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That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Not such his evening, who with shining face
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeez'd
And bor'd with elbow-points through both his
Out-fcolds 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 tranquility 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, fee,
The seals of office glitter in his eyes ;
He climbs, he pants, he grasps them. At his
Clofe at his heels, a demagogue ascends,
And with a dextrous jerk foon twifts him down,
And wins them, but to lose them in his turn.
Here rills of oily eloquence, in soft
Meanders lubricate the course they take ;
The modest speaker is asham'd and griev'd
Tengrofs 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 sense
That it foretells us, always comes to pass.
Cataracts 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,
descants on a nation's woes.
The rest appears a wilderness of strange
But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks,
And lilies for the brows of faded age,
Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald,
Heav'n, earth, and ocean plunder'd of their
Nectareous essences, Olympian dews,
Sermons and city feasts, and fav’rite airs,
Æthereal journies, 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 stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ;
To hear the roar lhe sends through all her gates,
At a safe distance, where the dying found
Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur'd ear.
Thus fitting, and surveying thus at ease
The globe and its concerns, I feem 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 me 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 found.
He travels and expatiates, as the bee
From flow'r to flow'r, fo he from land to land;
The manners, customs, policy of all,
Pay contribution to the store he gleans ;
He fucks intelligence in ev'ry clime,
And spreads the honey of his deep research
At his return, a rich repaft for me :
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck,
Ascend his top-maft, 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,
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.
Oh Winter! ruler of th' inverted
year, Thy scatter'd hair with fleet like ashes filld, Thy breath congeald 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 slipp'ry way; I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'ft, And dreaded as
thou art. Thou hold'st the fun 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 West; but kindly still Compensating his lofs with added hours Of social converse and instructive case, And gathering at short notice, in one group, The family difpers’d, and fixing thought, Not less dispers’d by day-light and its cares, I crown thee King of intimate delights, Fire-fide enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know. No ratt'ling wheels stop short before these gates ; No powder'd pert proficient in the art Of founding an alarm, affaults these doors Till the street rings; no ftationary steeds
Cough their own knell, while heedless of the
The filent circle fan themfelves and quake :
But here the needle plies its busy task,
The pattern grows, the well depicted flow'r,
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn,
Unfolds its bofom, buds, and leaves, and sprigs,
And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd,
Follow the nimble finger of the fair ;
A wreath that cannot fade, of flow'rs that blow
With most success when all besides decay. A
The poet's or hiftorian's page, by one
Made vocal for th' amusement of the rest ;
The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds
The touch from many a trembling chord fhakes
And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct,
And in the charming strife triumphant still,
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge
On female industry; the threaded steel
Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds.
The volume clos'd, the customary rites
Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal ;.
Such as the mistress of the world once found
Delicious, when her patriots of high note,
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
And under an old oak's domestic shade,
Enjoyed, spare feast! a radih or an egg.