CONTENT.

A PASTORAL.

BY CUNNINGHAM.

ER moorlands and mountains rude, barren, and bare, As wilder'd and wearied I roam,

A gentle young fhepherdess fees my despair,

And leads me o'er lawns to her home.

Yellow fheafs from rich Ceres her cottage had crown'd Green rushes were ftrew'd on her floor,

Her casements fweet woodbines crept wantonly round, And deck'd the fod feats at her door.

We fat ourselves down to a cooling repaft,

Fresh fruits!and the cull'd me the best; Whilft, thrown from my guard by some glances she caft, Love flily stole into my breast.

I told my foft wishes-fhe sweetly replied,
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine!)
I've rich ones rejected, and great ones deny'd;
Yet take me, fond fhepherd-I'm thine.

Her air was fo modeft, her aspect fo meek,
So fimple, yet fweet were her charms,
I kifs'd the ripe roses that glow'd on her cheek,
And lock'd the lov'd maid in my arms.

Now jocund together we tend a few sheep,
And if on the banks by the stream,
Reclin❜d on her bosom I fink into sleep,
Her image ftill foftens my dream.

Together we range o'er the flow-rifing hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,

Or reft on the rock whence the streamlet distills,
And mark out new themes for my mufe.

To pomp or proud titles fhe ne'er did afpire,
The damfel's of humble descent !

The cottager Peace is well known for her fire,
And fhepherds have nam'd her, Content.

A PRAYER

FOR INDIFFERENCE.

BY MRS. GREVILLE.

OFT I've implor'd the gods in vain,

And pray'd till I've been weary } For once I'll try my wish to gain Of Oberon the fairy.

Sweet airy being, wanton fprite,
That lurk'it in woods unfeen,
And oft by Cynthia's filver light
Tripp'ft gaily o'er the green;

If e'er thy pitying heart was mov'd,
As antient ftories tell,

And for th Athenian maid who lov'd,
Thou fought'ft a wond'rous fpell ;

Oh! deign once more t' exert thy power;
Haply fome herb or tree,
Sov'reign as juice of western flower,
Conceals a balm for me.

I afk no kind return of love,

No tempting charm to pleafe:
Far from the heart thofe gifts remove,
That fighs for peace and ease.

Nor peace nor eafe the heart can know, Which, like the needle true,

Turns at the touch of joy or woe,

But, turning, trembles too.

Far as diftrefs the foul can wound, 'Tis pain in each degree:

'Tis blifs but to a certain bound;

Beyond, is agony.

Take then this treacherous fense of mine;
Which dooms me ftill to fnart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine,
To pains new pangs impart.

Oh! hafte to shed the sacred balm !
My fhatter'd nerves new string;
And for my gueft, ferenely calm,
The nymph Indifference bring.

At her approach, fee Hope, fee Fear,
See Expectation fly ;

And Difappointment in the rear,

That blafts the promis'd joy.

The tear which pity taught to flow,
The eye shall then disown;

The heart that melts for others woe,
Shall then scarce feel its own.

The wounds which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then fhall clofe,
And tranquil days fhall ftill fucceed
To nights of calm repose:

O fairy elf! but grant me this,
This one kind comfort fend;
And so may never-fading blifs
Thy flow'ry paths attend!

So may the glow-worm's glimm❜ring light

Thy tiny footsteps lead

To fome new region of delight,

Unknown to mortal tread.

And be thy acorn goblet fill'd

With heav'n's ambrofial dew;
From fweeteft, freshest flow'rs diftill'd,
That shed fresh sweets for you.

And what of life remains for me
I'll pafs in fober ease;
Half-pleas'd, contented will I be,
Content but half to please.

ON THE

IMMORTALITY

OF THE

SOU

U L.

I

F we with brutes must share a common fate,
Nor quit this earthly for a better state,

If cruel death destroys the thinking part,
And ftrikes the spirit as it ftrikes the heart,
Say, to what purpose was our reason given,
Reason, the greatest, nobleft gift of Heaven?
C