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Much less, by pride or interest drawn,
Sigh for the mitre and the lawn.
Observe the secrets of my art,
I'll fundamental truths impart :
If you'll my kind advice pursue,
I'll quit my hut, and dwell with you.
The passions are a numerous crowd,
Imperious, positive, and loud:

Curb these licentious sons of strife;
Hence chiefly rise the storms of life:
If they grow mutinous and rave,
They are thy masters, thou their slave.
Regard the world with cautious eye,
Nor raise your expectation high;
See that the balanced scales be such,
You neither fear nor hope too much.
For disappointment's not the thing,
'Tis pride and passion point the sting.
Life is a sea where storms must rise;
'Tis Folly talks of cloudless skies:
He who contracts his swelling sail
Eludes the fury of the gale.

Be still, nor anxious thoughts employ; Distrust imbitters present joy :

On God for all events depend;

friend.

You cannot want when God's your
Weigh well your part, and do your best;
Leave to your Maker all the rest.
The hand which form'd thee in the womb
Guides from the cradle to the tomb.
Can the fond mother slight her boy?
Can she forget her prattling joy?
Say then, shall sovereign Love desert
The humble and the honest heart?

Heaven may not grant thee all thy mind;
Yet say not thou that Heaven's unkind.
God is alike both good and wise,
In what he grants, and what denies :
Perhaps, what goodness gives to-day,
To-morrow goodness takes away.

You say, that troubles intervene,
That sorrows darken half the scene.
True-and this consequence you see,
The world was ne'er design'd for thee:
You're like a passenger below,
That stays perhaps a night or so;
But still his native country lies
Beyond the boundaries of the skies.

Of Heaven ask virtue, wisdom, health,
But never let thy prayer be-wealth;
If food be thine (though little gold),
And raiment to repel the cold;
Such as may nature's wants suffice,
Not what from pride and folly rise;
If soft the motions of thy soul,

And a calm conscience crowns the whole;
Add but a friend to all this store,
You can't in reason wish for more:
And if kind Heaven this comfort brings,
'Tis more than Heaven bestows on kings!
He spake--the airy spectre flies,
And straight the sweet illusion dies.
The vision, at the early dawn,
Consign'd me to the thoughtful morn;
To all the cares of waking clay,
And inconsistent dreams of day.

V.

HAPPINESS.

YE ductile youths, whose rising sun
Hath many circles still to run;
Who wisely wish the pilot's chart,
To steer through life the' unsteady heart;
And all the thoughtful voyage pass'd,
To gain a happy port at last:
Attend a seer's instructive song,
For moral truths to dreams belong.

I saw this wondrous vision soon,
Long ere my sun had reach'd its noon;
Just when the rising beard began
To grace my chin, and call me man.
One night when balmy slumbers shed
Their peaceful poppies o'er my head,
My fancy led me to explore

A thousand scenes unknown before.
I saw a plain extended wide,

And crowds pour'd in from every side:
All seem'd to start a different game,
Yet all declared their views the same:
The chase was happiness I found,
But all, alas! enchanted ground.

Indeed I judged it wondrous strange,
To see the giddy numbers range

Through roads, which promised nought, at best, But sorrow to the human breast.

Methought, if bliss was all their view,

Why did they different paths pursue?

The waking world has long agreed,
That Bagshot's not the road to Tweed:
And he who Berwick seeks through Staines
Shall have his labour for his pains.

As Parnell says, my bosom wrought
With travail of uncertain thought:
And, as an angel help'd the dean,
My angel chose to intervene;

The dress of each was much the same,
And Virtue was my seraph's name,
When thus the angel silence broke

(Her voice was music as she spoke):

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Attend, O man! nor leave my side, And safety shall thy footsteps guide; Such truths I'll teach, such secrets show, As none but favour'd mortals know.'

She said-and straight we march'd along
To join Ambition's active throng:
Crowds urged on crowds with eager pace,
And happy he who led the race.
Axes and daggers lay unseen

In ambuscade along the green;
While vapours shed delusive light,
And bubbles mock'd the distant sight.
We saw a shining mountain rise,
Whose towering summit reach'd the skies:
The slopes were steep, and form'd of glass,
Painful and hazardous to pass:

Courtiers and statesmen led the way,
The faithless paths their steps betray;
This moment seen aloft to soar,
The next to fall and rise no more.

The Hermit,

'Twas here Ambition kept her court, A phantom of gigantic port;

The favourite that sustain'd her throne
Was Falsehood, by her vizor known;
Next stood Mistrust, with frequent sigh,
Disorder'd look, and squinting eye;
While meagre Envy claim'd a place,
And Jealousy with jaundiced face.
'But where is Happiness? I cried.—
My guardian turn'd, and thus replied-
Mortal, by folly still beguiled,

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Thou hast not yet outstripp'd the child;
Thou who hast twenty winters seen
(I hardly think thee past fifteen),
To ask if Happiness can dwell
With every dirty imp of hell!

Go to the schoolboy, he shall preach
What twenty winters cannot teach;
He'll tell thee, from his weekly theme,
That thy pursuit is all a dream;
That Bliss ambitious views disowns,
And, self dependent, laughs at thrones;
Prefers the shades and lowly seats,
Whither fair Innocence retreats:
So the coy lily of the vale

Shuns eminence, and loves the dale.'

I blush'd; and now we cross'd the plain, To find the money-getting train; Those silent, snug, commercial bands, With busy looks and dirty hands. Amidst these thoughtful crowds, the old Placed all their happiness in gold. And surely, if there's bliss below, These hoary heads the secret know,

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