Happy the man, who fees a God employed
In all the good and ill, that chequer life!
Refolving all events, with their effects
And manifold refults, into the will

And arbitration wife of the Supreme."

Did not his eye rule all things, and intend
The leaft of our concerns (fince from the leaft
The greateft oft originate); could chance
Find place in his dominion, or dispose
One lawless particle to thwart his plan;
Then God might be furprised, and unforeseen
Contingence might alarm him, and disturb
The fmooth and equal courfe of his affairs.
This truth philofophy, though eagle-eyed
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks;
And, having found his inftrument, forgets,
Or difregards, or, more prefumptous ftill,
Denies the power, that wields it. God proclaims
His hot difpleasure against foolish men,
That live an atheift life: involves the heaven
In tempefts: quits his grafp upon the winds,
And gives them all their fury; bids a plague
Kindle a fiery boil upon the fkin,

And putrify the breath of blooming health.
He calls for famine, and the meagre fiend
Blows mildew from between his fhrivelled lips,

And taints the golden ear.

He fprings his mines,

And defolates a nation at a blast.

Forth fteps the spruce philofopher, and tells
Of homogeneal and difcordant springs

And principles; of caufes, how they work
By neceffary laws their fure effects;
Of action and re-action. He has found
The fource of the disease, that nature feels,
And bids the world take heart and banish fear.
Thou fool! will thy discovery of the cause
Sufpend the effect, or heal it? Has not God

Still wrought by means fince firft he made the world?
And did he not of old employ his means

To drown it? What is his creation lefs

Then a capacious refervoir of means

Formed for his use, and ready at his will?

Go, dress thine eyes with eye-falve; ask of him,
Or afk of whomfoever he has taught;

And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all.

England, with all thy faults, I love thee stillMy country! and, while yet a nook is left, Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be conftrained to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deformed

With dripping rains, or withered by a froft,

I would not yet exchange thy fulien skies,
And fields without a flower, for warmer France
With all her vines: nor for Aufonia's groves
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers.
To shake thy fenate, and from heights fublime
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task:
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake
Thy joys and forrows, with as true a heart
As
any thunderer there. And I can feel
Thy follies too; and with a just disdain
Frown at effeminates, whofe very looks
Reflect dishonour on the land I love.

How in the name of foldiership and sense,

Should England profper, when fuch things, as smooth And tender as a girl, all effenced over

With odours, and as profligate as sweet;

Who fell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,

And love when they should fight; when fuch as these Prefume to lay their hand upon the ark

Of her magnificent and awful caufe?

Time was when it was praife and boast enough
In every clime, and travel where we might,
That we were born her children. Praise enough
To fill the ambition of a private man,

That Chatham's language was his mother tongue,

And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own.
Farewell those honours, and farewell with them
The hope of fuch hereafter! They have fallen
Each in his field of glory; one in arms,
And one in council-Wolfe upon the lap
Of smiling victory that moment won,
And Chatham heart-fick of his country's fhame!
They made us many foldiers. Chatham, ftill
Confulting England's happiness at home,

Secured it by an unforgiving frown,

If any wronged her. Wolfe, wherever he fought, Put fo much of his heart into h's act,

That his example had a magnet's force,

And all were swift to follow whom all loved.

Those funs are fet. Oh rife some other fuch!
Or all that we have left

empty talk

Of old achievements and despair of new.

Now hoift the fail, and let the ftreamers float Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck With lavender, and sprinkle liquid fweets, That no rude favour maritime invade The nofe of nice nobility! Breathe soft Ye clarionets; and fofter ftill ye flutes; That winds and waters, lulled by magic founds, May bear us fmoothly to the Gallic shore!

True, we have loft an empire-let it pafs.
True; we may thank the perfidy of France,
That picked the jewel out of England's crown,
With all the cunning of an envious fhrew.
And let that pass-'twas but a trick of state!
A brave man knows no malice, but at once
Forgets in peace the injuries of war,

And gives his direft foe a friend's embrace.
And, shamed as we have been, to the very beard
Braved and defied, and in our own fea proved
Too weak for those decisive blows, that once
Enfured us maftery there, we yet retain
Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast
At leaft fuperior jockeyship, and claim
The honours of the turf as all our own!
Go then, well worthy of the praise ye feek,
And show the shame, ye might conceal at home,
In foreign eyes!-be grooms and win the plate,
Where once your nobler fathers won a crown!-
'Tis generous to communicate your skill

To thofe that need it. Folly is foon learned:
And under fuch preceptors who can fail!

There is a pleasure in poetic pains,

Which only poets know. The shifts and turns,
The expedients and inventions multiform,