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Where laurels grew, whence many a wreath antique;
Caught by th' harangue, heart beat, and flutt'ring pulse,
Sounded irregular marches, to be gone-
Had cater'd well, if stomach could digest
She took, and lay'd me in a vale remote,
On ample ground; where Morpheus strew'd the bed:
Sithence no fairy sights, no quick'ning ray,
No stir of pulse, nor objects to entice
Abroad the spirits; but the cloyster'd heart
Hears and forgets, and wakes to doze again.
Instead of converse and variety,
The same trite round, the same stale silent scene: Such are thy comforts, blessed Solitude!
But Innocence is there, but Peace all kind, And simple Quiet with her downy couch, Meads lowing, tune of birds, and lapse of streams ; And Saunter with a book; and warbling Muse, In praise of hawthorns.-Life's whole business this! Is it to bask i' th' sun? if so, a snail Were happy crawling on a southern wall.
Why sits Content upon a cottage sill At even-tide; and blesseth the coarse meal In sooty corner? why sweet slumbers wait Th' hard pallet? not because from haunt remote, Sequester'd in a dingle's bushy lap :
'Tis labour makes the peasant's sav'ry fare, And works out his repose: for ease must ask The leave of diligence to be enjoy'd.
Oh! listen not to that enchantress Ease With seeming smile; her palatable cup By standing grows insipid; and beware Perdition, for there's poison in the lees. What health impair'd, and crowds inactive maim'd! What daily martyrs to her sluggish cause! Less strict devoir the Russ and Persian claim Despotic; and, as subjects long inur'd To servile burden, grow supine and tame :— So fares it with our sovʼreign, and her train.
What tho' with lure fallacious she pretend From worldly bondage to set free; what gain Her votaries? What avails from iron chains Exempt, if rosy fetters bind as fast?
Bestir, and answer your creation's end. Think we that man with vig'rous pow'r endow'd, And room to stretch, was destin'd to sit still? Sluggards are Nature's rebels, slight her laws, Nor live up to the terms on which they hold Their vital lease. Laborious terms and hard! But such the tenure of our earthly state! Riches and fame are industry's reward; The nimble runner courses Fortune down, And then he banquets, for she feeds the bold.
Think what you owe your country, what yourself,
If splendor charm not, yet avoid the scorn
Assiduous booby mounting o'er your head,
Has golden minutes, if discreetly seiz'd:
His Friend and Neighbour
DR. THOMAS TAYLOR.
WRITTEN IN M DCC XLIV.
By the Same.
FRENCH pow'r, and weak allies, and war, and want-