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More golden than that age of fabled gold
Renown'd in ancient song; not vex'd with care
Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent, approv'd
Of God and man, and peaceful in its end.
So glides my

life
away,

and so at last,
My share of duties decently fulfill'd,
May some disease, not tardy to perform
Its destin'd office, yet with gentle stroke,
Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat,
Beneath the turf, that I have often trod.
It shall not grieve me then, that once when callid
To dress a Sofa with the flow'rs of

verse, I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair, With that light task; but soon, to please her more, When flow'rs alone I knew would little please, Let fall th' unfinish'd wreath, and rov'd for fruit; Rov'd far, and gather'd much; some harsh, 'tis true, Prick'd from the thorns and briers of reproof, But wholesome, well-digested; grateful somo To palates that can taste immortal truth; Insipid else, and sure to be despis'd. But all is in His hand, whose praise I seek. In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, If he regard not, though divine the theme. 'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre, To charm his ear,

whose

eye
is

the heart; Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, Whose approbation-prosper even mine.

on

TIROCINIUM;

OR,

A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS.

the REV. WM. CAWTHORNE UNWIN, Rector of Stock, in ssex, the Tutor of his two Sons, the following POEM, recommend ig Private Tuition in preference to an Education at School, is iscribed by the Author.

Κεφαλαιον δη παιδειας ορθη τροφη. Ρlato.
Αρχη πολιτειας απασης νεων τροφα. .

Diog. Laert.

is not from his form, in which we trace rength join’d with beauty, dignity with grace, sat man, the master of this globe, derives is right of empire over all that lives. hat form indeed, th' associate of a mind ast in its pow'rs, ethereal in its kind, hat form, the labour of almighty skill, ram'd for the service of a freeborn will, sserts precedence, and bespeaks control, ut borrows all its grandeur from the soul. lers is the state, the splendour, and the throne, in intellectual kingdom, all her own. or her the Mem'ry fills her ample page Vith truths pour'd down from ev'ry distant age; 'or her amasses an unbounded store, 'he wisdom of great nations, now no more ;

Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil ;
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil ;
When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd;
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharg'd.
For her the Fancy, roving unconfin'd,
The present muse of ev'ry pensive mind,
Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue
To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew.
At her command winds rise, and waters roar.
Again she lays them slumb'ring on the shore;
With flow'r and fruit the wilderness supplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp

arise.
For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife,
That Grace and Nature have to wage through life,
Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill,
Appointed sage preceptor to the Will,
Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice.

Why did the fiat of a God give birth To yon fair Sun, and his attendant Earth? And, when descending he resigns the skies, Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise, Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves, And owns her pow'r on ev'ry shore he laves ? . Why do the seasons still enrich the year, Fruitful and young as in their first career? Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees," Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze; Summer in haste the thriving charge receives Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews Dye them at last in all their glowing hues "Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, Pow'r misemploy'd, munificence misplac'd, Had not its author dignified the plan, And crown'd it with the majesty of man. Thus form'd, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught, Look where you will, the wonders God has wrought, le wildest scorner of his Maker's laws nds in a sober moment time to pause,

press th' important question on his heart, Why form’d at all, and wherefore as thou art ?” man he what he seems, this hour a slave, he next mere dust and ashes in the grave; idu'd with reason only to descry is crimes and follies with an aching eye: 'ith passions, just that he may prove, with pain, ne force he spends against their fury vain : nd if soon after having burnt, by turns, Tith ev'ry lust, with which frail Nature burns, is being end, where death dissolves the bond, je tomb take all, and all be blank beyond : nen he, of all that Nature has brought forth, ands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth, ad useless while he lives and when he dies, ings into doubt the wisdom of the skies. Truths, that the learn'd pursue with eager thought, re not important always as dear-bought, oving at last, though told in pompous strains, childish waste of philosophic pains; it truths, on which depends our main concern, at ʼtis our shame and misery not to learn, line by the side of every path we tread Tith such a lustre, he that runs may read. is true that, if to trifle life away own to the sunset of their latest day, nen perish on futurity's wide shore ke fleeting exhalations, found no more, Tere all that Heav'n requir'd of human kind, nd all the plan their destiny design'd, That none could rev'rence aļl might justly blame, nd man would breathe but for his Maker's shame. ut reason heard, and nature well perus’d, t once the dreaming mind is disabus'd. all we find possessing earth, sea, air, eflect his attributes, who plac'd them there,

Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd
Proofs of the wisdom of th' all-seeing mind, is
Tis plain the creature, whom he chose t invest 1
With kingship and dominion o'er the rest,
Receiv'd his nobler nature, and was made
Fit for the pow'r, in which he stands array'd;
That first, or last, hereafter, if not here,
He too might make his author's wisdom clear,
Praise him on Earth, or, obstinately dumb,
Suffer his justice in a world to come.
This once believ'd, 'twere logic misapplied,
To prove a consequence by none denied,
That we are bound to cast the minds of youth
Betimes into the mould of heav'nly truth,
That taught of God they may indeed be wise,
Nor ignorantly wand'ring miss the skies.

In early days the conscience has in most
A quickness, which in later life is lost;
Presery'd from guilt by salutary fears,
Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears,
Too careless often, as our years proceed,
What friends we sort with, or what books we read,
Our parents yet exert a prudent care,
To feed our infant minds with proper fare ;
And wisely store the nurs’ry by degrees
With wholesome learning, yet acquir'd with ease.
Neatly secur'd from being soild or torn
Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn,
A book (to please us at a tender age
"Tis called a book, though but a single page)
Presents the pray’r the Saviour deign’d to teach,
Which children use, and parsons—whenthey preach.
Lisping our syllables, we scramble next
Through moral narrative or sacred text;
And learn with wonder how this world began,
Who made,who marr'd, and who has ransom'd, man:

nts, which unless the Scripture made them plain, wisest beads might agitate in vain.

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