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Thou hast no porter at the door
T examine or keep back the poor;
Nor locks nor bolts : thy gates have been
Made only to let strangers in ;
Untaught to shut, they do not fear
To stand wide open all the year ;
Careless who enters, for they know
Thou never didst deserve a foe;
And as for thieves, thy bounty's such,
They cannot steal, thou giv'st so much.


He shall not dread Misfortune's angry mien,

Nor feebly sink beneath her tempest rude, Whose soul hath learned, through many a trying scene,

To smile at fate, and suffer unsubdued.

In the rough school of billows, clouds, and storms,

Nursed and matured, the pilot learns his art : Thus Fate's dread ire, by many a conflict, forms

The lofty spirit, and enduring heart.


O'er the smooth enameli'd green
Where no print of step hath been,

Follow me, as I sing
And touch the warbled string,

Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof.

Follow me;
I will bring you where she sits,
Clad in splendour as befits

Her deity.
Such a rural queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.



Nymphs and shepherds, dance no more By sandy Ladon’s lilied banks ; On old Lycæus, or Cyllene hoar,

Trip no more in twilight ranks; Though Erymanth your loss deplore,

A better soil shall give ye thanks.
From the stony Mænalus
Bring your Hock, and live with us;
Here ye shall have greater grace,
To serve the lady of this place.
Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were,
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.

Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state !
When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns !!

His cottage low, and safely humble gate,
Shuts out proud Fortune with her scorns and fawns :?

No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep:

Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep ; Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep.

No Serian worms 3 he knows, that with their thread Draw out their silken lives :- nor silken pride!

His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, Not in that proud Sidonian 4 tincture dy'd :

No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright;

Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite ; But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.

His certain life, that never can deceive him, Is full of thousand sweets and rich content:

The smooth-leav'd beeches in the field receive him With coolest shades, till noon-tide's rage is spent :

His life is neither tost in boist'rous seas

Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease; Pleas'd and full blest he lives, when he his God can please.

| Pawns, the lowest in rank; the least valuable of chess-men are called pawns.

2 Fawns, fawnings, flatteries.

3 Serian worms ; silk - worms, originally brought from the country of the Seres, or northern Chinese.

4 Sidoniun, purple: the finest purple dye known to the ancients was obtained from a shell-fish found on the coasts of Tyre and Sidon. The colour is more frequently called Tyrian than Sidonian.


Ode on the Creation.

The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land,
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale;
And nightly, to the listening earth,
Repeats the story of her birth;
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
What though no real voice, nor sound,
Amidst their radiant orbs be found :
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,
“ The hand that made us is Divine."


Paraphrase on Psalm XXIII.

The Lord my pasture shall prepare
And feed me with a shepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye:
My noon-day walks He shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads,
My weary, wandering steps He leads;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscapes flow.

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Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, God ! art wi me still ;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.

Though in a bare and rugged way,
Though devious, lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my wants beguile ;
The barren wilderness shall smile,
With sudden greens and herbage crown'd,
And streams shall murmur all around.

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