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Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to fome ;
To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy.
Houses in alhes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet
With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks,
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charg'd with am'rous fighs of absent swains,
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect
His horse and him, unconscious of them all.
But oh th' important budget ! usher'd in
With such heart-fhaking music, who can say
What are its tidings ? have our troops awak'd ?
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd,
Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does she wear her plum'd
And jewell?d turban with a fmile of peace ?
Or do we grind her still? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh-I long to know them all;
I burn to fet th' imprison'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utt'rance once again.

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And, while the bubbling and loud-billing urn

Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful ev’ning in. Not fuch his ev'ning, who with shining face Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeez'd And bor'd with elbow.points through both his sides, Out-scolds the ranting actor on the stage : Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage, Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. This folio of four pages, happy work ! Which not ev'n critics criticise; that holds Inquisitive attention, while I read, Fast bound in chains of filence, which the fair, Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break; What is it, but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge That tempts ambition. On the summit see The feals of office glitter in his eyes; He climbs, he pants, he grasps them. At his heels, Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, And with a dext'rous jerk soon twilts him down, And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. Here rills of oily eloquence in soft

FOL. U.

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Meanders lubricate the course they take ;
The modest speaker is alham'd and griey'd
Tengross a moment's notice, and yet begs,
Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts,
However trivial all that he conceives,
Sweet bashfulness ! it claims at least this praise ;
The dearth of information and good senfe
That it foretells us, always comes to pass.
Cat'racts of declamation thunder here ;
There forests of no meaning spread the page,
In which all comprehension wanders loft ;
While fields of pleasantry amuse us there
With merry descants on a nation's woes.
The rest appears a wilderness of strange
But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks,
And lillies for the brows of faded age,
Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald,
Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their sweets,
Nectareous effences, Olympian dews,
Sermons, and city feasts, and fav’rite airs,
Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits,
And Katterfelto, with his hair on end
At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread,

'Tis pleasant through the loop holes of retreat To peep at such a world ; to see the fir

Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ;
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates
At a safe distance, where the dying found
Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur'd eát.
Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease
The globe and its concerns, I feer advanc'd
To some secure and more than mortal height,
That lib'rates and exempts me from them all.
It turns submitted to my view, turns round
With all its generations; I behold
The tumult, and am still. The found of war
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me;
Grieves, but alarms ne not. I mourn the pride
And av'rice that make man a wolf to man;
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats
By which he speaks the language of his heart,
And figh, but never tremble at the sound.
He travels and expatiates, as the bee
From flow'r to flow'r, so he from land to land;
The

manners, customs, policy, of all
Pay contribution to the store be gleans ;
He fucks intelligence in ev'ry clime,
And spreads the honey of his deep research
At his return--a rich repast for me.
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck,
Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes

Discover countries, with a kindred heart
Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes ;
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Ruos the great circuit, and is still at home.

Oh Winter, ruler of th' inverted year, Thy scatter'd hair with fleet-like ashes fillid, Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fring'd with a beard made white with other fnows Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, But urg'd by storms along its Dipp'ry way, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun A pris'ner in the yet undawning east, Short'ning his journey between morn and noon, And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, Down to the rosy weft; but kindly still Compensating his lofs with added hours Of social converse and instructive ease, And gath'ring, at short notice, in one group The family dispers'd, and fixing thought, Not less dispers'd by day-light and its cares. I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof

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