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Who over all his wondrous works presides, And to their useful ends their causes guides: These paths in vain are by enquirers trod; There's no philosophy without a Gon.

VII.

THE HAPPY VILLAGER.

VIRTUE dwells in Arden's Vale:
There her hallow'd temples rise;
There her incense greets the skies,
Grateful as the morning gale!
There with humble Peace, and her,
Lives the happy Villager :

There the golden smiles of morn

Brighter every field adorn;

There the sun's declining ray
Fairer paints the parting day;
There the woodlark louder sings,
Zephyr moves on softer wings;
Groves in greener honours rise,
Purer azure spread the skies :

There the fountains clearer flow,
Flowers in brighter beauty blow;
For, with Peace and Virtue, there
Lives the happy Villager!
Distant still from Arden's Vale

Are the woes the bad bewail;
Distant fell Remorse and Pain,

And Phrensy smiling o'er her chain!
Grief's quick pang, Despair's dead groan,

Are in Arden's Vale unknown:

For, with Peace and Virtue, there

Lives the happy Villager!

In his hospitable cell,

Love, and Truth, and Freedom dwell;
And, with aspect mild and free,
The graceful nymph, Simplicity.
Hail, ye liberal Graces, hail!
Natives all of Arden's Vale:

For with Peace and Virtue, there
Lives the happy Villager!

VIII.

FLOWERS.

He who delights to trace, with serious thought,
In all he sees, the noiseless steps of TIME,
Shall find the outward forms of Nature fraught
With ample food for many a lofty rhyme;
Or should he fear such dazzling heights to climb,
And love to tread a less aspiring way,-
Leaving untouch'd the awful and sublime,

And seeking humbler objects to pourtray,

May find in such the theme of many a pleasing lay.

What though the glorious Sun, enthroned on high,
May more conspicuously this lesson teach;
Or Moon and Stars, which gem the midnight sky,
A yet more touching homily may preach,
As day to day still utters ceaseless speech,
And night to night yet added knowledge
shows,-

Far lowlier objects to the heart may reach,

And Wisdom's purest precepts may disclose,

Cull'd from the Lily's bloom, or gather'd from the

Rose!

Yes, you, delightful handy-works of HIM
Who arch'd the Heavens, and spann'd this
solid Earth,

Before whose glory day's proud light is dim,
And Art's achievements, if not food for mirth,
Display at best its barrenness and dearth,-

You, too, instruct us, and with "line on line,
Precept on precept," show us by your birth,
Your bud, your blossoming, and your decline,
Time's never-ceasing flight, and tell us truths
divine.

You, as the changing Seasons roll along,

Still wait on each, and added beauties lend :Around the smiling Spring a lovely throng With eager rivalry her steps attend; Others with Summer's brighter glories blend; Some grace mild Autumn's more majestic mien; While some few lingering blooms the brow befriend

Of hoary Winter, and with grace serene

Inwreath the King of storms with Mercy's gentler sheen.

Nor do

ye, while ye

thus declare the flight

Of Times and Seasons, want yet deeper lore;

In you, with eager

and unsated sight,

The gentle Moralist may such explore :Even Religion's voice has heretofore

Pointed a moral, and adorn'd a tale, By illustration from your ample store;

Nor could such striking illustration fail, When thus the Saviour preach'd, his text the Lilies pale.

"Consider ye the lilies of the field,

Which neither toil nor spin,-not regal pride, In all its plenitude of pomp reveal'd,

Could hope to charm, their beauties placed beside :

If heavenly goodness thus for them provide, Which bloom to-day, and wither on the mor

row,

Shall not your wants be from your God supplied, Without your vain anxiety and sorrow,

O ye of little faith!-from these a lesson bor

row!"

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