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EXTRACTS FROM COWPER'S TASK.

Nor, though he tread the secret path of life,
Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease,
Account him an incumbrance on the state,
Receiving benefits, and rend'ring none.

The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen,
Must drop indeed the hope of public praise;
But he may boast what few that win it can—
That, if his country stand not by his skill,

At least his follies have not wrought her fall. p. 226.

'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime,

And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre,

To charm his ear, whose eye is on the heart;
Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain,
Whose approbation-Prosper even mine.

EXTRACTS FROM COWPER'S

TIROCINIUM.

Ir is not from his form, in which we trace Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace; That man, the master of this globe, derives His right of empire over all that lives: That form, indeed, th' associate of a mind, Vast in its pow'rs, etherial in its kind, That form, the labour of Almighty skill, Fram'd for the service of a free-born will, Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control, But borrows all its grandeur from the soul.

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Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil;
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil;
When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd;
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharg❜d.

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Till autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues-

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The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws

Finds in a sober moment time to pause,

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To press th' important question on his heart,
"Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art?

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Truths that the learn'd pursue with eager thought,

Are not important always as dear bought,

Proving at last though told in pompous strains,
A childish waste of philosophic pains;

But truths on which depend our main concern,
That 'tis our shame and mis'ry not to learn,
Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread,
With such a lustre, he that runs may read.

This once believ'd, 'twere logic misapplied,
To prove a consequence by none denied,
That we are bound to cast the minds of youth
Betimes into the mould of heav'nly truth,
That, taught of God, they may indeed be wise,
Nor, ignorantly wand'ring, miss the skies.

In early days the conscience has in most
A quickness, which in later life is lost;
Preserved from guilt by salutary fears,
Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears.
Too careless often, as our years proceed,

What friends we sort with, or what books we read.

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How weak the barrier of mere nature proves,
Oppos'd against the pleasures nature loves!

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Would you your son should be a sot or dunce, Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once;

That, in good time, the stripling's finish'd taste
For loose expense and fashionable waste,
Should prove your ruin and his own at last ;
Train him in public with a mob of boys,
Childish in mischief only, and in noise,
Else of a manish growth, and five in ten,
In infidelity and lewdness, men.

There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old,
That authors are most useful pawn'd or sold;
That pedantry is all that schools impart,
But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart;
There waiter Dick with Bacchanalian lays,
Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise.

Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong,
Detain their adolescent charge too long;
The management of tiros of eighteen
Is difficult, their punishment obscene.
The stout tall captain, whose superior size
The minor heroes view with envious eyes,
Becomes their patron, upon whom they fix
Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks.
His pride, that scorns t' obey or to submit,
With them is courage; his effront'ry wit.
His wild excursions, window-breaking feats,
Robb'ry of gardens, quarrels in the streets,

His hair-breadth 'scapes, and all his daring schemes
Transport them, and are made their fav'rite themes.

To ensure the perseverance of his course,

And give your monstrous project all its force,
Send him to college. If he there be tam'd,
Or in one article of vice reclaim'd,

Where no regard to ord'nances is shown,
Or look'd for now, the fault must be his own.

Such youths of spirit, and that spirit too,
Ye nurs'ries of our boys, we owe to you!
Though from ourselves the mischief more proceeds,
For public schools 'tis public folly feeds.
The slaves of custom and establish'd mode,
With pack-horse constancy we keep the road,
Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells,
True to the jingling of our leader's bells.

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I blame not those, who, with what care they can,
N'er watch the num'rous and unruly clan;
Or, if I blame, 'tis only that they dare
Promise a work of which they must despair.
Have ye, ye sage intendants of the whole,
An ubiquarian presence and controul-
Elisha's eye, that, when Gehazi stray'd,
Went with him, and saw all the game he play'd?

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But ye connive at what ye cannot cure,
And evils, not to be endur'd, endure,
Lest power exerted, but without success,

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Should make the little ye retain still less.

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Peace to them all! those brilliant times are fled,

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