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Man hath a weary pilgrimage
As thro' the world he wends,
The comforter, attends.
With heaviness opprest,
The distant place of rest.
To school the little exile goes,
And quits his mother's arms; What then shall soothe his earliest woes,
When novelty has lost its charms ? Condemned to suffer thro' the day Restraints that no rewards repay,
And cares where love has no concern; If memory still the present sours, Hope lightens as she counts the hours
That hasten his return.
Youth comes, and eager fancy hails
The long-expected days : Youth comes, and he is doom'd to prove The fears and jealousies of love,
And all its long delays. But when the passions with their might
Affli&t the doubtful breast, Hope bids him yet expect delight,
And happiness, and rest.
When manhood comes with troubles rife, And all the toils and cares of life
Usurp the busy mind, Where shall the tir'd and harrass'd heart
Its consolation find.
Of difficulties past,
To wealth enjoy'd at last.
So to his journey's latter stage
His pilgrim feet attain,
That earthly cares are vain.
Who sooth'd his troubles past,
The truest friend at last.
Are life's last pangs relieved,
That cannot be deceived.
On the WIG of a SCARE-CROW.
Alas for this world's changes and the lot
Of sublunary things ! yon wig that there
Moves with each motion of the inconstant air, Invites my pensive mind to serious thought. Was it for this its curious cawl was wrought
Close as the tender tendrils of the vine With clustered curls ? Perhaps the artist's care Its borrowed beauties for some Lady fair
Arranged with nicest art and fingers fine;
Or for the forehead fram'd of some Divine Its graceful gravity of grizzled grey ;
Or whether on some stern Schoolmaster's brow
Sate its white terrors, who shall answer now? On yonder rag-robed pole for many a day
Have those dishonour'd locks endur'd the rains And winds, and summer sun, and winter snow, Scaring with vain alarms the robber crow,