On receiving a Gilt Pocket-Book. 1751. T1 By Mr. JAG O. HESE fpotlefs leaves, this neat array The power of learning, wit, and skill: But fince you carelessly refuse, And to my pen the task affign; Teach me your best, your best-lov'd art, In this to play the miser's part, To fhun the coxcomb's empty noife ; Teach Teach me to ftem youth's boisterous tide; By reason's aid, my barque to guide To fhare what claffic culture yields; And bring the golden harvest home: To taste the genuine fweets of wit; And prize the dignity of foul. Teach me to read fair Nature's book, And with judicious eye to look To hail her feated on her throne; By aweful woods encompafs'd round: Or her divine extraction own, Tho' with a wreath of rufhes crown'd. Thro' arched walks, o'er fpreading lawns, Or court her, 'mid her gentle fauns, In moffy cell, or maple grove. E 4 Whether Whether the prospect strain the fight, On Nature's works by Art refin'd; And gave to wintry ftorms the varied year, On Damon's roof a grave affembly fate; His roof, a refuge to the feather'd kind; With ferious look he mark'd the nice debate, And to his Delia thus addrefs'd his mind. Obferve Obferve yon twitt'ring flock, my gentle maid, And food, and lodging to their wants were giv’n. ; But now, thro' facred prescience, well they know Thus taught, they meditate a speedy flight; No forrow loads their breaft, or fwells their eye, They feel a pow'r, an impulfe all divine! That warns them hence; they feel it, and obey; To this direction all their cares refign, Unknown their deftin'd ftage, unmark'd their way! Well fare your flight! ye mild domestic race! · Health brace your nerves, and Zephyrs aid your pace, See, See, Delia, on my roof your guests to-day; How just the moral in this scene convey'd ! "Tis thus life's chearful seasons roll away; Thus threats the winter of inclement age; Our time of action but a fummer's day; And earth's frail orb the fadly-varied stage! And does no pow'r its friendly aid difpenfe, Nor give us tidings of fome happier clime? Find we no guide in gracious Providence Beyond the stroke of death, the verge of time! Yes, yes, the facred oracles we hear, That point the path to realms of endless day : That bid our hearts, nor death, nor anguish fear, This future tranfport, that to life the way. Then let us timely for our flight prepare, Let |