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Be envied, wretched-and be flatter'd, poor;
And all successful, jealous friends at best.
Oh! if the Muse must flatter lawless sway,
And follow still where Fortune leads the way;
Or if no basis bear my rising name
But the fall'n ruins of another's fame
Then teach me, Heaven! to scorn the guilty bays,
Drive from my breast that wretched lust of
Unblemish'd let me live, or die unknown
Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none!"
A PASTORAL ELEGY,
ON THE DEATH OF JACKSON, THE MUSICAL
O SHEPHERDS! 't is CORYDON's knell,
That, sounding, now saddens the wind: When he bade us for ever farewell,
He left not an equal behind.
How often ye dwelt on his strain,
That fill'd with sweet echoes the grove!
How happy the nymphs of the plain,
Our garlands his tomb shall adorn;
His shade shall our praises receive; The lark shall salute him at morn,
And Philomel soothe him at eve.
Near his ashes the myrtle shall bloom,
Lament that such merit should die.
He sought not false fame to obtain:
Lo! his reed that lies mute on the ground,-
SYLVIA, a kiss or two I stole,
That thrill'd me to the very soul:
I'll place them on thy lips again.
THE FIRE - SIDE.
BY DR. COTTON.
DEAR CHLOE, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In Folly's maze advance;
Tho' singularity and pride
Be call'd our choice, we 'll step aside,
Nor join the giddy dance.
gay world we 'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,
Where love our hours employs ;
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,
To spoil our heart-felt joys.
If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies;
And they are fools who roam:
The world has nothing to bestow;
From our own selves our joys must flow, And that dear hut, our home.
Of rest was NOAH's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left
Giving her vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird once more
Explor'd the sacred bark.
Tho' fools spurn HYMEN's gentle pow'rs, We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know,
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good
A Paradise below.
Our babes shall richest comforts bring; If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring
Whence pleasures ever rise: