In sweet repose, when labour's children sleep,
When joy forgets to smile and care to weep,
When passion slumbers in the lover's breast,
And fear and guilt partake the balm of rest,-
Why then denies the studious man to share
Man's common good, who feels his common care?
Because the hope is his, that bids him fly
Night's soft repose, and sleep's mild power defy;
That after-ages may repeat his praise,

And fame's fair meed be his, for length of days.
Delightful prospect! when we leave behind,
A worthy offspring of the fruitful mind;
Which, born and nurst through many an anxious day,
Shall, all our labour, all our cares repay.

Yet all are not these births of noble kind,
Not all the children of a vigorous mind;
But where the wisest should alone preside,

The weak would rule us, and the blind would guide;
Nay, Man's best efforts taste of Man, and show,
The poor and troubled source from which they flow;
Where most he triumphs, we his wants perceive,
And for his weakness in his wisdom grieve.
But though imperfect all; yet wisdom loves
This seat serene, and virtue's self approves :
Here come the griev'd, a change of thought to find;
The curious here, to feed a craving mind;
Here the devout, their peaceful temple choose;
And here, the Poet meets his favouring muse.

With awe, around these silent walks I tread,
These are the lasting mansions of the dead :—

The dead!' methinks a thousand tongues reply; These are the tombs of such as cannot die! Crown'd with eternal fame, they sit sublime, And laugh at all the little strife of Time.'

Hail, then, Immortals! ye who shine above,
Each in his sphere, the literary Jove;
And ye the common people of these skies,
An humbler crowd of nameless deities;
Whether 'tis yours to lead the willing mind.
Through History's mazes, and the turnings find;
Or whether, led by Science, ye retire;
Lost and bewilder'd in the vast desire:

Whether the muse invites you to her bowers,
And crowns your placid brows with living flowers;
Or godlike wisdom teaches you to show

The noblest road to Happiness below;
Or Men and Manners prompt the easy page
To mark the flying Follies of the age :-
Whatever good ye boast, that good impart ;
Inform the head, and rectify the heart.

Lo! all in silence, all in order stand,
And mighty Folio's first, a lordly band;
Then Quarto's their well-order'd ranks maintain,
And light Octavo's fill a spacious plain;
See yonder, rang'd in more frequented rows,
An humbler band of Duodecimo's;

While undistinguish'd Trifles swell the scene,
The last new Play, and fritter'd Magazine :-

Thus 'tis in life, where first the proud, the great,
In leagu'd Assembly keep their cumbrous state ;
Heavy and huge, they fill the World with dread,
Are much admir'd, and are but little read:
The Commons next, a middle rank are found;
Professions fruitful pour their offspring round;
Reasoners and Wits are next their place allow'd,
And last, of vulgar tribes, a countless crowd.

First let us view the Form, the Size, the Dress;
For, these the Manners, nay the Mind express:
That weight of wood, with leathern coat o'erlaid,
Those ample clasps, of solid metal made;
The close-prest leaves, unclos'd for many an age,
The dull red edging of the well-fill'd page;
On the broad back, the stubborn ridges roll'd,
Where yet the title stands, in tarnish'd gold:-
These all a sage and labour'd work proclaim,
A painful candidate for lasting fame:
No idle wit, no trifling verse can lurk,
In the deep bosom of that weighty work;
No playful thoughts, degrade the solemn style,
Nor one light sentence claims a transient smile.

Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie,
And slumber out their Immortality;-

They had their day, when, after all his toil,
His morning study, and his midnight oil,
At length an author's ONE great work appear'd,
By patient hope and length of days, indear'd;
Expecting nations hail'd it from the press,
Poetic friends prefix'd each kind address;

Princes and Kings receiv'd the pond'rous gift, And ladies read the work, they could not lift. Fashion, though Folly's child, and guide of fools, Rules e'en the wisest, and in learning rules; From crowds and courts to Wisdom's Seat she goes, And reigns triumphant o'er her Mother's foes. For lo! these fav'rites of the ancient mode Lie all neglected like the Birth-day Ode; Ah! needless now, this weight of massy chain ;* Safe in themselves, the once-lov'd works remain; No readers now invade their still retreat, None try to steal them from their parent seat; Like ancient beauties, they may now discard Chains, Bolts, and Locks, and lie without a guard. Our patient Fathers, trifling themes laid by, And roll'd, o'er labour'd works, th' attentive eye; Page after page, the much-enduring Men Explor'd, the deeps and shallows of the pen; Till, every former note and comment known, They mark'd the spacious margin with their own : Minute corrections prov'd their studious care; The little index pointing, told us where; And many an emendation prov'd, the age Look'd far beyond the Rubric Title-page.

Our nicer palates lighter labours seek, Cloy'd witth a Folio-Number once a Week;

* In the more ancient Libraries, Works of value and importe ance were fastened to their places by a length of chain, and might so be perused, but not taken away.

Bibles with cuts and comments, thus go down;
Ev'n light Voltaire is number'd through the town:
Thus physic flies abroad, and thus the law,
From men of study and from men of straw ;
Abstracts, Abridgements, please the fickle times,
Pamphlets, and Plays, and Politics, and Rhymes:
But though, to write be now a task of ease,
The task is hard by manly arts to please;
When all our weakness is expos'd to view,
And half our judges are our rivals too.

Amid these works, on which the eager eye
Delights to fix, or glides reluctant by;
When all combin'd, their decent pomp display,
Where shall we first our early off'ring pay?—

To thee, DIVINITY! to thee, the Light

And Guide of Mortals, through their mental Night; By whom we learn, our hopes and fears to guide, To bear with pain, and to contend with pride; When griev'd, to pray; when injur'd, to forgive; And with the world in charity to live.

Not truths like these, inspir'd that numerous race, Whose pious labours fill this ample space; But questions nice, where doubt on doubt arose, Awak'd to war the long-contending foes. For dubious meanings, learn'd Polemicks strove, And wars on faith prevented works of love; The brands of discord far around were hurl'd, And holy wrath inflam'd a sinful world.—