a

Fir'd by this thought great Ashley, gen'rous fage,
Plan'd in fweet leisure his inftructive page.
Not orbs he weighs, but marks, with happier skill,
The scope of actions and the poife of will:
In fair proportion here defcrib'd we trace
Each mental beauty, and each moral grace;
Each useful paffion taught, its tone defign'd
In the nice concord of a well-tun'd mind.
Does mean felf-love contract each focial aim ?
Here publick tranfports fhall thy foul inflame.
Virtue and Deity fupremely fair,

here

Too oft delineated with looks severe,
Refume their native fmiles and graces
Sooth'd into love relenting foes admire,
friend infpire.

And warmer raptures every

Such are the fruits which from retirement fpring;
Thefe bleffings ease and learned leisure bring.
Yet of the various tasks mankind employ,
"Tis fure the hardeft, leifure to enjoy.
For one who knows to tafte this godlike blifs,
What countless swarms of vain pretenders mifs?
Tho' each dull plodding thing, to ape the wife,
Ridiculously grave, for leifure fighs,
(His boafted wifh from bufy fcenes to run)
Grant him that leifure, and the fool's undone.

}

See the Characteristicks, particularly the enquiry concerning Virtue, and the Moralifts.

The

The gods, to curfe poor Demea, heard his vow,
And bufinefs now no more contracts his brow:
Nor real cares, 'tis true, perplex his breaft,

But thoufand fancied ills his peace molest :
The flightest trifles folid forrows prove,

And the long ling'ring wheel of life scarce feems to move.
Ufelefs in bufinefs, yet unfit for eafe,

Nor fkill'd to mend mankind, nor form'd to please,
Such fpurious animals of worthlefs race
Live but the publick burthen and disgrace :
Like mean attendants on life's stage are seen,
Drawn forth to fill, but not conduct the scene.

The mind not taught to think, no useful store
To fix reflection, dreads the vacant hour.
Turn'd on its felf its num'rous wants are seen,
And all the mighty void that lies within
Yet cannot wisdom ftamp our joys complete ;
'Tis conscious virtue crowns the bleft retreat.
Who feels not that, the private path must shun,
And fly to publick view t' escape his own;
In life's gay scenes uneafy thoughts suppress,
And lull each anxious care in dreams of peace.
'Midft foreign objects not employ'd to roam,
Thought, fadly active, ftill corrodes at home :
A ferious moment breaks the false repose,
And guilt in all its naked horror shows.

He who wou'd know retirement's joy refin'd
The fair recefs muft feek with cheerful mind':

No Cynick's pride, no bigot's heated brain,
No fruftrate hope, nor love's fantastick pain,
With him must enter the fequefter'd cell,
Who means with pleafing folitude to dwell;
But equal paffions let his bofom rule,
A judgment candid, and a temper cool,
Enlarg'd with knowledge, and in confcience clear,
Above life's empty hopes, and death's vain fear.
Such he must be who greatly lives alone;
Such Portio is, in crowded scenes unknown.
For publick life with every talent born,
Portio far off retires with decent scorn;
Tho' without business, never unemploy'd,
And life, as more at leifure, more enjoy'd :
For who like him can various fcience tafte,
His mind fhall never want an endless feast.
In his bleft ev'ning walk may'ft thou, may I,
Oft friendly join in sweet society;

Our lives like his in one fmooth current flow,
Nor fwell'd with tempeft, nor too calmly flow,
Whilst he like fome great fage of Rome or Greece,
Shall calm each rifing doubt and speak us peace,
Correct each thought, each wayward wifh controul,
And ftamp with every virtue all the foul.

Ah! how unlike is Umbrio's gloomy scene,
Eftrang'd from all the cheerful ways of men!
There fuperftition works her baneful pow'r,
And darkens all the melancholy hour.

Unnumber'd

Unnumber'd fears corrode and haunt his breast,
With all that whim or ignʼrance can suggest.
In vain for him kind nature pours her sweets;
The vifionary faint no joy admits,

But feeks with pious fpleen fantastick woes,
And for heav'n's fake heav'n's offer'd good foregoes.
Whate'er's our choice we still with pride prefer,
And all who deviate, vainly think must err :
Clodio in books and abstract notions loft,
Sees none but knaves and fools in honor's post;
Whilft Syphax, fond on fortune's fea to fail,
And boldly drive before the flatt'ring gale,
(Forward her dang❜rous ocean to explore,)

Condemns as cowards those who make the shore.
Not fo my friend impartial,-

-man he views
Useful in what he fhuns as what pursues ;
Sees different turns to gen'ral good confpire,
The hero's paffion and the poet's fire;
Each figure plac'd in nature's wife design,
With true proportion and exactest line:
Sees lights and fhades unite in due degree,
And form the whole with fairest fymmetry.

GRONGAR HILL.

ST

By Mr. DYER.

ILENT nymph, with curious eye!
Who, the purple ev❜ning, lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of busy man,
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linet fings;
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the foreft with her tale ;
Come with all thy various hues,

Come, and aid thy fifter Mufe;
Now while Phœbus riding high
Gives luftre to the land and iky!
Grongar Hill invites my fong,
Draw the landskip bright and ftrong;
Grongar, in whose moffy cells
Sweetly mufing Quiet dwells;
Grongar, in whofe filent fhade,
For the modeft Mufes made,
So oft I have, the evening ftill,
At the fountain of a rill,

Sate