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By restless undulation; ev'n the oak
Thrives by the rude concuffion of the ftorm;
He seems indeed indignant, and to feel

Th' impreffion of the blast with proud difdain,
Frowning as if in his unconfcious arm

He held the thunder. But the monarch owes His firm ftability to what he fcorns,

More fixt below, the more difturb'd above,
The law by which all creatures elfe are bound,
Binds man the lord of all. Himfelf derives
No mean advantage from a kindred caufe,
From ftrenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease.
The fedentary ftretch their lazy length

When cuftom bids, but no refreshment find,
For none they need: the languid eye, the cheek
Deferted of its bloom, the flaccid, fhrunk,
And wither'd muscle, and the vapid foul,
Reproach their owner with that love of reft
To which he forfeits ev'n the rest he loves.

Not fuch th' alert and active.

Measure life

By its true worth, the comforts it affords,
And theirs alone feems worthy of the name.
Good health, and its affociate in the most,

Good temper; fpirits prompt to undertake,
And not foon spent, though in an arduous task ;
The pow'rs of fancy and ftrong thought are theirs;
Ev'n age itself seems privileged in them
With clear exemption from its own defects.

A fparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front
The vet'ran fhows, and gracing a grey beard
With youthful fimiles, defcends toward the grave
Sprightly, and old almost without decay.

Like a coy maiden, ease, when courted moft, Fartheft retires-an idol, at whofe fhrine

Who oft'neft facrifice are favor'd leaft.

The love of Nature, and the fcenes fhe draws

Is Nature's dictate. Strange! there fhould be found

Who felf-imprifon'd in their proud faloons,

Renounce the odors of the open field

For

For the unfcented fictions of the loom.
Who satisfied with only pencil'd scenes,
Prefer to the performance of a God

Th' inferior wonders of an artist's hand.
Lovely indeed the mimic works of art,
But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire
None more admires the painter's magic fkill,
Who fhews me that which I fhall never fee,
Conveys a diftant country into mine,

And throws Italian light on English walls.
But imitative ftrokes can do no more

Than pleafe the eye, fweet Nature ev'ry fenfe.
The air falubrious of her lofty hills,

The thearing fragrance of her dewy vales
And mufic of her woods-no works of man
May rival thefe; thefe all befpeak a power
Peculiar, and exclufively her own.
Beneath the open fky fhe fpreads the feaft;
'Tis free to all-'tis ev'ry day renew'd,
Who fcorns it, ftarves defervedly at home.

He does not scorn it, who imprison'd long
In fome unwholesome dungeon, and a prey
To fallow fickness, which the vapors dánk
And clammy of his dark abode have bred,
Escapes at last to liberty and light.

His cheek recovers foon its healthful hue,
His eye relumines its extinguish'd fires,.
He walks, he leaps, he'runs-is wing'd with joy,
And riots in the fweets of ev'ry breeze.

He does not fcorn it, who has long endur'd

A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs.

Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamed
With acrid falts; his very heart athirst

To gaze at Nature in her green array.
Upon the fhip's tall fide he ftands, poffefs'd
With vifions prompted by intense defire;
Fair fields appear below, fuch as he left

Far diftant, fuch as he would die to find

He feeks them headlong, and is feen no more.

7

The

The spleen is feldom felt where Flora reigns;
The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown,
And fullen fadness that o'erfhade, distort,

And mar the face of beauty, when no cause
For fuch immeafurable woe appears,

These Flora banishes, and gives the fair

Sweet fmiles and bloom lefs tranfient than her own.

It is the conftant revolution stale

And tasteless, of the fame repeated joys,

That palls and fatiates, and makes languid life
A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down.
Health fuffers, and the fpirits ebb; the heart
Recoils from its own choice-at the full feaft
Is famish'd-finds no mufic in the fong,
No finartnefs in the jeft, and wonders why.
Yet thousands ftill defire to journey on,
Though halt and weary of the path they tread.
The paralitic who can hold her cards

But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand
To deal and fhuffle, to divide and fort

Her

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