Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird once more

Explor’d the sacred bark.

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle pow'rs,
We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good

A paradise below.

Our babes shall richest comforts bring ;
If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring,

Whence pleasures ever rise :
We'll form their minds with studious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,

And crown our hoary hairs :
They'll grow in virtue every day,
And thus our fondest loves repay,

And recompence our cares.

No borrow'd joys! they're all our own, While to the world we live unknown,

Or by the world forgot : Monarchs! we envy not your state; We look with pity on the great,

And bless our humbler lot.

Our portion is not large indeed,
But then how little do we need I

For Nature's calls are few !
In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may suffice,

And make that little do.

We'll therefore relish with content
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,

Nor aim beyond our pow'r ; For if our stock be very small, 'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present hour.

To be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are deny'd,

And pleas'd with favours given :
Dear Chloe this is wisdom's part,
This is that incense of the heart,

Whose fragrance smells to heav'n.

We'll ask no long-protracted treat, (Since winter life is seldom sweet) :

But when our feast is o'er, Grateful from table we'll arise., Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes,

The relics of our store.

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go, Its checker'd paths of joy and woe

With cautious steps we'll tread; Quit its vain scenes without a tear, Without a trouble or a fear,

And mingle with the dead:

While Conscience, like a faithful friend, Shall through the gloomy vale attend,

And cheer our dying breath ; Shall, when all other comforts cease, Like a kind angel whisper peace,

And smooth the bed of death.




Rang's by all-ruling Heaven's design,
Low sinks this ball, a mass supine ;

The stars high-blazing roll.
Nor lives a wretch of frantic brain,
Who dares with impious rage maintain,

That chance directs the whole.

Yet nations wide adopt this plan:
Chance classes all degrees of man,

Unknown in Nature's state;
And the mere accident of birth
Marks who shall rule or till the earth,

Th' ignoble or the great.

While such the consecrated springs,
Whence proudly issue lords and kings,

Why sleeps the parent's care?
Anxious to match the generous steed,
Where Strength and Beauty stamp the breed,

Regardless of his heir,

But to no favour'd race confin'd,
The virtues of our nobler kind

All ranks alike may claim ;
Issue as fair, and brave, and wise,
As the high lineage of the skies,

May bless an humble dame.

. The charm that softens manly grace, The ray that beams in woman's face,

The sympathy of mind,
Denote (whate'er their various lot,
Whether a palace or a cot)

The mates by heaven design'd.

But peevish Age, and gloomy Pride,
And churlish Av’rice, dare divide

Those links which powerful draw
Toʻunion dear, congenial loves :
The sire condemns what God approves,

And Tyranny is law.

Far other maxims form’d our state:
All orders, mixt of low and great,

Compose the harmonious frame. Firm hath the mighty fabric stood, And Britain boasts her mingled blood

In many a deathless name.

« VorigeDoorgaan »