English

He who to th' unwilling furrows
Gives the generous grain,
When the Crab with baleful fervours
Scorches all the plain;
He shall find his garner bare,
Acorns for his scanty fare.

Go not forth to cull sweet violets
From the purpled steep,
While the furious blasts of winter
Through the valleys sweep;
Nor the grape o'erhasty bring
To the press in days of spring.

For to each thing God hath given

" Builder of yon starry dome,
Thou that whirlest, throned eternal,
Heaven's swift globe, and, as they roam,
Guid'st the stars by laws supernal:
So in full-sphered splendour dight
Cynthia dims the lamps of night,
But unto the orb fraternal
Closer drawn, doth lose her light.

" Who at fall of eventide,

Whoso calm, serene, sedate,
Sets his foot on haughty fate;
Firm and steadfast, come what will,
Keeps his mien unconquered still;
Him the rage of furious seas,
Tossing high wild menaces,
Nor the flames from smoky forges
That Vesuvius disgorges,
Nor the bolt that from the sky
Smites the tower, can terrify.
Why, then, shouldst thou feel affright
At the tyrant's weakling might?
Dread him not, nor fear no harm,
And thou shalt his rage disarm;
But who to hope or fear gives way —

Then the gloom of night was scattered,
Sight returned unto mine eyes.
So, when haply rainy Caurus
Rolls the storm-clouds through the skies,
Hidden is the sun; all heaven
Is obscured in starless night.
But if, in wild onset sweeping,
Boreas frees day's prisoned light,
All suddenly the radiant god outstreams,
And strikes our dazzled eyesight with his beams.

III .

Alas! in what abyss his mind
Is plunged, how wildly tossed!
Still, still towards the outer night
She sinks, her true light lost,
As oft as, lashed tumultuously
By earth-born blasts, care's waves rise high.

Yet once he ranged the open heavens,
The sun's bright pathway tracked;
Watched how the cold moon waxed and waned;
Nor rested, till there lacked
To his wide ken no star that steers
Amid the maze of circling spheres.

I who wrought my studious numbers
Smoothly once in happier days,
Now perforce in tears and sadness
Learn a mournful strain to raise.
Lo, the Muses, grief-dishevelled,
Guide my pen and voice my woe;
Down their cheeks unfeigned the tear drops
To my sad complainings flow!
These alone in danger's hour
Faithful found, have dared attend
On the footsteps of the exile

There was a glamour to the uttered name
of Anne Bard. Even as a boy I thrilled
whenever I might hear her spoken of — —
too often with a broad slur, even by men — —
thrilled much as to the mention of a princess;
and with the chivalry of some proud knight
who never believed ill, or never cared — —
though all too well he knew the common truth — —
I scorned the babble of dispargement.
Only once did I ever see Anne Bard — —
and only in my boyhood. It was May.
One morning, late, while rolling hoop about the quieter streets,

ARGUMENT . Pleasure in observing the tempers and
manners of men, even where vicious or absurd — The
origin of Vice, from false representations of the fancy,
producing false opinions concerning good and evil —
Inquiry into ridicule — The general sources of ridicule
in the minds and characters of men, enumerated —
Final cause of the sense of ridicule — The resemblance
of certain aspects of inanimate things to the
sensations and properties of the mind — The operations
of the mind in the production of the works of

ARGUMENT . The separation of the works of
Imagination from Philosophy, the cause of their
abuse among the moderns — Prospect of their re-union
under the influence of public Liberty — Enumeration of
accidental pleasures, which increase the effect of
objects delightful to the Imagination — The pleasures
of sense — Particular circumstances of the mind —
Discovery of truth — Perception of contrivance and
design — Emotion of the passions — All the natural
passions partake of a pleasing sensation; with the final

There in the blest indulgent J ESUS see
How Heav'nly Sweetness strives with Majesty;
Tho' each in full Perfection is design'd,
Yet more conspicuous Passions there we find,
Mercy in all her Charms, and Love to Human Kind.

See, holy Peter on his bended Knee
From his Great Master's Hand receives the Key,
That opens wide high Heav'n's immortal Gate
To all pure Souls, that for Admission wait,
But locks it fast against the impious Train
Doom'd to the Seats of Death and endless Pain.