Ah!, what avails the love of Rome and Greece, The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious ftring, The duft of Ophir, or Tyrean fleece, All that art, fortune, enterprize can bring, If envy, fcorn, remorfe, or pride the bofom wring! XVII. Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and fcutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of fome Gothic dome, Where night and defolation ever frown. • Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down: Where a green graffy turff is all I crave, With here and there a violet beftrown, Faft by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening fun fhine fweetly on my grave. XVIII. And thither let the village fwain repair; And, light of heart, the village maiden gay, To deck with flowers her half-difhevel'd hair, And celebrate the merry morn of May. There let the fhepherd's pipe the live long day Fill all the grove with loves bewitching wo; And when mild evening comes with mantle grey, Let not the blooming band make hafte to go; No ghost nor fpell my long and laft abode fhall know. XIX. For though I fly to efcape from Fortune's rage, O Man, creation's pride, heaven's darling child, • Whom nature's beft divineft gifts adorn, Why from thy home are truth and joy exiled, And all thy favourite haunts with blood and tears • defiled! 6 XX. Along one glittering fky what glory ftreams! But, in the mental world, what chaos drear! 'What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious mein ! O when hall that eternal morn appear, Thefedreadful forms to chase, this chaos dark to clear ! XXI. O Thou, at whofe creative fmile, yon heaven, In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light, Rofe from th' abyfs; when dark Confution, driven • Down down the bottomlefs profound of night, Fied, where he ever flies thy piercing fight! O glance on thefe fad thades one pitying ray, To blat the fury of oppreffive might, Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's fway, And chear the wandering foul, aud light him on the 6 • way.' XXII. Silence enfued: and Edwin raised his eyes XXIII. He faid, and turu'd away; nor did the Sage Of Nor is the mind with ftartling founds annoy'd, groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills. XXIV. But he from day to day more anxious grew. No more in vain conjecture let me wear away, but feek the Hermit's cell; 'Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care difpel." XXV. At early dawn the Youth his journey took, An antient man: his harp lay him befide. XXVI. And now the hoary fage arofe, and faw Who art thou, courteous ftranger? and from whence? Why roam thy fteps to this abandon'd dale?' A fhepherd-boy (the youth replied) far hence My habitation; hear my artlefs tale; Nor levity or falfhood fhall thine ear affail. XXVII. Late as I roam'd, intent on Nature's charms, • I reach'd at eve this wilderness profound; And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms, Heard thefe rude cliffs thine awful voice rebound, (For in thy fpeech I recognise the found.) 'You mourn'd for ruin'd man, and virtue loft, And feem'd to feel of keen remorfe the wound, Pondering on former days, by guilt engrofs'd, Or in the giddy storm of diffipation tofs'd. XXVIII. 'But fay, in courtly life can craft be learn'd, 'Where knowledge opens, and exalts the foul; 'Where fortune lavishes her gifts unearn'd, 'Can felfishness the liberal art control? Is glory there atchiev'd by arts, as foul As thofe which felons, fiends, and furies plan? 'Spiders enfnare, fnakes poifon, tygers prowl; Love is the godlike attribute of man. 'O teach a fimple youth this mystery tɔ scan. XXIX. Or elfe the lamentable ftrain difclaim, 'And give me back the calm, contented mind; Which, late, exulting, view'd in Nature's frame, Goodnefs untainted, wifdom unconfined, 'Grace, grandeur, and utility combine. 'Reftore thofe tranquil days, that faw me still 'Well-pleafed with all, but moft with humankind; 'When Fancy roam'd through Nature's works at will, 'Uncheck'd by cold distrust, and uninform'd of ill.' XXX. 'Would thou (the Sage replied) in peace return And indignation make thine eyes o'erflow, XXXI. But let untender thoughts afar be driven And this divine prerogative to thee Does virtue, happinefs, and heaven convey; And happinefs of virtue; nor can they XXXII. Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief, When the dark fhades of melancholy lower ; Even when exempt from grief, remorse, and pain : • Come often then; for, haply, in my bower, Amusement, knowledge, wildom thou may'ft gain: If I one foul improve, I have not lived in vain.' XXXIII. And now, at length, to Edwin's ardent gaze Her Chiefs their thirst of power in blood affwage, And languish in the duft, and clasp the abandon'd urn. XXXIV. Ah, what avails (he faid) to trace the fprings |