of that day
That must be mortal to us both. O flowers,
That never will in other climate grow,
My early vifitation, and my laft

Atev'n, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first opening bud, and gave ye names,
Who now fhall rear ye to the fun, or rank

Your tribes, and water from th ambrofial fount?Alors
Thee laftly, nuptial bow'r, by me adorn'd tosoTSI
With what to fight or fmell was fweet, from thee.
How fhall I part, and whither wander downAO
Into a lower world, to this obfcure

And wild? how fhall we breathe in other air
Lefs pure, accuftom'd to immortal fruits?

A HYMN to CONTENTMENT.

[PARNELL.]:

OVELY, lafting peace of mind!
Sweet delight of human-kind!
Heav'nly born, and bred on high,
To crown the fav'rites of the sky
With more of happinefs below
Than victors in a triumph know!
Whither, whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek contented head!
What happy regions doft thou pleafe
To make the feat of calms and ease?

Ambition

Of

Ambition fearches all its fphere
pomp and ftate, to meet thee there.
Increafing avarice would find
Thy prefence in its gold infhrin'd.
The bold advent'rer ploughs his way
Thro' rocks amidst the foaming fea,
To gain thy love; and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.
The filent heart which grief affails,
Treads foft and lonesome o'er the vales,
Sees daifies open, rivers run,

And feeks (as I have vainly done)
Amufing thought; but learns to know
That folitude's the nurfe of woe.
No real happiness is found

In trailing purple o'er the ground:
Or in a foul exalted high,

To range the circuit of the fky,
Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below;
The reft it feeks, in feeking dies,
And doubts at laft for knowledge rife.
Lovely, lafting peace, appear
This world itfelf, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blefs'd,
And man contains it in his breaft.

'Twas thus, as under fhade I ftood,
And fung my wifhes to the wood,
And loft in thought, no more perceiv'd
The branches whifper as they wav'd:
It feem'd, as all the quiet place
Confefs'd the prefence of the grace.
When thus fhe fpokeGo, rule thy will,
Bid thy wild paffions all be ftill,
Know God-and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow:
Then every grace thall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest.
Oh! by yonder moffy feat,
In my hours of fweet retreat,
Might I thus my foul employ,
With fenfe of gratitude and joy.;
Rais'd as ancient prophets were,
In heav'nly vision, praife, and pray'r;

Pleafing all men, hurting none,.

Pleas'd and blefs'd with God alone:
Then while the gardens take my fight,,
With all the colours of delight;
While filver waters glide along,

To please my ear, and court my fong::
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,
And Thee, Great Source of nature, fing..
The fun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day;
The moon that fhines with borrow'd light;
The ftars that gild the gloomy night;
The feas that roll unnumber'd
waves;
The wood that fpreads its fhady leaves
The field whofe ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain;
All of these, and all I fee,

Shou'd be fung, and fung by me:.
They speak their Maker as they can,
But want and afk the tongue of Man..
Go, fearch among your idle dreams,
Your bufy, or your vain e extreams;
And find a life of equal blifs,
Or own the next begun in This

B

A NIGHT-PIECE on DEATH

[PARNELL.]

Y the blue taper's trembling light,
No more I waste the wakeful night,

Intent with endless view to pore
The schoolmen and the fages o'er:
Their books from wifdom widely ftray,
Or point at belt the longest way.
I'll feek a readier path, and go
Where wifdom's furely taught below.
How deep yon azure dyes the fky!
Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie,
While thro' their ranks in filver pride
The nether crefcent feems to glide.
The flumb'ring breeze forgets to breathe,
The lake is fmooth and clear beneath,
Where once again the fpangled fhow,
Defcends to meet our eyes below.

I

The

The grounds which on the right aspire,
In dimnefs from the view retire:
The left prefents a place of graves,
Whofe wall the filent water laves.
That fteeple guides thy doubtful fight
Among the livid gleams of night.
There pafs with melancholy ftate,
By all the folemn heaps of fate,
And think, as foftly-fad you tread
Above the venerable dead,

Time was, like thee they life poffeft,
And time fhall be, that thou shalt reft.

Thofe graves with bending ofier bound,
That nameless heave the crumbled ground,
Quick to the glancing thought difclofe
Where Toil and Poverty repofe.

The flat smooth ftones that bear a name,
The chiffel's flender help to fame,
(Which ere our fet of friends decay.
"Their frequent fteps may wear away)
A Middle Race of mortals own,
Men, half ambitious, all unknown.

The marble tombs that rife on high,
Whofe dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whofe pillars fwell with fculptur'd ftones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs and bones,

Thefe (all the poor remains of ftate) who mista
Adorn the Rich, or praife the Great;bian punk be
Who while on earth in fame they live,

Are fenfelefs of the fame, they give.
Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,

The bursting earth unveils the fhades;

All flow, and wan, and wrapt with fhrouds,

They rife in vifionary crouds,

And all with fober accent cry,

Think, Mortal, what it is to die.

Now from yon black and fun'ral yew,

That bathes the charnel-house with dew,
Methinks I hear a Voice begin;

WO

(Ye ravens, ceafe your croaking din,
Ye tolling clocks, no time refound
O'er the long lake and midnight ground)
It fends a peal of hollow groans,

Thus fpeaking from among the bones.

When

When men my scythe and darts supply, it
How great a King of Fears am I !
They view me like the laft of things:
They make, and then they dread, my ftings.
Fools! if you lefs provok'd your fears,
No more my spectre-form appears.
Death's but a path that must be trød,
If man wou'd ever pafs to God:
A port of calms, a ftate of ease
From the rough rage of fwelling feas.
Why then thy flowing fable ftoles,
Deep pendant cyprefs, mourning poles,
Loofe fcarfs to fall athwart thy weeds,
Long palls, drawn herfes, cover'd fteeds,
And plumes of black, that as they tread,
Nod o'er the 'fcutcheons of the dead?
Nor can the parted body know,

Nor wants the foul thefe forms of woe:
As men who long in prifon dwell,

With lamps that glimmer round the cell,
Whene'er their fuff'ring years are run,
Spring forth to greet the glitt'ring fun :
Such joy, tho' far tranfcending fenfe,
Have pious fouls at parting hence.
On earth, and in the body plac'd,
A few, and evil years they wafte:
But when their chains are caft afide,
See the glad fcene unfolding wide,
Clap the glad wing, and tow'r away,
And mingle with the blaze of day.

HEALTH; an ECLOGUE.
[PARNELL.]

NAnd print long footsteps in the glitt ring grafs ;

OW early fhepherds o'er the meadow pafs,

The cows neglectful of their pasture stand,
By turns obfequious to the milker's hand.

When Damon foftly trod the fhaven lawn,
Damon, a youth from city cares withdrawn;

Long was the pleafing walk he wander'd thro', pade
A cover'd arbour clos'd the diftant view;

There refts the Youth, and while the feather'd throng
Raife their wild mufick, thus contrives a fong,

Here