The hen, who from the chilly air,
With pious wing protects her care,
And every fowl that flies at large,
Instructs me in a parent's charge.
From nature, too, I take my rule:
To shun contempt and ridicule.
I never with important air,
In conversation overbear:

Can grave and formal pass for wise,
When men the solemn owl despise
My tongue within my lips I rein,
For who talks much, must talk in vain :
We from the worldly torrent fly:
Who listens to the chattering pie?
Nor would I with felonious flight,
By stealth invade my neighbor's right;
Rapacious animals we hate;

Kites, hawks and wolves deserve their fate.
Do not we just abhorrence find

Against the toad and serpent kind?
But envy, calumny and spite,
Bear stronger venom in their bite;
Thus every object of creation
Can furnish hints for contemplation,
And from the most minute and mean,
A virtuous mind can morals glean.

Thy fame is just, the sage replies;
Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.
Pride often guides the author's pen;
Books as affected are as men :
But he who studies nature's laws,
From certain truth his maxims draws ;
And those, without our schools, suffice
To make men moral good and wise.

II-Qde to Leven Water,

ON Leven's banks while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love,

I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod the Arcadian plain..

Pure stream! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave;
No torrents stain thy limpid source:
Ne rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread:
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood,
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood;
The springing trout, in speckled pride
The salmon, monarch of the tide ;
'The ruthless pike, intent on war
'The silver eel and mottled par

Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,
And hedges flower'd with eglantine.
Still on thy banks so gaily green,
May num'rous herds and flocks be seen;
And lasses, chanting o'er the pail;
And shepherds, piping in the dale;
And ancient faith, that knows no guile;
And industry, embrown'd with toil;
And hearts resolv'd and hands prepar'd,
The blessings they enjoy to guard.

III-de from the 19th Psalm.

THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue etherial sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim.

Th' unwearied sun from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display;
And publishes to ev'ry land,

The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond'rous tale
And nightly, to the list ning earth,
Repeats the story of her birth;

Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole,

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball
What though no real voice nor sound
Amid these radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
Forever singing, as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine."

IV.-Rural Charms.

SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain Where health and plenty cheer'd the lab'ring swain; Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,

And parting summer's lingʻring blooms delay'd:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease!

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please!
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,

Where humble happiness endear'd each scene. !
How often have I paus'd on every charm
The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm

The never failing brook, the busy mill,

The decent church that topp'd the neighboring, hill-
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made.
How often have I blest the coming day,
When toil remitting, lent its turn to play,
And all the village train from labor free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree!
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old survey’d:
And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,
And slights of art and feats of strength went round;
And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd:
The dancing pair, that simply sought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down;
The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,

The matron's glance, that would those looks reprove
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose.
There as I pass'd with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below,
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung;
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool;
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch dog's voice, that bay'd the whisp'ring wind
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
These all, in soft confusion, sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.

V-The Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody

LEST men suspect your tale untrue,
Keep probability in view.

The trav'ler leaping o'er those bounds,.
The credit of his book confounds,

Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
Makes e'en his real courage doubted.
But flatt'ry never seems absurd;
The flatter'd always take your word;
Impossibilities seem just;

They take the strongest praise on trust g
Hyperboles, though e'er so great,
Will still come short of selfconceit.
So very like a painter drew,
That every eye the picture knew;
He hit complexion, feature, air
So just, that life itself was there

No flatt'ry, with his colors laid,
To bloom restor❜d the faded maid;
He gave each muscle all its strength;
The mouth, the chin, the nose's length,
His honest pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.
He lost his friends; his practice fail'd,
Truth should not always be reveal'd ;
In dusty piles his pictures lay;
For no one sent the second pay.

Two busto's, fraught with every grace, A Venus' and Apollo's face,

He plac'd in view, resolv'd to please,
Whoever sat, he drew from these;
From these corrected every feature,
And spirited each awkward creature.

All things were set; the hour was come
His palette ready o'er his thumb:
My Lord appear'd, and seated right,
In proper attitude and light,

The painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece;
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air,

"Those eyes, my Lord, the spirit there,
Might well a Raphael's hand require,
To give them all the native fire ;
The features, fraught with sense and wit,
You'll grant, are very hard to hit:
But yet, with patience, you shall view
As much as paint or art can do:
Observe the work."-My Lord replied,
"Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
Besides, my nose is somewhat long;
Dear sir, for me 'tis far too young."
"O pardon me," the artist cried,
"In this we painters must decide.

The piece e'en common eyes must strike;.
I'll warrant it extremely like."
My Lord examin'd it anew,

No locking-glass seem'd half so true.

A lady came. With borrowed grace,

He from his Venus form'd her face,
Her lover prais'd the painter's art,
So like the picture in his heart!
To every age some charm he lent;
E'en beauties were almost content.
Through all the town his art they prais'd
His custom grew, his price was rais'd.
Had he the real likeness shown,
Would any man the picture own?
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.

VI.-Diversity of the Human Character.

VIRTUOUS and vicious every man must be,
Few in th' extreme, but all in the degree;
The rogue and fool by fits are fair and wise,
And e'en the best by fits what they despise.
'Tis but by part we follow good or ill,
For, Vice or Virtue, Self directs it still;
Each individual seeks a sev'ral goal ;

But heaven's great view is one, and that the whole.-
That counter works each folly and caprice;
That disappoints th' effect of every vice;
That happy frailties to all ranks appli’d—
Shame to the virgin, to the matron pride,
Fear to the statesman, rashness to the chief,
To kings presumption, and to crowds belief.
That virtue's end from vanity can raise,
Which seeks no int'rest, no reward but praise;
And build on wants, and on defects of mind,
The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind.
Heaven, forming each on other to depend,
A master, or a servant, or a friend,

Bids each on other for assistance call,

Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all.
Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally

The common int'rest or endear the tie.
To those we owe true friendship, love sincere,
Each homefelt joy that life inherits here`;
Yet from the same, we learn in its decline,
Those joys, those loves, those int'rests to resign.
Taught, half by reason, half by mere decay,
To welcome death, and calmly pass away.
Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame or pel
Not one would change his neighbor with himself.
The learn'd is happy, nature to explore,
The fool is happy that he knows no more;
The rich is happy in the plenty given,

The poor contents him with the care of heaven;
See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing,
The sot a hero, lunatic a king;

The starving chymist in his golden views
Supremely blest, the poet in his muse.

See some strange comfort ev'ry state attend,
And pride, bestow'd on all, a common friend;
See some fit passion ev'ry age supply,

Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die.
Behold the child, by nature's kindly law,
Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw;
Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite;