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النشر الإلكتروني




DEAL JOSEPH-five and twenty years agoAlas, how time escapes!-'tis even soWith frequent intercourse, and always sweet, And always friendly, we were wont to cheat A tedious hour-and now we never meet! As some grave gentleman in Terence says, ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days) Good lack, we know not what to-morrow bringsStrange fluctuation of all human things! True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, But distance only cannot change the heart : And, were I called to prove th' assertion true, One proof should serve-a reference to you.

Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life, Though nothing have occurred to kindle strife, We find the friends we fancied we had won, Though numerous once, reduced to few or none? Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch? No; gold they seemed, but they were never such. Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge, Dreading a negative, and overawed

Lest he should trespass, begged to go abroad.
Go, fellow ?-whither ?-turning short about-
Nay. Stay at home-you're always going out.
"Tis but a step sir, just at the street's end-
For what?-An please you, sir, to see a friend.—
A friend! Horatio cried, and seemed to start-
Yea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart.-
And fetch my cloak; for, though the night be raw,
I'll see him too-the first I ever saw.

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild,

And was his plaything often when a child;

But somewhat at that moment pinched him close,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose.

Perhaps his confidence just then betrayed,
His grief might prompt him with the speech he made,
Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth,
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth,
Howe'er it was, his language, in my nind,
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.

But not to moralize too much, and strain To prove an evil, of which all complain, (I hate long arguments verbosely spun) One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. Once on a time an emperor, a wise man, No matter where, in China, or Japan, Decreed, that whosoever should offend Against the well known duties of a friend, Convicted once should ever after wear But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. The punishment importing this, no doubt, That all was naught within, and all found out. O happy Britain! we have not to fear Such hard and arbitrary measure here; Else, could a law, like that which I relate, Once have the sanction of our triple state, Some few, that I have known in days of old, Would run nost dreadful risk of catching cold; While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow Might traverse England safely to and fro, An honest man, close buttoned to the chin, Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.




Κεφαλιον δη παιδειας ορθη τροφη.


Αρχη πολιτείας απασης νέων τροφα. Diog. Laert.



Rector of Stock in Essex, the tutor of his two sons, the following poem, recom. mending private tuition, in preference to an education at school, is inscribed by his affectionate friend,

Olney, Nov. 6th, 1784.


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It is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength joined with beauty, dignity with grace,
That man, the master of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form indeed, th' associate of a mind
Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind,
That form, the labour of almighty skill,
Framed for the service of a freeborn will,
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control,
But borrows all its grandeur from the soul.
Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne,
An intellectual kingdom, all her own.
For her the Memory fills her ample page
With truths poured down from every distant age
For her amasses an unbounded store,
The wisdom of great nations, now no more;
Though laden, not encumbered with her spoil,
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil;
When copiously supplied, then most enlarged;
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged.
For her the Fancy, roving unconfined,
The present muse of every 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 slumbering on the shore,
With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp to rise.
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 power on every 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, Rocked 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 confusion all, and bootless waste, Power misemployed, munificence misplaced, Had not its author dignified the plan, And crowned it with the majesty of man. Thus formed, thus placed, intelligent, and taught, Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought. The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws Finds in a sober moment time to pause, To press th' important question on his heart, "Why formed at all, and wherefore as thou art ?" If man be what he seems, this hour a slave, The next mere dust and ashes in the grave; Endued with reason only to descry His crimes and follies with an aching eye;

With passions, just that he may prove, with pain,
The force he spends against their fury vain;
And if, soon after having burnt, by turns,
With every lust, with which frail Nature burns,
His being end, where death dissolves the bond,
The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond;
Then he, of all that Nature has brought forth,
Stands self-impeached the creature of least worth,
And useless while he lives and when he dies,
Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies.

Truths, that the learned pursue with eager thought, Are not important always as dear-bought, Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, A childish waste of philosophic pains;

But truths, on which depends our main concern,
That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn,
Shine by the side of every path we tread
With such a lustre, he that runs may read.
Tis true that, if to trifle life away
Down to the sunset of their latest day,
Then perish on futurity's wide shore
Like fleeting exhalations, found no more,
Were all that Heaven required of human kind,
And all the plan their destiny designed,

What none could reverence all might justly blame,
And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame.
But reason heard, and nature well perused,
At once the dreaming mind is disabused.
If all we find possessing earth, sea, air,
Reflect his attributes, who placed them there,
Fulfil the purpose, and appear designed
Proofs of the wisdom of th' all-seeing mind,
"Tis plain the creature, whom he chose t' invest
With kingship and dominion o'er the rest,
Received his nobler nature, and was made
Fit for the power in which he stands arrayed;
That first, or last, hereafter, if not here,
He too might make his author's wisdom clear,

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