E'en Wisdom's high conceit great wants would feel,
If not fupply'd from Fancy's boundless store;
And nought but shame makes pow'r itself conceal,
That she, to fatisfy, muft promise more.
But tho' experience will not fail to show,
Howe'er its truth man's weakness may upbraid,
That what he moftly 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 foon fhall quit her fairy-land
If Nature's regions are not held in fight.
From Truth's abode, in fearch of kind deceit,
Within due limits fhe may fafely roam;
If roving does not make her hate retreat,
And with averfion fhun her proper home.
But thanks to thofe, whofe fond parental care
To Learning's paths my youthful steps confin'd,
I need not fhun a state which lets me share
Each calm delight that foothes the ftudious mind.
While genius lafts, his fame fhall ne'er decay,
Whose artful hand firft caus'd its fruits to spread ;
In lafting 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 fons have known; Collects their choiceft works from ev'ry age,
And makes me wife with knowledge not my own.
Books rightly us'd may ev'ry state secure :
From fortune's evils may our peace defend;
May teach us how to fhun, or to endure,
The foe malignant, and the faithlefs friend.
Should rigid Want withdraw all outward aid,
Kind ftores of inward comfort they can bring; Should keen Difeafe life's tainted ftream invade, Sweet to the foul from them pure health may spring.
Should both at once man's weakly frame infeft,
Some letter'd charm nay ftill relief supply;
'Gainft all events preparé his patient breast,
And make him quite refign'd to live, or die.
For tho' no words can time or fate restrain ;
No founds fupprefs the call of Nature's voice; Tho' neither rhymes, nor fpells, can conquer pain, Nor magic's felf make wretchedness our choice;
Yet reafon, while it forms the fubtile plan,
Some purer fource of pleasure to explore, Muft deem it vain for that poor pilgrim, man,
To think of refting 'till his journey's o'er;
Muft deem each fruitlefs toil, by heav'n defign'd
To teach him where to look for real bliss;
Elfe why should heav'n excite the hope to find
What balk'd pursuit muft here for ever miss?
The GROTTO: An ODE to SILENCE.
OME, mufing Silence, nor refufe to fhed
Thy fober influence o'er this darkling cell:
Thy defart waste and lonely plain,
Could ne'er confine thy peaceful reign;
Nor doft thou only, love to dwell
"Mid the dark manfions of the vaulted dead :
For ftill at eve's ferenest hour,
All Nature owns thy foothing pow'r :
Oft haft thou deign'd with me to rove,
Beneath the calm fequefter'd grove;
Oft deign'd my fecret steps to lead
Along the dewy pathlefs mead;
Or up the dusky lawn, to spy
The last faint gleamings of the twilight fky.
Then wilt thou ftill thy penfive vot'ry meet,
Oft as he calls thee to this gloomy feat
For here, with many a folemn myftic rite,
Wert thou invok'd to confecrate the ground,
Ere these rude walls were rear'd remote from fight,
Or ere with mofs this fhaggy roof was crown'd
Hail! bleffed parent of each purer thought,
That doth at once the heart exalt and mend!
Here wilt thou never fail to find
My vacant folitude inclin'd
Thy ferious leffons to attend,
For they I ween shall be with goodness fraught,
Whether thou bid me meditate
On man, in untaught nature's state ;
How far this life he ought to prize;
How far its tranfient scenes defpife:
What heights his reafon may attain,
And where its proud attempts are vain ;
What toils his virtue ought to brave,
For Hope's rewarding joys beyond the grave:
Or if in man redeem'd you bid me trace
Each wond'rous proof of heav'n's tranfcendent grace;
Then breathe some sparks of that celestial fire,
Which in the raptur'd seraph glows above,
Where fainted myriads crowd the joyful choir,
And harp their praises round the throne of love.
The trifling fons of Levity and Pride
Hence fhall thy aweful seriousness exclude;
Nor fhall loud Riot's thoughtless train
With frantic mirth this grott profane.
No foe to peace fhall here intrude.
For thou wilt kindly bid each sound subside,
Save fuch as foothes the lift'ning fenfe,
And serves to aid thy influence;
Save where, foft-breathing o'er the plain,
Mild Zephyr waves the ruftling grain :
Or where some stream, from rocky fource,
Slow trickles down its ceaseless course;
Or where the fea's imperfect roar
Comes gently murm'ring from the diftant fhore.
But moft in Philomel, sweet bird of night,
In plaintive Philomel, is thy delight:
For fhe, or ftudious to prolong her grief,
Or oft to vary her exhaustless lay,
With frequent pause, from thee shall seek relief,
Nor close her ftrain, till dawns the noify day.
Without thy aid, to happier tasteful art,
No deep inftructive fcience could prevail :
For only where thou doft prefide,
Can wit's inventive pow'rs be tried:
And reafon's better task would fail,
Did not thy haunts the ferious theme impart,
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