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pen of a gentle satirist; and proceeds to state how by a perpetual struggle against its influence he has contrived to master, or at least control, the "day-mare;" swimming along the troubled stream of life,

"Till fortune threw a rope

Buoyant on bladders fill'd with hope."

It would be difficult to point out, in the whole range of English poetry, so many striking and original thoughts in the same number of lines. They were penned down as they occurred to him. If the descriptions appear unconnected, we are amply compensated by finding no weak link to bind them together. His object was to write less for the world than himself-and if years were employed in producing this one, and comparatively short, addition to our national store of verse, they were not spent in vain. The selection we have made from it will, we think, bear out our opinion of its high and enduring merit, and justify even higher praise than we have

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CONTENTMENT, parent of delight, So much a stranger to our sight, Say, goddess, in what happy place Mortals behold thy blooming face; Thy gracious auspices impart, And for thy temple choose my heart. They, whom thou deignest to inspire, Thy science learn, to bound desire; By happy alchymy of mind

They turn to pleasure all they find; They both disdain in outward mien

And meretricious arts of dress,
To feign a joy, and hide distress;
Unmov'd when the rude tempest blows,
Without an opiate they repose;
And, cover'd by your shield, defy
The whizzing shafts, that round them fly:
Nor meddling with the god's affairs,
Concern themselves with distant cares;
But place their bliss in mental rest,
And feast upon the good possess'd.
Forc'd by soft violence of pray'r,
The blithsome goddess soothes my care;
I feel the deity inspire,

And thus she models my desire.
Two hundred pounds half-yearly paid,
Annuity securely made,

A farm some twenty miles from town,
Small, tight, salubrious, and my own;
Two maids, that never saw the town,
A serving-man, not quite a clown;
A boy to help to tread the mow,

And drive, while t' other holds the plough;
A chief, of temper form'd to please,
Fit to converse, and keep the keys;
And better to preserve the peace,
Commission'd by the name of niece;
With understandings of a size
To think their master very wise.
May Heav'n (it's all I wish for) send
One genial room to treat a friend,
Where decent cupboard, little plate,
Display benevolence, not state.
And may my humble dwelling stand
Upon some chosen spot of land:

A pond before full to the brim,

Where cows may cool, and geese may swim;
Behind, a green like velvet neat,
Soft to the eye, and to the feet;
Where od'rous plants in evening fair
Breathe all around ambrosial air;
From Eurus, foe to kitchen ground,
Fene'd by a slope with bushes crown'd,
Fit dwelling for the feather'd throng,

With op'ning views of hill and dale,
Which sense and fancy too regale,

Where the half-cirque, which vision bounds,
Like amphitheatre surrounds;

And woods impervious to the breeze,

Thick phalanx of embodied trees,

From hills through plains in dusk array
Extended far, repel the day.

Here stillness, height, and solemn shade
Invite, and contemplation aid:

Here nymphs from hollow oaks relate
The dark decrees and will of Fate,
And dreams beneath the spreading beech
Inspire, and docile fancy teach;
While soft as breezy breath of wind,
Impulses rustle through the mind.
Here Dryads, scorning Phoebus' ray,
While Pan melodious pipes away,
In measur'd motions frisk about,
Till old Silenus puts them out.
There see the clover, pea, and bean,
Vie in variety of green;

Fresh pastures speckled o'er with sheep,

Brown fields their fallow sabbaths keep,

Plump Ceres golden tresses wear,

And poppy top-knots deck her hair,

And silver streams through meadows stray, And Naïads on the margin play,

And lesser nymphs on side of hills

From play-thing urns pour down the rills.

Thus shelter'd, free from care and strife,

May I enjoy a calm through life;
See faction, safe in low degree,

As men at land see storms at sea,
And laugh at miserable elves
Not kind, so much as to themselves,
Curs'd with such souls of base alloy,
As can possess, but not enjoy ;
Debarr'd the pleasure to impart
By av'rice, sphincter of the heart,
Who wealth, hard-earn'd by guilty cares,
Bequeath untouch'd to thankless heirs.
May I, with look ungloom'd by guile,

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