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ON LIFE.

CAN we find out one scene in life,
That is not fill'd with pain and strife?
In bus'ness we the hurry share,

Ever 'midst tumult, noise, and care:
At home, with indolence and spleen,
We show to all but dull chagrin :
Or if we take the sportive field,
Will rural sports a pleasure yield?
Where hours, days, years, we chase away,
To gain a despicable prey.

But should we o'er the ocean roll,
From land to land, from pole to pole;
Still hoping while we distant roam,
Laden to come with riches home:
The winds arise, the billows roar,
The vessel bulges on the shore,
And life and riches are no more.
With wealth we fear our hoarded bags;
With poverty we mourn our rags:
We've too much comp'ny with a wife;
Too little in a single life:

With children we enlarge our care;
If barren, we lament an heir:

In youth we're thoughtless, giddy, vain;
In age, mere children we're again :
The wise this only choice would try,

Not to be born, or soon to die.

}

Gentleman's Magazine.

VANESSA'S ODE TO SPRING.

HAIL! blushing goddess, beauteous Spring,

Who in thy jocund train dost bring

Loves and graces, smiling hours,
Balmy breezes, fragrant flow'rs;
Come, with tints of roseate hue
Nature's faded charms renew.

Yet why should I thy presence hail?
To me no more the breathing gale

Comes fraught with sweets, no more the rose
With such transcendant beauty blows,
As when Cadenus blest the scene,
And shar'd with me those joys serene;
When unperceiv'd the lambent fire
Of friendship kindled new desire:
Still list'ning to his tuneful tongue,
The truths, which angels might have sung,
Divine imprest their gentle sway,
And sweetly stole my heart away.

My guide, instructor, lover, friend,
Dear names! in one idea blend ;
Oh! still conjoin'd, your incense rise,
And waft sweet odours to the skies.

TO HEALTH.

O HEALTH, capricious maid! Why dost thou shun my peaceful bow'r, Where I had hopes to share thy pow'r, And bless thy lasting aid?

Since thou, alas! art flown,

It 'vails not whether muse or grace,
With tempting smile, frequent the place:
I sigh for thee alone.

Age not forbids thy stay;

Thou yet might'st act the friendly part,

Thou yet might'st raise this languid heart; Why speed so swift away?

Thou scorn'st the city air;

I breathe fresh gales o'er furrow'd ground,
Yet hast thou not my wishes crown'd,
O false! O partial fair!

I plunge into the wave;
And tho' with purest hands I raise

A rural altar to thy praise,

Thou wilt not deign to save.

Amid my well-known grove, Where min'ral fountains vainly bear Thy boasted name and titles fair, Why scorns thy foot to rove?

Thou hear'st the sportsman's claim;

Enabling him, with idle noise,

To drown the muse's melting voice,
And fright the tim❜rous game.

Is thought thy foe? adieu

Ye midnight lamps! ye curious tomes! Mine eye o'er hill and valley roams, And deals no more with you.

Is it the clime you flee?
Yet 'midst his unremitting snows,
The poor Laponian's bosom glows,
And shares bright rays from thee.

There was, there was a time,
When tho' I scorn'd thy guardian care,
Nor made a vow, nor said a pray'r,

I did not rue the crime.

Who then more blest than me?

When the glad school-boy's task was done,

And forth with jocund haste I run,

To freedom, and to glee.

How jovial then the day!
What since have all my labours found,
Thus climbing life, to gaze around,
That can thy loss repay?

Wert thou, alas! but kind, Methinks no frown that fortune wears, Nor lessen'd hopes, nor growing fears, Could sink my cheerful mind.

Whate'er my stars include;
What other breasts convert to pain,
My tow'ring mind should soon disdain,
Should scorn-ingratitude.

Repair this mould'ring cell,
And blest with objects found at home,
And envying none their fairer dome,
How pleas'd my soul should dwell!

Temp'rance should guard the doors; From room to room should mem❜ry stray, And, ranging all in neat array,

Enjoy her pleasing stores.

There let them rest unknown,
The types of many a pleasing scene;
But to preserve them bright or clean,

Is thine, fair queen! alone.

Shenstone.

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