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Must find a colder soil and bleaker air,

And trust for safety to a stranger's care;

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What character, what turn thou wilt assume
From constant converse with I know not whom;
Who there will court thy friendship, with what

views,

And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose; Though much depends on what thy choice shall be, Is all chance-medley, and unknown to me.

Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids,
And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids; 860

Free too, and under no constraining force,
Unless the sway of custom warp thy course;

Lay such a stake upon the losing side,
Merely to gratify so blind a guide?

Thou canst not! Nature, pulling at thine heart,
Condemns th' unfatherly, th' imprudent part.

Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tend'rest

plea,

Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea,

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Nor say, Go thither, conscious that there lay
A brood of asps, or quicksands in his way;
Then, only govern'd by the selfsame rule
Of nat❜ral pity, send him not to school.
No-guard him better. Is he not thine own,
Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone?
And hop'st thou not ('tis ev'ry father's hope)
That, since thy strength must with thy years elope,
And thou wilt need some comfort, to assuage

Health's last farewell, a staff in thine old age,
That then, in recompense of all thy cares,

Thy child shall show respect to thy gray hairs, sso
Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft,

And give thy life it's only cordial left?
Aware then how much danger intervenes,
To compass that good end, forecast the means.
His heart, now passive, yields to thy command;
Secure it thine, it's key is in thine hand.
If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide,
Nor heed what guests there enter and abide,

TO

THE REV. MR. NEWTON,

AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY.

THE Swallows in their torpid state

Compose their useless wing,

And bees in hives as idly wait
The call of early Spring.

The keenest frost that binds the stream,

The wildest wind that blows,

Are neither felt nor fear'd by them

Secure of their repose.

But man, all feeling and awake,

The gloomy scene surveys;

With present ills his heart must ake,

And pant for brighter days.

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Old Winter halting o'er the mead,

Bids me and Mary mourn;

But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head,
And whispers your return.

Then April, with her sister May,
Shall chase him from the bow'rs,

And weave fresh garlands ev'ry day,

To crown the smiling hours.

And, if a tear, that speaks regret
Of happier times, appear,

A glimpse of joy, that we have met,
Shall shine and dry the tear.

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