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E'en now, methinks, as pondering here I

stand,

I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail,

That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 400
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness are there;
And piety with wishes placed above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade,
Unfit in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest
fame;

410

Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,

My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st

me so;

Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well; Farewell! and O! where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 420 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime; Aid slighted Truth with thy persuasive train; Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; Teach him, that states of native strength possess'd,

Though very poor, may still be very bless'd; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,

As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away; While self dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 430

STANZAS ON WOMAN

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom
is, to die.

WILLIAM COWPER

VERSES

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE ON THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ

I AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute, From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O Solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech, I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain, My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestowed upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold,

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20

Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard; 30 Never sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a sabbath appeared.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more.

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A frosty morning -The foddering of cattle - The woodman and his dog-The poultry-Whimsical effects of frost at a waterfall - The Empress of Russia's palace of ice-Amusements of monarchs-War, one of them Wars, whence-And whence monarchyThe evils of it - English and French loyalty contrasted -The Bastille, and a prisoner there - Liberty the chief recommendation of this country - Modern patriotism questionable, and why-The perishable nature of the best human institutions - Spiritual liberty not perishable The slavish state of man by nature - Deliver him, Deist, if you can-Grace must do it-The respective merits of patriots and martyrs stated - Their different treatment-Happy freedom of the man whom grace makes free- His relish of the works of GodAddress to the Creator.

'Tis morning; and the sun with ruddy orb Ascending, fires the horizon: while the clouds

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