Now ftir the fire, and close the shutters faft, Let fall the curtains, wheel the fofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hiffing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.

Not fuch his evening, who with fhining face
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, fqueezed
And bored with elbow points through both his fides,
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 tranquillity and smiles.
This folio of four pages, happy work!

Which not e'vn critics criticife; that holds

Inquifitive attention, while I read,

Faft 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 feals of office glitter in his eyes;

He climbs, he pants, he grafps them! At his heels, Close at his heels, a demagogue afcends,

And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down,
And wins them, but to lose them in his turn.
Here rills of oily eloquence in foft

Meanders lubricate the course they take;
The modeft fpeaker is afhained and grieved
To engross 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 forefts of no meaning spread the page,
In which all comprehenfion wanders loft;
While fields of pleasantry amuse us there
With merry descants on a nation's woes.
The reft appears a wilderness of ftrange
But gay confusion; roses for the cheeks,
And lilies for the brows of faded age,

Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald,

Heaven, earth, and ocean; plundered of their sweets,

Nectareous effences, Olympian dews,

Sermons, and city feafts, and favourite airs,
Æthereal journies, fubmarine exploits,
And Katterfelto, with his hair on end
At his own wonders, wondering for his bread.

'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat. To peep at fuch a world; to see the stir

Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;
To hear the roar fhe fends through all her gates
At a safe diftance, where the dying found
Falls a foft murmur on the uninjured ear.
Thus fitting, and surveying thus at ease
The globe and its concerns, I feem advanced
To fome fecure and more than mortal height,
That liberates and exempts me from them all.
It turns fubmitted to my view, turns round
With all its generations; I behold

The tumult, and am ftill. The found of war
Has loft its terrors ere it reaches me;

Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride
And avarice, 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 flower to flower, fo he from land to land;

The manners, cuftoms, policy, of all

Pay contribution to the store he gleans;
He fucks intelligence in every 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,
Afcend his topmaft, through his peering eyes
Discover countries, with a kindred heart
Suffer his woes, and fhare in his escapes;
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is ftill at home.

Oh Winter, ruler of the inverted year, Thy scattered hair with fleet like ashes filled, Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fringed with a beard made white with other fnows Than thofe of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, A leafless branch thy fceptre, and thy throne A fliding car, indebted to no wheels, But urged by ftorms along its flippery way,

I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemest,

And dreaded as thou art! Thou holdest the fun

A prisoner in the yet undawning east,

Shortening his journey between morn and noon,
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay,
Down to the rofy weft; but kindly still
Compensating his loss with added hours
Of focial converse and inftructive ease,
And gathering, at short notice, in one group
The family dispersed, and fixing thought,
Not lefs difperfed 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 undisturbed retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
No rattling wheels stop short before these gates;
No powdered 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 found,
The filent circle fan themselves, and quake:
But here the needle plies its bufy task,
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower,
Wrought patiently into the fnowy lawn,
Unfolds its bofom; buds, and leaves, and fprigs,