Now, 'neath the moon's cool streamy light,
That breaks between the clouds of night,
When the deep blast, loud-shrieking, bears
On its pale wings the dead of years,
Blue-shielded Warriors flash along,
Oft seen yon age-struck walls among,
Arms clash, as intermits the storm,

And dimly-frowning floats the pale unfinish'd form..

4.

Should luckless Love, or pining Care, Or Poverty, whose bosom bare

Contemns the northern wind,

Should these, or worse than these, arrest
And chill with hopeless views my breast,
Be thou the cure assign'd;

Whilst thou art nigh, no fears shall daunt,
No cares molest my secret haunt,

Near yonder mould'ring tower,

Where oft as streams the evening star,

Borne on thy daring wings afar,

O'er me the lights of song their blest illu

On CONTENT.

Qui bene latuit, bene vixit.

O'er the wide world, while busy mortals roam, To search for pleasures unenjoyed at home, Who, slaves to passion, dread to be alone, And seek for company to shun their own! Let me, remote from public toil and strife, Praise the mild blessings of a private life, Where lost in silence of sequester'd shades, No care corrodes, no calumny invades ! But where the hours fly free and unconfin'd, And leave no stings of conscious guilt behind.

Let bold Ambition rear his lofty head, The slippery path of gilded greatness tread, Or sordid Avarice o'er wide oceans stroll, And search for wealth beneath the northern pole ; Calm and content within this peaceful seat, I spurn the glittering baubles of the Great'; View unconcern'd the venal Statesman's name, Now sink inglorious, or now rise in fame. By nature form'd unfit for power or place, I court no honours, tho' I dread disgrace.

Hid from the world, unknowing and unknown,

I seek no other praises than my own,
Heedless to catch the breath of public fame,
And only cautious of avoiding blame.
Here, mid the silent shade, and midnight gloom,
With books I trace the sculptur'd spoils of Rome,
Range thro' the sacred stores of ancient times,
And revel o'er the scenes of classic climes.

Let daring Mortals run life's rugged race, And strive the candidates for wealth or place, Me shall the charms of humble station please, A learned leisure, and a grateful ease, Where temperate hours ensure the cheerful day, Where frolic Mirth, and attic Humour play, Where sweet Content and candid Truth preside, And heartfelt Joy to heaven itself allied.

With equal hope I view the circling sun
In rapid course to either tropic run;
For me soft zephyrs fan the waving trees,
For me waft odours on each genial breeze,
For me the sun matures the fertile fields,
For me rich autumn all her treasure yields,
Nor less delighted when keen winter's blast
In frozen fetters binds the trackless waste.
Pleas'd with the scenes that in succession rise,
Each rival season with new beauty vies;
For me kind Nature varying all her charms,
Alike when winter chills, or summer warms,

Tho' plac'd by heaven within this caim repose,
My heart still bleeds, still feels for other's woes.
My bosom beats and glows with honest fire,
When Albion's sons on Egypt's plains expire;
When the brave mariner with wild surprise,
Views the sharp rock, and death before his eyes,
Or scorch'd by flames, alas! more dreadful sight,
The gallant heroes sink in endless night.
From such sad scenes tho' not less safe I dwell
Than holy hermit in his lonely cell,

Yet while I 'scape these ills to others known,
Still
my heart bleeds for sorrows not her own.

Let wretched mortals shake with conscious dread, When peals the thunder o'er their guilty head, Fearless I see the waving meteors fly, The livid lightnings flash along the sky, Or view the Comet with portentous blaze, Round the wide ether dart his baneful rays.

Mid softer scenes my peaceful spirit roves, And sighs for truth in Maudlin's learned groves; Safe in the shelter of whose sylvan shade, Come, meek Religion, lend thy genial aid; Wrapt in thy awful truths no doubts distress, No jealous fears disturb my calm recess.

Thus let me live, within these cloister'd piles, Unmov'd by Grandeur, or by Flattery's smiles; Free from those follies which mankind divide, The sister sins of passion and of pride,

More solid joys attend one private hour
Than days of vain parade or shew of power.

Oft as o'er life's pass'd scenes my fancy strays, And views the short-liv'd dreams of youthful days, Glad to have 'scap'd from midst the giddy throng, And shunn'd the snares of Pleasure's syren song, I quit the world and all its tempting toys, To seek in solitude more real joys, And raptur'd view the passing train of years Roll undisturb'd by fruitless hopes or fears.

Maudlin Coll. Oxon. Jan. 26, 1802.