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Sees with found philofophy

The reflected Deity.

Thus on, thro' manhood, youth, and age,
Nor ftain'd with guilt, nor rough with rage,
In fmooth meanders life shall glide,
And roll a clear and peaceful tide.

WINTER PROSPECTS

IN THE COUNTRY.

W

AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN LONDON.

BY JOHN SCOTT, ESQ

HILE Learning's pleasing cares my friend detain,
By Thames's banks on London's smoky plain ;

Where fpacious streets their peopled length extend,
And pompous domes and lofty fpires afcend:
Far diff'rent views the lonely country yields,
Deferted roads, and unfrequented fields;
Bleak scenes, where hoary Winter holds command,
And from his throne of clouds o'erlooks the land.
He frowns-the power of vegetation dies;
Frofts bind the earth, and tempefts rend the skies;
Or driving fnows defcend, or pouring rains,
Or chilling vapours hover o'er the plains.
Sometimes awhile the hoary tyrant fleeps,
Hid in his cave beneath the wat'ry deeps;
The distant fun extends a chearing ray,
Bright smile the skies, and soft the breezes play :
Then airy lawns the morning walk invite,
And rural landscapes charm the roving fight;
Mix'd with brown stubble, leaflefs woods are seen,
And neat plough'd furrows clad in fcanty green;

While turbid waters, edg'd with yellow reeds,
Wind thro' the ruffet herd-forfaken meads ;
And groves that winter's fierceft rage disdain,
In fair plantations deck the fhelter'd plain;
There painted hollies with red berries glow,
And their broad leaves the fhining laurels fhow;
And pines and firs their varied verdure blend,
And cedars fpread, and cypreffes afcend.
Pleas'd with the fcene, I range from field to field,
Till loftier lands remoter profpects yield;
And there the curious optick tube apply,
Till a new world approaches on the ye;

Till where dark wood the hills flope furface fhrouds,
Or the blue fummit mingles with the clouds;
There fair inclofures lie of varied hue,

And trees and houfes rife diftin&t to view.

But this too oft th' inclement clime denies,
Involv'd in mity or in wat'ry fkies;

And yet, e'en then, with books engag'd, I find
A fweet employment for th' exploring mind;
There fair Defcription fhews each abfent scene,
The corn-clad mountain, and the daified green;
There over diftant lands my fancy roves,
Thro' India's cany ifles and palmy groves;
Where clear ftreams wander thro' luxuriant vales,
Midft cloudlefs fkies, and ever tepid gales,
While Spring fits finiling in her brightest bloom,
And calls around her ev'ry rich perfume.

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ARE WEL, for clearer ken defign'd,

FARE for

Truths which, from action's paths retir'd,
My filent fearch in vain requir'd!
No more my fail that deep explores,
No more I fearch those magick shores;
What regions part the world of Soul,
Or whence thy ftreams, Opinion, roll:
If e'er I round fuch fairy field,
Some power impart the fpear and fhield,
At which the wizzard Paffions fly,
By which the giant Follies die!

Farewel the porch, whofe roof is seen
Arch'd with th' enliv'ning olive's green;
Where Science, prank'd in tiffu'd veft,
By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drefs'd,
Comes like a bride, fo trim array'd,
To wed with Doubt, in Plato's fhade!
Youth of the quick uncheated fight,
Thy walks, Obfervance, more invite!
O thou, who lov't that ampler range,
Where life's wide profpects round thee change,
And, with her mingling fons allied,
Throw'ft the prattling page afide;
To me in converse sweet impart,
To read in man the native heart;
To learn where Science fure is found,
From Nature as fhe lives around;

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And gazing oft her mirror true,
By turns each shifting image view;
Till meddling Art's officious lore
Reverse the leffons taught before,
Alluring from a safer rule,

To dream in her enchanted school:
Thou, Heay'n, whate'er of great we boast,
Haft blefs'd this focial fcience most.

Retiring hence to thoughtful cell,
As Fancy breathes her potent spell,
Not vain she finds the charmful task,
In pageant quaint, in motley mafk;
Behold, before her mufing eyes,
The countless Manners round her rise;
While ever varying as they pass,
To fome Contempt applies her glafs:
With these the white-rob'd maids combine,
And thofe the laughing fatyrs join!
But who is he whom now she views

In robe of wild, contending hues?
Thou, by the paffions nurs'd, I greet
The comic fock that binds thy feet!
O Humour, thou whofe name is known
To Britain's favour'd ifle alone;

Me, too, amidst thy band admit,

There, where the young-ey'd healthful Wit,

(Whofe jewels in his crifped hair

Are plac'd, each other's beams to share,
Whom no delights from thee divide)

In laughter loos'd attends thy fide!
By old Miletus*, who fo long
Has ceas'd his love-inwoven fong;
By all you taught the Tufcan maids,
In chang'd Italia's modern fhades;

Alluding to the Milefian Tales, fome of the earliest romances.

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By him whose knight's distinguish'd name

Refin'd a nation's luft of fame;

Whofe tales, e'en now, with echoes sweet,
Caftalia's Moorish hills repeat:

Or him †, whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore,
In watchet weeds, on Gallia's fhore;
Who drew the fad Sicilian maid,

By virtues in her fire betray'd.

O Nature boon, from whom proceed
Each forceful thought, each prompted deed;
If but from thee I hope to feel,

On all my heart imprint thy feal!
Let fome retreating cynick find
Thofe oft-turn'd fcrolls I leave behind;
The Sports and I this hour agree,
To rove thy fceneful world with thee!

WASHING WEEK.

TO CAPT. G. THOMPSON.

BY CAPT. E.

THOMPSON.

N this, dear George, we both agree,
(You bred in camp, I bred at fea)
That cleanliness is oft

A curfed plague about a houfe,
And always met our juft abufe

When young with Mrs. Croft ‡,

*Cervantes.

Monfieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable Adventures of Gil Blas De Santillane, who died in Paris in the year 1745

An old good lady, who kept a lodging houfe in Beverly, with whom the author boarded when at that fchool under the Rev. Mr. Clarke.

But

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