Oh, may the guidance of thy grace attend
The use of all thy bounty shall bestow ;
Lest folly should mistake its sacred end,

Or vice convert it into means of woe.

Incline and aid me still my life to steer,

As conscience dictates what to shun or chuse ; Nor let my heart feel anxious hope or fear, For aught this world can give me or refuse.

Then shall not wealth's parade one wish excite, For wretched state to barter peace away; Nor vain ambition's lure my pride invite, Beyond Contentment's humble path to stray.

What though thy wisdom may my lot deny,
The treasur'd plenty freely to dispense;
Yet well thy goodness can that want supply
With larger portions of benevolence.

And sure the heart that wills the gen'rous deed
May all the joys of Charity command;

For she best loves from notice to recede,
And deals her unsought gifts with secret hand.

Then will I sometimes bid my fancy steal
That unclaim'd wealth no property restrains;
Soothe with fictitious aid my friendly zeal,

And realize each godly act she feigns.

So shall I gain the gold without alloy;

Without oppression, toil, or treach❜rous snares; So shall I know its use, its power employ,

And yet avoid its dangers and its cares.

And, spite of all that boastful wealth can do,

In vain would Fortune strive the rich to bless, Where they not flatter'd with some distant view Of what she ne'er can give them to possess.

E'en Wisdom's high conceit great wants would feel, If not supply'd from Fancy's boundless store; And nought but shame makes power itself conceal, That she, to satisfy, must promise more.

But though experience will not fail to show,
Howe'er its truth man's weakness may upbraid,
That what he mostly values here below,
Owes half its relish to kind Fancy's aid;

Yet should not Prudence her light wing command,
She may too far extend her heedless flight;

For Pleasure soon shall quit her fairy-land
If Nature's regions are not held in sight.

From Truth's abode, in search of kind deceit,
Within due limits she may safely roam;

If roving does not make her hate retreat,
And with aversion shun her proper home.

But thanks to those, whose fond parental care
To Learning's paths my youthful steps confin❜d,
I need not shun a state which lets me share

Each calm delight that soothes the studious mind.

While genius lasts, his fame shall ne'er decay,
Whose artful hand first caus'd its fruits to spread;
In lasting volumes stampt the printed lay,
And taught the Muses to embalm the dead.

To him I owe each fair instructive page,

Where Science tells me what her sons have known; Collects their choicest works from every age, And makes me wise with knowledge not my own.

Books rightly us'd may every state secure,
From fortune's evils may our peace defend;
May teach us how to shun, or to endure,
The foe malignant, and the faithless friend.

Should rigid Want withdraw all outward aid,

Kind stores of inward comfort they can bring; Should keen Disease life's tainted stream invade, Sweet to the soul from them pure health may spring.

Should both at once man's weakly frame infest,
Some letter'd charm may still relief supply ;
'Gainst all events prepare his patient breast,
And make him quite resign'd to live, or die.

For though no words can time or fate restrain ;

No sounds suppress the call of Nature's voice; Though neither rhymes, nor spells, can conquer pain, Nor magic's self make wretchedness our choice;

Yet reason, while it forms the subtile plan,
Some purer source of pleasure to explore,
Must deem it vain for that poor pilgrim, man,
To think of resting till his journey's o'er ;

Must deem each fruitless toil, by Heav'n design'd
To teach him where to look for real bliss;
Else why should Heaven excite the hope to find
What balk'd pursuit must here for ever miss ?

ODE VIII.

ON

DESPAIR.

BY JAMES SCOTT, D. D.

SAVE me!-what means yon grisly shade,
Her stony eye-balls staring wide ;

In foul and tatter'd patches clad,

With dirt, and gore, and venom'd dy'd ?
A burning brand she whirls around,

And stamps, and raves, and tears the ground,
And madly rends her clotted hair;

While through her cank'red breast are seen
Myriads of serpents bred within,

The cursed spawn of self-consuming Care!—

'Twas thus, O poor enamour'd maid, The Stygian fiend approach'd the sea-girt tower, What time, in sad misfortune's evil hour, The faithless lamp, Love's cynosure decay'd. "And why," the ghastly phantom cries, "Wilt thou, deluded Hero, wait "Leander's wish'd return, forbid by fate? "See floating on his wat'ry bier he lies;