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Down, that anchors on the air;
Seas, that fmoothly dimpling lie,
Will the ftork, intending rest,
Will the bee demand his ftore
From the bleak and bladelefs fhore?
Man alone, intent to ftray,
Ever turns from wifdom's way;
Lays up wealth in foreign land,
Sows the fea, and ploughs the fand.
Soon this elemental mass,
Soon th' incumb'ring world fhall pafs;
Form be wrapt in wasting fire,
Then, ye boafted works of men,
Gone, like traces on the deep,
Pafs the world, and what's behind?
From the wreck of nature fav'd.
Like the life-fupporting grain,
What though hostile earth despise,
When th' fatal trump fhall found,
Little native of the skies,
Lovely Penitent, arife!
Calm thy bofom, clear thy brow,
Virtue is thy fifter now.
More delightful are my woes
Than the rapture Pleasure knows;
On my wars, of shortest date,
On my cares a period bless'd;
Come, with Virtue at thy fide;
EDWIN AND ANGELINA,
TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
"And guide my lonely way, "To where yon taper cheers the vale "With hospitable ray.
For here forlorn and loft I tread,
Forbear, my fon,' the Hermit cries,
To lure thee to thy doom.
Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open ftill;
And though my portion is but fcant,
Then turn to-night, and freely share
my cell bestows;
My ruthy couch and frugal fare,
My bleffing and repofe.
No flocks that range the valley free
C Taught by that Pow'r that pities me
But from the mountain's graffy fide
A fcrip with herbs and fruits fupply'd,
Then, Pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
Soft as the dew from heav'n defcends,
The modeft ftranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obfcure
The lonely mansion lay;
No fores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care;
Receiv'd the harmless pair.
And now, when bufy crowds retire
To take their ev’aing reft,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his penfive gueft;
Around in fympathetic mirth
But nothing could a charm impart,
His rifing cares the Hermit fpy'd,
From better habitations spurn'd,
• Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, 'Or unregarded love?
Alas! the joys that Fortune brings 'Are trifling, and decay;
And those who prize the paltry things
And what is Friendship but a name;