These equal syllables alone require,
Though oft the ear the open vowels tire;
While expletives their feeble aid to join ;
And ten low words oft creep in one dull line:
While they ring round the same unvary'd chimes,
With sure returns of still expected rhymes;
Where'er you find "the cooling western breeze,'
In the next line, it "whispers through the trees :"
In chrystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep,"
The reader's threaten'd not in vain) with "sleep ;"
Then, at the last and only couplet fraught

With some unmeaning thing they call a thought,
A needless Alexandrine ends the song,

That like a wounded snake drags its slow length along.
Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know
What's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow ;
And praise the easy vigour of a line,

Where Denham's strength, and Waller's sweetness join.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
"Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense :
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar :
When Ajax strives some rocks vast weight to throw,
The line too labours, and the words move slow;
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the

main.

Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprise,

And bid alternate passions fall and rise!

While at each change, the son of Lybian Jove Now burns with glory, and then melts with love; Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow: Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found, And the World's victor stood subdued by Sound!

Section V.

ON PRIDE.

Of all the causes, which conspire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind,
What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
Is Pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
Whatever Nature has in worth deny'd,
She gives in large recruits of needless pride!
For, as in bodies, thus in souls, we find

What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind.
Pride where wit fails, steps into our defence,
And fills up all the mighty void of sense.
If once right Reason drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day.
Trust not yourself; but, your defects to know,
Make use of every friend-and every foe.
A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierean Spring:
Their shallow draughts intoxicate the brain;
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fir'd at first sight with what the Muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts,
While, from the bounded level of our mind,
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind;
But, more advanc'd, behold, with strange surprise,
New distant scenes of endless science rise!
So pleas'd at first the towering Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky;
The eternal snows appear already past,

And the first clouds and mountains seem the last:
But those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;
The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes;
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise.

DESCRIPTIVE PIECES.

Section I.

THE MORNING IN SUMMER.

The meek eye'd Morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint gleaming in the dappled east ;
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow:
And from before the lustre of her face

White break the clouds away. With quickened step
Brown Night retires: Young Day pours in apace,
And opens all the lawny prospect wide.

The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top,
Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn.
Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine;
And from the bladed field the fearful hare

Limps, awkward: while along the forest-glade
The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze
At early passenger. Music awakes

The native voice of undissembled joy;

And thick around the woodland hymns arise.
Rous'd by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves
His mossy cottage, where with Peace he dwells;
And from the crouded fold, in order, drives
His flock to taste the verdure of the Morn.
Falsely luxurious, will not man awake;
And, springing from the bed of Sloth, enjoy
The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour,
To meditation due and sacred song?

For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise?

To lie in dead oblivion, losing half

The fleeting moments of too short a life;

Total extinction of the enlighten'd soul!

Or else to feverish vanity alive,

Wildered, and tossing through distemper'd dreams?

+

Who would, in such a gloomy state remain
Longer than nature craves; when every Muse
And every blooming pleasure wait without,
To bless the wildly devious morning walk?

Section II.

THE SABBATH MORNING.

How still the morning of the hallowed day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd

The plough-boy's whistle, and the milk-maid's song.
The scythe lies glitt'ring in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze:
Sounds the most faint attract the ear,-the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,
The distant bleating, midway up the hill.
Calmness seem'd thron'd on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,

The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale;
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles his heav'n tun'd song; the lulling brook.
Murmurs more gently down the deep-sunk glen;
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise.
With dove-like wings Peace o'er yon village broods:
The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din
Hath ceas'd; all, all around is quietness.
Less fearful on this day, the limping hare
Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man,
Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free,
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large;

And, as his stiff unwieldly bulk he rolls,
His iron-arm'd hoofs gleam in the morning-ray.
But chiefly Man the day of rest enjoys.

Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day.

On other days, the man of toil is doom'd
To eat his joyless bread, lonely, the ground

Both seat and board, screen'd from the winter's cold,
And summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or tree;
But on this day, embosom'd in his home,

He shares the frugal meal with those he loves;
With those he loves he shares the heart-felt joy
Of giving thanks to God, not thanks of form,
A word and a grimace, but rev'rently,
With cover'd face and upward earnest eye.

Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day:
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning air pure from the city's smoke,
While wand'ring slowly up the river-side,

He meditates on Him whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough,
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around the roots and while he thus surveys
With elevated joy each rural charm,

He hopes, (yet fears presumption in the hope,)
To reach those realms where Sabbath never ends.

Section III.

CHARITYA PARAPHRASE ON THE 13TH CHAPTER OF THE FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS,

Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,
Than ever man pronounc'd, or angels sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine;
That thought can reach, or Science can divine;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling earth;
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,
When Moses gave them miracles, and law;
Yet gracious Charity, indulgent guest,