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& Since, from an ancient race descended,

« You boast an upattainted blood, “ By yours be their fair fame attended,

“ And claim by birth-right-to be good. • In love for every fellow-creature,

“ Superior rise above the crowd; “ What most ennobles human nature

" Was ne'er the portion of the proud. 66 Be thine the generous heart that borrows

“ From others' joys a friendly glow, “ And for each hapless neighbour's sorrows

" Throbs with a sympathetic woe. “ This is the temper most endearing,

" Tho' wide proud pomp her banner spreads, « An heavenlier power good-nature bearing,

“ Each heart in willing thraldom leads. « Tafte not from fame's uncertain fountain

66 The peace-destroying freams that fow, « Nor from ambition's dangerous mountain

« Look down upon the world below. 6. The princely pine on hills exalted,

" Whose lofty branches cleave the sky, “* By winds, long bray'd, at last assaulted,

• Is headlong whirl'd in duft to lie; " While the mild rose, more fafely growing,

6Low in its unaspiring vale, “ Amid retirement's shelter blowing,

“ Exchanges sweets with ev'ry gale. « With not for beauty's darling features,

“ Moulded by Nature's partial pow's,

“ For fairest forms 'mong human creatures

“ Shine but the pageants of an hour. " I saw, the pride of all the meadow,

" At noon, a gay narcissus blow “ Upon a river's bank, whose shadow

“ Bloom'd in the filver waves below; “ By noon-tide's heat its youth was wasted,

“ The waters, as they pass’d, complain'd; “ At eve, its glories all were blasted,

" And not one former tint remain'd. 66 Nor let vain wit's deceitful glory

« Lead you from Wisdom's path astray; " What genius lives renown'd in story,

« To happiness who found the way? “ In yonder mead behold that vapour,

" Whose vivid beams illusive play, « Far off it seems a friendly taper,

“ To guide the trav’ller on his way; " But should some hapless wretch, pursuing,

" Tread where the treach'rous meteors glow, “ He'd find, too late, his rashness rueing,

“That fatal quicksands lurk below: 6. In life such bubblez nought admiring,

“ Gilt with false light, and fill'd with air, Do you, from pageant crowds retiring,

" To Peace in Virtue's cot repair.
There seek the never-wasted treasure

" Which mutual love and friendship give, 66 Domestic comfort, spotless pleasure,

" And bleft and blessing you will live.

« If Heav'n with children crown your dwelling,

“ As mine its bounty does with you, “ In fondness fatherly excelling,

" Th’example you have felt pursue."

He paus'd for tenderly caressing

The darling of his wounded heart, Looks had means only of expressing

Thoughts, language never could impart. Now night, her mournful mantle spreading,

Had rob'd in black th' horizon round, And dank dews, from her treffes shedding,

With genial moisture bath'd the ground; When back to city follies flying,

'Midt custom's Naves he liv'd resign'd, His face, array'd in smiles, denying

The true complexion of his mind.

For seriously around surveying
• Each character, in youth and age,
Of fools betray'd, and knaves betraying,

That play'd upon this human ftage; (Peaceful himself and undesigning)

He loath'd the scenes of guile and Atrife, And felt each secret with inclining

To leave this fretful farce of life.

Yet to whate'er above was fated

Obediently he bow'd his soul,
For, what all-bounteous Heav'n created,

He thought Heav'n only should controul.

DODD.

PIOUS MEMORY. Occasioned by seeing the Graves dressed with Flowers, at

Brecknock in Wales. 6 W HITHER away, fair maid !" I cry'd,

As on old Hundy's bank I lay, When, passing by me, I espy'd

A modest maid in neat array.
Upon her red but well-turn'd arm

A little wicker-basket hung ;
With flowers of various hues complete,

And branches ever-green and young :
The fragrant bay, the mournful yew,

The cypress, and the box, were there;
The daisy py'd, the violet blue,

The red pink, and the primrose fair. « And why that basket on your arm,

1" With all those fragrant sweets supply'd ?" With blushing look, and pensive air, ·

And voice of meekness, soft she figh’d: “ To yonder church-yard do I hate,

" To dress the grave where Henry Peeps; " No maid a truer lover blessid

“ No maid more faithful lover weeps. 66 Stern Death forbade us to unite,

“ And cut him down with ruthlefs blow; “ And now I speed to deck his grave,

“ As 'tis our weekly wont to do."

The melancholy custom pleas'd:

She left me wrapp'd in pensive thought; Ideas sad, but soothing, rose,

When my Now steps the church-yard fought. There, kneeling o'er her Henry's grave,

Adorn'd with all her basket's store, The rural maiden, fighing, hung,

Her eyes with tender tears ran o'er. She rais'd those eyes, so full of tears,

Which now and then stole down her cheek And much to Heav'n she would have spoke,

But sorrow would not let her speak. Yet, though her thoughts could find no vent,

There is, who reads each honest mind: And the true heart to Him devote,

Shall ample satisfaction find.. Then, gentle maiden! do not fear,

Again thy Henry thou shalt meet : Till then thy tender talk pursue,,

And strew thy greens and flow'rs so sweet. And you, whom all around I see,

The same dear mournful task employ : Ye parents, children, husbands, wives,

The melancholy bliss enjoy!
Oh! 'tis delicious to maintain

Of friends deceas'd a due refpect !
Then bring me flow'rets-bring me greens,

Straight shall my parents' grave be deck'd; And many a friend's (whom faithful love

Still keeps alive within my breaft)

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