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No more perplex'd with worldly cares,
Heedless of life's surrounding snares;
With soul that never quits its home,
But takes things easy as they come,
Be Dulness with Contentment mine!
Let others reason and repine.



HAIL, Goddess of the vacant eye!

To whom my earliest vows were paid;
Whose prattle hush'd my infant cry,

As on thy lap supinely laid
I saw thee shake, in sportive mood,
Thy tinkling bells and antic hood.
Source of the sweets that never cloy,

Folly, indulgent parent, hail!
Thine are the charming draughts of joy

That childhood's ruby lips regale:
Thy hands with flowers the goblet crown,
And pour the’ ingredients all thy own.
No fiery spirits enter there

To rouse the tingling nerves to pain, Thy balmy cups, unbought with care,

Swim lightly o'er the tender brain; Bland as the milky streams they flow, Nor leave the pungent dregs of woe. Gay partner of the schoolboy band,

Who charm'd the starting tear away; What though beneath the pedant's hand

My flaxen head devoted lay,

Oft were my truant footsteps seen
In thy brisk gambols on the green.
Too soon those moments danced away;

My years to manhood onward drew,
And as my heart began to play,

My listless limbs more languid grew:
For now a thorn disturb’d my rest,
The wish of something unpossess’d.
At length with wonted pastimes tired,

Aside the boyish gawds I threw;
But when with expectation fired

I to the world's wide circle flew,
I look'd around with simple stare,
And found thee in broad features there.
There saw thee high in regal state,

Thy crowded clamorous orgies hold,
With bounding hands thy cymbals beat,

And wide thy tawdry flag unfold;
Whilst thy gay motley liveries shone
On myriads that begirt thy throne.
Thy devious path, sweet Power, I join'd:

Through fancied fields of bliss we stray'd, A thousand wonders we design'd,

A thousand idle pranks we play'd; Now grasp'd at glory's quivering ray, And now in Chloe's chains we lay.. But, Folly, why prolong my verse

To sing the laughter-loving age? Or what avails it to rehearse

Thy triumphs on the youthful stage Where Wisdom, if she claims a place, Sits ever with an awkward grace?

For now, even now in riper years,

Smit with thy many-colour'd vest, Oft I renounce my cautious fears,

And clasp thee to my thoughtless breast; Enough that in Presumption's mien Beneath my roof thou ne'er art seen : That, as my harmless course I run,

The world through candid lights I view, And still with generous pity shun

The moody, moping, serious crew; Since what they fondly vainly prize, Is ever, ever to be wise.



SEQUESTER'd fountain! ever pure,

Whose placid streamlet flows,
In silent lapse, through glens obscure,

Where timid flocks repose :
Tired and disabled in the race,
I quit Ambition's fruitless chase,

To shape my course by thine ;
And, pleased, from serious trifles turn,
As thus around thy little urn

A votive wreath I twine.
Fair fountain ! on thy margin green

May tufted trees arise,
And spreading boughs thy bosom screen

From summer's fervent skies ;
Here may the Spring her flowerets strew,
And Morning shed her pearly dew,

There if a doxy or a wife

Receive the wretch escaped from strife;
If there his tatter'd brood around him cling-

His features catch a brightening smile,

He rests him from his sordid toil,
And in his narrow confines reigns a king.

While thus the poor and wretched find

The' asylum for a wounded mind,Distemper'd men there are, estranged from home,

Cold to an angel's kind embrace,

Cheerless amid a blooming race,
And dead to comforts in a princely dome:

Men in the lap of Fortune nursed,

With all her froward humours cursed, And teased by wishes ever on the wing;

Who, wandering still through Folly's maze,

In search of bliss consume their days, Nor taste her genuine draught at Nature's spring.

Yet such the men who lead the gay,

The pride and patterns of the day, Whose high prized friendship fools and strangers

boast; Blush, thou! to court their barren fame;

Let Home, sweet Home, thy presence claim, And those enjoy thy smiles who love thee most!



TRANQUILLITY! thou better name
Than all the family of Fame!
Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age
To low intrigue or factious rage:
For oh! dear child of thoughtful Truth,

To thee I gave my early youth,
And left the bark, and bless’d the steadfast shore,
Ere yet the tempest rose, and scared me with its


Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,
On him but seldom, power divine,
Thy spirit rests, Satiety
And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope

And dire Remembrance interlope
To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind :
The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.

But me thy gentle hand will lead
At morning through the accustom'd mead;
And in the sultry summer's heat
Will build me up a mossy seat!
And when the gust of Autumn crowds

And breaks the busy moonlight clouds, Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune,

[moon. Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding



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