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OTHELLO rages; poor MONIMIA mourns; and BELVIDER A pours her soul in love. Terror alarms her breast; the comely tear steals o'er the cheek: or else the Comic Muse holds to the world a picture of itself,

and raises sly the fair inpartial laugh.

Sometimes she lifts her strain, and paints the scenes of beauteous life; whate'er can deck mankind, or charm the heart, in gen'rous BEVILE shew'd.

CHESTERFIELD.

O Thou, whose wisdom, solid yet refin'd,
whose patriot virtues, and consummate skill
to touch the finer springs that move the world,
join'd to whate'er the graces can bestow,
and all Apollo's animating fire,

give thee, with pleasing dignity, to shine,
at once the guardian, ornament, and joy,
of polish'd life; permit the Rural Muse,
O CHESTERFIELD, to grace with thee her song!
Ere to the shades again she humbly flies,
indulge her fond ambition, in thy train,
(for every Muse has in thy train a place)
to mark thy various full-accomplish'd mind:
to mark that spirit, which, with British scorn,
rejects th' allurements of corrupted power;
that elegant politeness, which excels,
even in the judgment of presumptuous France,
the boasted manners of her shining court;
that wit, the vivid energy of sense,

the truth of Nature, which with Attic point, and kind well temper'd satire, smoothly keen, steals through the soul, and without pain corrects. Or, rising thence with yet a brighter flame,

O let me hail thee on some glorious day,
when to the listening senate, ardent, crowd
Britannia's sons to hear her pleaded cause.
Then drest by thee, more amiably fair,
truth the soft robe of mild persuasion wears:
thou to assenting reason giv'st again

her own enlighten'd thoughts; call'd from the heart, the obedient passions on thy voice attend;

and even reluctant party feels awhile

thy gracious power: as through the varied maze of eloquence, now smooth, now quick, now strong profound and clear, you roll the copious flood.

HUMAN LIFE.

-Dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,
and reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
how dumb the tuneful!

Horror wide extends

his desolate domain. Behold, fond Man!

see here thy pictur'd life; pass some few years, thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, thy sober Autuinn fading into age,

and pale concluding Winter comes at last,

and shuts the scene.

Ah! whither now are fled

those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes of happiness? those longings after fame? those restless cares? those busy bustling days? those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughts lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life? all now are vanish'd! Virtue sole survives, immortal never-failing friend of Man, his guide to happiness on high. And see! 't is come, the glorious morn! the second birth of heaven, and earth! awakening Nature hears

the new-creating word, and starts to life, in every heightened form, from pain and death for ever free. The great eternal scheme, involving all, and in a perfect whole uniting, as the prospect wider spreads, to reason's eye refin'd clears up apace. Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now, confounded in the dust, adore that Power, and wisdom oft arraign'd; see now the cause, why unassuming worth in secret liv'd,

and dy'd neglected: why the good Man's share in life was gall and bitterness of soul: why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd in starving solitude; while luxury,

in palaces lay straining her low thought to form unreal wants: why heaven-born truth, and moderation fair, wore the red marks of superstition's scourge: why licens❜d pain, that cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe, imbitters all our bliss. Ye good distrest! ye noble few! who here unbending stand beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile and what your bounded view, which only saw a little part, deem'd Evil is no more: the storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass, and one unbounded Spring encircle all.

HYMN TO THE SUPREME BEING.

THESE, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER! these are but the varied God. The rolling year is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm; echo the mountains round; the forest smiles; and ev'ry sense, and ev'ry heart is joy.

Then comes thy glory in the Summer-months, with light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun shoots full perfection through the swelling year: and oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks; and oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, by brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales. Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd, and spreads a common feast for all that lives. In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd, majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing, riding sublime, Thou bidst the world adore, and humblest Nature with thy northern blast. Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine, deep felt, in these appear! a simple train, yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art, such beauty and beneficence combin'd; shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade; and all so forming an harmonious whole; that, as they still succeed, they ravish still. But wand'ring oft, with brute unconscious gaze, man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand, that, ever-busy, wheels the silent spheres;

works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence,

the fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring: flings from the sun direct the flaming day; feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth; and, as on earth this grateful change revolves, with transport touches all the springs of life. Nature, attend! join every living soul, beneath the spacious temple of the sky, in adoration join; and ardent, raise one general song! To Him, ye vocal gales, breathe soft; whose spirit in your freshness breathes: oh talk of Him in solitary glooms!

where, o'er the fock, the scarcely waving pine fills the brown shade with a religious awe.

And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,

who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heaven th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills; and let me catch it as I muse along.

Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound;
ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
a secret world of wonders in thyself,

sound His stupendous praise; whose greater voice or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.

Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flow'rs, in mingled clouds to him; whose sun exalts, whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him; breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, as home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, ye constellations, while your angels strike, amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.

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