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The tyrant passions all subside;
No more my bosom move :
Of universal love.
When lo! a voice, a voice I hear! 'Twas Reason whisper'd in my ear
These monitory strains : “ What mean'st thou, man? would'st thou unbind The ties which constitute thy kind,
The pleasures and the pains?
“ The same Almighty Power unseen,
To Contemplation's eye,
And quicken'd every joy.
“ He bids the tyrant passions rage,
And combat each his foe:
And happiness from woc.
“ Art thou not man, and dar'st thou find
Presumptuous thought and vain!
is weak unless employ'd Some social good to gain.
“ Shall light and shade, and warmth and air, With those exalted joys compare,
Which active Virtue feels !
At her triumphant wheels ?
" As rest and labour still succeeds
Employ his toilsome day;
To sooth him on his way.
« Enthusiast, go, unstring thy lyre, In vain thou sing'st, if none admire,
How sweet soe'er the strain. And is not thy o'erflowing mind, Unless thou mixest with thy kind,
Benevolent in vain ?
Enthusiast, go, try every sense,
Thou yet hast learn’d to scan;
That man was made for man."
THE MAN OF SORROW.
BY MR. GREVILLE.
Ah! what avails the lengthening mead, By Nature's kindest bounty spread
Along the vale of flowers ! Ah! what avails the darkening grove, Or Philomel's melodious love,
That glads the midnight hours !
For me (alas !) the god of day
Nor night her comfort brings:
Nor Philomela sings.
See how the sturdy peasants stride,
In cheerful ignorance blest !
By gay Contentment drest.
Content, fair daughter of the skies,
Her choice divinely free:
Of Avarice and me.
But see-or is it Fancy's dream?
Shot sudden thro' the groves ;
More mild than Paphian doves!
Welcome, Ol welcome, Pleasure's queen! And see, along the velvet green,
The jocund train advance : With scatter'd flowers they fill the air, The wood-nymph's dew-bespangled hair
Plays in the sportive dance.
Ah! baneful grant of angry Heaven
A soul alive to joy!
To cares, that Peace destroy.