Warmed and expanded into perfect life,
Their brittle bondage break, and come to light,
A helpless family, demanding food

With conftant clamour. O what paffion then,
What melting fentiments of kindly care,
On the new parents feize ! Away they fly
Affectionate, and undefiring bear

The most delicious morfel to their young;
Which equally diftributed, again

The fearch begins. Even fo a gentle pair,
By fortune funk, but formed of gen'rous mould,
And charmed with cares beyond the vulgar breaft,
In fome lone cot amid the diftant woods,
Sustained alone by providential Heaven,
Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train,
Check their own appetites, and give them all.

SECTION V.

THOMSON.

Liberty and Slavery.contrasted. Part of a Letter written from

Italy, by ADDISON.

How has kind heav'n adorned the happy land,
And scattered bleffings with a wasteful hand!
But what avail her unexhaufted ftores,

Her blooming mountains, and her funny fhores,
With all the gifts that heav'n and earth impart,
The fmiles of nature, and the charms of art,
While proud oppreffion in her valleys reigns,
And tyranny ufurps her happy plains?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
The red'ning orange, and the fwelling grain;
Joylefs he fees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant fhade repines.
Oh, Liberty, thou pow'r fupremely bright,
Profufe of blifs, and pregnant with delight!
Perpetual pleasures in thy prefence reign;
And fmiling plenty leads thy wanton train.
Eas'd of her load, fubjection grows more light;
And poverty looks cheerful in thy fight.
Thou mak'ft the gloo.ny face of nature gay;
Giv'ft beauty to the fun, and pleasure to the day.
On foreign mountains, may the fun refine

The grape's foft juice, and mellow it to wine;
With citron groves adorn a diftant foil,
And the fat olive fwell with floods of oil :
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgent skies ;
Nor at the coarfenefs of our heav'n repine,
Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads fhine :"
'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's ifle,

And makes her barren rocks, and her bleak mountains smile.

SECTION VI.

Charity. A Paraphrase on the thirteenth Chapter of the first Epistle to the Corinthians.

;

DID fweeter founds adorn my flowing tongue,
Than ever man pronounced, or angel fung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or fcience can define;
And had I pow'r to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling earth
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Ifrael faw,
When Mofes gave them miracles, and law:
Yet, gracious charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy pow'r exerted in my breaft;
Thofe fpeeches would fend up unheeded pray'r;
That fcorn of life would be but wild defpair;
A cymbal's found were better than my voice!
My faith were form; my eloquence were noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with juft reins, and gentle hand, to guide
Betwixt vile fhame, and arbitrary pride.
Not foon provoked, the eafily forgives;
And much the fuffers, as the much believes.
Soft peace fhe brings wherever she arrives;
She builds our quiet, as fhe forms our lives
Lays the rough paths of peevifh nature even;
And opens in each heart a little heav'n.

Each other gift, which God on man beftows, Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows;

To one fixed purpose dedicates its pow'r ;
And finishing its act, exifts no more.
Thus, in obedience to what Heav'n decrees,
Knowledge fhall fail, and prophecy fhall ceafe;
But lafting charity's more acaple fway,
Nor bound by time, nor fubject to decay,
In happy triumph fhall for ever live ;

And endless good diffufe, and endlefs praise receive.
As through the artist's intervening glass,
Our eye obferves the diftant planets pass;
A little we difcover; but allow,

That more remains unfeen, than art can fhow;
So whilft our mind its knowledge would improve,
(Its feeble eye intent on things above,)

High as we may, we lift our reafon up,
By faith directed, and confirmed by hope;
Yet are we able only to furvey

Dawnings of beams, and promifes of day;
Heav'n's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled fight;
Too great its fwiftnefs, and too ftrong its light.
But foon the mediate clouds fhall be difpelled;
The fun fhall foon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated fublime on his meridian throne.

Then conftant faith, and holy hope fhall die,
One loft in certainty, and one in joy;
Whilft thou, more happy pow'r, fair charity,
Triumphant fifter, greateft of the three,
Thy office, and thy nature ftill the fame,
Lafting thy lamp, and unconfumed thy flame,
Shalt ftill furvive

Shall ftand before the hoft of heav'n confeft,
For ever bleffing, and for ever bleft.

Picture of a Good Man.
SOME angel guide my pencil, while I draw,
What nothing lefs than angel can exceed,
A man on earth devoted to the fkies;
Like fhips at fea, while in, above the world.
With afpect mild, and elevated eye,
Behold him feated on a mount ferene,

PRIOR.

Above the fogs of fenfe, and paffion's ftorm;
All the black cares, and tumults, of this life,
Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet,
Excite his pity, not impair his peace.

Earth's genuine fons, the fceptered, and the flave,
A mingled mob! a wand'ring herd! he fees,
Bewildered in the vale; in all unlike !

His full reverfe in all! With higher praife?
What stronger demonftration of the right?

The prefent all their care; the future his.
When public welfare calls, or private want,
They give to fame; his bounty he conceals.
'Their virtues varnish nature; his exalt.
Mankind's esteem they court; and he his own.
Theirs the wild chafe of falfe felicities;
His, the composed poffeffion of the true.
Alike throughout is his confiftent piece,
All of one colour, and an even thread;
While party coloured fhreds of happiness,
With hideous gaps between, patch up for them
A madman's robe; each puff of fortune blows
The tatters by, and shows their nakedness.

He fees with other eyes than theirs: where they? Behold a fun, he spies a Deity;

What makes them only fmile, makes him adore.
Where they fee mountains, he but atoms fees;
An empire in his balance, weighs a grain.
They things terreftrial worship, as divine :
His hopes immortal blow them by, as duft,
That dims his fight, and fhortens his furvey,
Which longs, in infinite, to lofe all bound.
Titles and honours (if they prove his fate)
He lays afide to find his dignity;
No dignity they find in aught befides.
They triumph in externals, (which conceals
Man's real giory,) proud of an eclipfe :
Himfelf too much he prizes to be proud;
And nothing thinks fo great in man, as man.
Too dear he holds his int'reft, to neglect
Another's welfare, or his right invade;.

Their int'reft, like a lion lives on prey.

They kindle at the shadow of a wrong;
Wrong he fuftains with temper, looks on heav'n,
Nor ftoops to think his injurer his foe:

Nought, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his peace.
A covered heart their character defends ;
A covered heart denies him half his praise,
•With nakedness his innocence agrees!

While their broad foliage teftifies their fall!
Their no joys end, where his full feaft begins:
His joys create, theirs murder, future bliss.
To triumph in exiftence, his alone;
And his alone triumphantly to think
His true existence is not yet begun.

His glorious courfe was, yesterday complete :

Death, then, was welcome; yet life ftill is fweet. YOUNG.

SECTION VIII.

The Pleasures of Retirement.
O KNEW he but his happinefs, of men
The happieft he! who, far from public rage;.
Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired,
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life.
'What tho' the dome be wanting, whofe proud gate,
Each morning, vomits out the fneaking crowd
Of flatterers falfe, and in their turn abused!
Vile intercourfe! What tho' the glitt'ring robe,
Of ev'ry hue reflected light can give,
Or floated loofe, or ftiff with maffy gold,
The pride and gaze of fools, opprefs him not?
What tho' from utmoft land and fea purveyed,
For him each rarer tributary life

Bleeds not, and his infatiate table heaps
With luxury, and death? What tho' his bowl-
Flames not with coftly juice; nor funk in beds
Oft of gay care, he toffes out the night,
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle ftate ?
What tho' he knows not thofe fantastic joys,
"That ftill amufe the wanton, ftill deceive;
A face of pleafure, but a heart of pain;
Their hollow moments endelighted all?
Sure peace is his; a folid life eftranged