ODE TO THE MORNING.

BY THE SAME.

HAIL to thy living light,
Ambrosial morn! all hail thy roseate ray,
That bids gay Nature all her charms display

In varied beauty bright:
That bids each dewy-spangled floweret rise,
And dart around its vermeil dyes :
Bids silver lustre grace yon sparkling tide,
That winding warbles down the mountain's side.

Away, ye goblins all! Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt; Whose vagrant feet have traced your secret haunt

Beside some lonely wall, Or shatter'd ruin of a moss-grown tower, Where, at pale midnight's stillest hour, Through each rough chink the solemn orb of night Pours momentary gleams of trembling light.

Away, ye elves, away!

Shrink at ambrosial Morning's living ray; That living ray, whose power benign Unfolds the scene of glory to our eye,

Where, throned in artless majesty, The cherub Beauty sits on Nature's rustic shrine.

THE FIRE-SIDE.

BY DR, COTTON.

DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,

In folly's maze advance ;
Though singularity and pride
Be call’d our choice, we'll step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs ;
No noisy neighbours enter here,
No intermeddling stranger near

Te spoil our heart-felt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies;

And they are fools who roam:
The world has nothing to bestow;
From our own selves our joys must flow,

And that dear hut, our home.

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark;
Giving her vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird once more

Explored the sacred bark.

Though fools spurn Hymen’s gentle powers, We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know, That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good

A paradise below.

Our babes shall richest comforts bring;
If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring

Whence pleasures ever rise :
We'll form their minds, with studious care,
To all that's manly, good, and fair,

And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youtlı, support our age,

And crown our hoary hairs :
They'll grow in virtue every day,
And thus our fondest love repay,

And recompense our cares.

No borrow'd joys: they're all our own, While to the world we live unknown,

Or by the world forgot : Monarchs! we envy not your state, We look with pity on the great,

And bless our humbler lot.

Our portion is not largé, indeed ;
But then, how little do we need!

For Nature's calls are few :
In this the art of living lies,
To want no more than may suffice,

And make that little do.

We'll therefore relish with content
Whate'er kind Providence has sent,

Nor aim beyond our power; For if our stock be very small, 'Tis prudent to enjoy it all,

Nor lose the present hour.

To be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are denied,

And pleased with favours given,
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part,
This is that incense of the heart,

Whose fragrance smells to heaven.

We'll ask no long protracted treat
(Since winter's life is seldom sweet);

But when our feast is o'er,
Grateful from table we'll arise,
Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes,

The relics of our store,

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go, Its chequer'd paths of joy and woe

With cautious steps we'll tread; Quit its vain scenes without a tear, Without a trouble or a fear,

And mingle with the dead :

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While Conscience, like a faithful friend,
Shall through the gloomy vale attend,

And cheer our dying breath;
Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,

And smooth the bed of death