So it is, when the mind is endued

With a well-judging taste from above, Then, whether embellish'd or rude,

"Tis nature alone that we love.

The achievements of art may amuse,
May even our wonder excite,

But

groves, hills, and vallies, diffuse

A lasting, a sacred delight.

Since then in the rural recess

Catharina alone can rejoice,

May it still be her lot to possess

The scene of her sensible choice!

To inhabit a mansion remote

From the clatter of street-pacing steeds,

And by Philomel's annual note

To measure the life that she leads.

With her book, and her voice, and her lyre, To wing all her moments at home,

And with scenes that new rapture inspire

As oft as it suits her to roam,

She will have just the life she prefers,

With little to wish or to fear,

And ours will be pleasant as hers,
Might we view her enjoying it here.

THE

MORALIZER CORRECTED.

A TALE.

A HERMIT (or if 'chance

you hold

That title now too trite and old)

A man, once young, who lived retired

As hermit could have well desired,

His hours of study closed at last,

And finish'd his concise repast,

Stoppled his cruse, replaced his book
Within its customary nook,

And, ftaff in hand, set forth to share

The sober cordial of sweet air,

Like Isaac, with a mind applied

To serious thought at evening-tide.
Autumnal rains had made it chill,

And from the trees that fringed his hill
Shades slanting at the close of day
Chill'd more his else delightful way.
Distant a little mile he spied

A western bank's still sunny side,
And right toward the favour'd place
Proceeding with his nimblest pace,
In hope to bask a little yet,

Just reach'd it when the sun was set.

Your hermit, young and jovial sirs! Learns something from whate'er occurs— And hence, he said, my mind computes

The real worth of man's pursuits.
His object chosen, wealth or fame,

Or other sublunary game,

Imagination to his view

Presents it deck'd with ev'ry hue

That can seduce him not to spare

His pow'rs of best exertion there,

But youth, health, vigour, to expend
On so desirable an end.

Ere long, approach life's evening shades,
The glow that fancy gave it fades;

And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace Which first engag'd him in the chase.

True, answer'd an angelic guide,

Attendant at the senior's side

But whether all the time it cost

To urge the fruitless chase be lost,
Must be decided by the worth

Of that which call'd his ardour forth.
Trifles pursu'd, whate'er th' event,

Must cause him shame or discontent;

A vicious object still is worse,

Successful there, he wins a curse;

But he, whom e'en in life's last stage

Endeavours laudable engage,

Is paid, at least in peace of mind,

And sense of having well design'd;

And if, ere he attain his end,
His sun precipitate descend,

A brighter prize than that he meant
Shall recompense his mere intent.
No virtuous wish can bear a date
Either too early or too late.

THE

FAITHFUL FRIEND.

THE green-house is my summer seat; My shrubs displac'd from that retreat