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But thanks to those, whose fond parental care
To Learning's paths my youthful steps confin'd, I need not shun a state which lets me share
Each calm delight that soothes the studious mind.
While genius lasts, his fame shall ne'er decay,
Whose artful hand first caus’d its fruits to spread; In lasting volumes stampt the printed lay,
And taught the Muses to embalm the dead.
To him I owe each fair instructive page,
Where Science tells me what her sons have known; Collects their choicest works from every age,
And makes me wise with knowledge not my own.
Books rightly us'd may every state secure,
From fortune's evils may our peace defend; May teach us how to shun, or to endure,
The foe malignant, and the faithless friend.
Should rigid Want withdraw all outward aid,
Kind stores of inward comfort they can bring; Should keen Disease life's tainted stream invade,
Sweet to the soul from them pure health may spring.
Should both at once man's weakly frame infest,
Some letter'd charm may still relief supply ; 'Gainst all events prepare his patient breast,
And make him quite resign'd to live, or die.
For though no words can time or fate restrain ;
No sounds suppress the call of Nature's voice; Though neither rhymes, nor spells, can conquer pain,
Nor magic's self make wretchedness our choice ;
while it forms the subtile plan, Some purer source of pleasure to explore, Must deem it vain for that poor pilgrim, man,
To think of resting till his journey's o'er;
Must deem each fruitless toil, by Heav'n design'd
To teach him where to look for real bliss; Else why should Heaven excite the hope to find:
What balk'd pursuit must here for ever miss ?
BY JAMES SCOTI D. D.
Save me!--what means yon grisly shade,
Myriads of serpents bred within,
spawn of self-consuming Carel
'Twas thus, O poor enamour'd maid,
« Wilt thou, deluded Hero, wait
“ Pale are his cheeks, where Love was wont to play, “ And clos'd those radiant eyes that late outshone the
The woe-foreboding voice she heard,
And sooth the rough remorseless wave,
With haggard eyes, all-streaming blood,
“ My dear Leander's beck’ning shade ! “ And canst thou live, O lost, O wretched maid ? “ Shall envious Fate so fond a pair divide ? “ Forbid it Love !"-Then head-long from the tower Deep in the ruthless flood she plung’d to rise no more!
With scenes of woe, O cursed Power,
The Queen of arts With giant-stride
The father breathes his soul to rest,
Scar'd by the Damon's spotted hand,
Through ev'ry street, at ev'ry fane ?
These are thy deeds, O fell Despair,
Of winds, and waves, and rocks the scorn,