Of blissful haunts they tell, and brighter climes,
Where gentle minds convey'd by death repair,
But ftain'd with blood, and crimson'd o'er with crimes,
Say, fhall they merit what they paint fo fair?
No, careless, hopeless of those fertile plains,
Rich by our toils, and by our forrows gay,
They ply our labours, and enhance our pains,
And feign these distant regions to repay.
For them our tusky elephant expires;

For them we drain the mine's embowell'd gold,
Where rove the brutal nation's wild defires?

Our limbs are purchas'd, and our life is fold!
Yet ftores there are, bleft ftores for us remain,
And favour'd ifles with golden fruitage crown'd;
Where tufted flowrets paint the verdant plain,

Where ev'ry breeze fhall med'cine ev'ry wound.
There the ftern tyrant that embitters life,

Shall vainly fuppliant fpread his asking hand;
There fhall we view the billows raging ftrife,
Aid the kind breaft, and waft his boat to land."

I WOULD not have a Slave to till my ground,
To carry me, to fan me while I fleep,
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth
That finews bought and fold have ever earn'd.
No:-dear as "reedom is, and in my heart's
Juft eftimation priz'd above all price,

I had much rather be myself the flave,
And wear the bonds, than faften them on him.

FOR happiness we fearch in vain:
Kings, fubjects-all alike complain.
In virtue let thy time be spent,
And to be happy be content.
Life's but a trial, be refign'd,

In heav'n alone true blifs thou'lt find.

THE reception the returning prodigal met with from his father (in the parable) muff give the greateft finner encouagement to repentance and amendment.

LET

LET us not fail frequently to reflect upon the greatness and number of our own faults, and the vaíl need we have of allowance both from God and man; confidering how hard it would go with us, if men could fee all the inmost thoughts of our hearts, or knew all the fecret actions of our lives; and if God was to judge us with severity according to them. Let us firft caft the beam out of our own eye before we pretend to remove the mote from our brother's.

Some REFLECTIONS upon hearing the Bell toll for the
Death of a Friend.

HARK! what a mournful folemn found
Rolls murm'ring through the cloudy air:
It strikes the foul with awe profound,
Affects the gay,-alarms the fair.

With what a pathos does it speak!
Affecting deep the thoughtful mind :
The golden fcheries of folly break,
That hold in glitt'ring fnares mankind.

'Tis death's dread herald calls aloud,
Proclaims his conqueft thro' the skies:
The fun retires behind a cloud,

And nature feems to fympathize.

Reflect, ye restless fons of care!

Your vain designs his hand can spoil;
Make hard oppreffors lend an ear,
And wretched mifers cease their toil.

For what avail vaft heaps of gold

When death his awful writ shall fend;
Tho' folly fwell, and pride look bold,
The mask muft drop, the farce must end.

It is not hoary tottering age,

That now lies ftretch'd beneath his stroke;
The tyrant ftern, that feels his rage,
Th' oppreffor's rod that now is broke.
VOL: II.

L

But

But oh! 'tis generous Cynthio's bell!
Fall'n in his prime of youthful bloom;
For Cynthio, founds the doleful knell,
And calls him to the filent tomb.

Cynthio!-whofe happy healing art,

Turn'd from his friend death's fatal blow, And fhielded from that threatening dart, Which now, alas !-has laid him low.

But Cynthio's virtues ne'er can die,
They leave a grateful rich perfume:
And now tranfplanted to the fky,

In heav'n's immortal gardens bloom.

And hark!-ah, what celeftial notes,
With grateful accents charm my ear!
As down th' etherial mufic floats,

The fun breaks forth, the fkies are clear.

From heav'n defcends the joyful strain,
Convey'd to earth on angels wings;

To mitigate our grief and pain,

And this the theme of joy it brings:

"Thus write (the voice from heav'n proclaims)
The virtuous dead are ever bleft!
Their works immortalize their names,
Their labours cease, and here they rest,

Behold the Saviour wide display,
The trophies of his gen'rous love,
To cheer you thro' life's thorny way,
And lead to flow'ry realms above.

Tis He deftroys death's baneful fting,
And bids the grave's dread horrors fly;
The choirs of heav'n his triumph fing,

And hail him victor thro' the sky."

THE

THE acquifition of knowledge is one of the most honourable occupations of youth. The defire of it difcovers a liberal mind, and is connected with many accomplishments and many virtues.

THE Apoftle's rule, "that if any man will not work, "neither should he eat," extends to the rich as well as the poor; only fuppofing, that there are different kinds of work affigned to each. The reafon is the fame in both cafes, viz. that he who will do no good, ought not to receive or enjoy any.

IT is a fure indication of good fenfe to be diffident of it. We then, and not till then, are growing wife, when we begin to difcern how weak and unwife we are.

Extract from an ODE on KNOWLEDGE.

KNOWLEDGE or wealth to few are given;
But mark, how juft the ways of heaven!
True joy to all is free;

Nor wealth nor knowledge grant the boon;
"Tis thine, O confcience, thine alone:
It all belongs to thee.

Bleft in thy finiles the fhepherd lives,
Gay in his morn, his evening gives
Content and fweet repofe;

Without them-ever, ever cloy'd
To fage or chief, one weary void
Is all that life beltows.

Then would't thou, mortal! rife divine?
Let innocence of foul be thine,

With active goodness join'd:

Thy heart fhall then confefs thee bleft,

And ever lively, joyful tafte

The pleasures of the mind..

An EVENING HYMN.

THE morn is paft, the noon-tide o'er,
And the declining fun,
Obedient to creative pow'r,

His fteady course has run :

Perhaps no more on earth to rife,
At least to shine on me;

The clofe of night may close my eyes
To all eternity.

Reflect, my foul, the days and years,
The hours of dark account:
Trifling purfuits, and fruitless cares,
To what do they amount!

If I have err'd, instruct to mourn,
To give each fault a tear:
Hopeless of peace, till my return
Hath found forgiveness there.

Thy mercies ftill thou doft impart
With ev'ry added day,
Above the reft-oh! give an heart
Its tribute ftill to pay.

Oh! thou, whofe favour more I prize
Than all beneath the sky:

Say I am thine, it fhall fuffice,
And I can fmile and die.

Th' angelic hoft, for ever pure,
My late return fhall blefs;

Nor fin nor forrow ever more
Confpire against my rest.

Thofe falfe fuggeftions, flesh and blood,

Did interpofe below,

Shall then be cleared, and understood,

シ

And unmix'd friendship flow.

To