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Yet ere he pass'd, with much ado
He guess'd and spelld out, Sci-pi-o.

“ Enough, he cry'd; I'll drudge no more, “ In turning the dull Stoics o'er: " Let pedants waste their hours of ease “ To sweat all night at Socrates; “ And feed their boys with notes and rules, " Those tedious Recipes of Schools " To cure ambition: I can learn With greater ease the great concern “ Of mortals; how we may despise “ All the gay things below the skies.

“ Methinks a mould'ring pyramid “ Says all that the old sages said: “ For me, these shatter'd tombs contain More morals than the Vatican. “ The dust of heroes cast abroad, “ And kick'd and trampled in the road, “ The relics of a lofty mind, “ That lately wars and crowns design'd, “ Tost for a jest from wind to wind, « Bid me be humble, and forbear « Tall monuments of fame to rear,

They are but castles in the air.

“ The tow'ring height and frightful falls,
“ The ruin'd heaps and funerals
“ Of smoking kingdoms and their kings,
“ Tell me a thousand mournful things
“ In melancholy silence.-

He
“ That living could not bear to see
An equal, now lies torn and dead,
“ Here his pale trunk, and there his head;
Great Pompey! while I meditate
" With solemn horror thy sad fate,

Thy carcass scatter'd on the shore " Without a name, instructs me more “ Than my whole library before.

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“ Lie still, my Plutarch, then, and sleep, “ And my good Seneca may keep “ Your volumes clos’d for ever too, « I have no further use for you: “ For when I feel my virtue fail, “ And my ambitious thoughts prevail; “ I'll take a turn among the tombs. And see whereto all glory comes “ There the vile foot of ev'ry slave, • Insults a Charles or a Gustave:

Beggars with awful ashes sport, " And tread the Cæsars in the dirt."

TRUE RICHES.

WATTS.

I AM not concern’d to know
What to-morrow fate will do:
'Tis enough that I can say
I've possest myself to-day:
Then if haply midnight death
Seize my flesh and stop my breath,
Yet to-morrow I shall be
Heir to the best part of me.

Glittring stones and golden things,
Wealth and honours that have wings,
Ever flutt'ring to be gone,
I could never call my own:
Riches that the world bestows,
She can take and I can lose;
But the treasures that are mine,
Lie afar beyond her line:
When I view my spacious soul,
And survey myself awhole,
And enjoy myself alone,
I'm a kingdom of my own.

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I've a mighty part within That the world hath never seen,

Rich as Eden's happy ground,
And with choicer plenty crown'd.
Here, on all the shining boughs,
Knowledge fair and useful grows;
On the same young flow'ry tree,
All the seasons you may see;
Notions in the bloom of light,
Just disclosing to the sight:
Here are thoughts of larger growth,
Rip'ning into solid truth:
Fruits refin'd of noble taste;
Seraphs feed on such repast.
Here, in green and shady grove,
Streams of pleasure mix with love:
There, beneath the smiling skies,
Hills of contemplation rise:
Now, upon some shining top,
Angels light, and call me up;
I rejoice to raise my feet,
Both rejoice when there we meet.

There are endless beauties more Earth hath no resemblance for; Nothing like them round the pole, Nothing can describe the soul; 'Tis a region half unknown, That has treasures of its own,

More remote from public view
Than the bowels of Peru;
Broader 'tis and brighter far
Than the golden Indies are:
Ships that trace the wat'ry stage,
Cannot coast it in an age;
Harts or horses, strong and fleet,
Had they wings to help their feet,
Could not run it half way o'er
In ten thousand days and more..

Yet the silly wand'ring mind, Loth to be too much confin’d, Roves and takes her daily tours, Coasting round the narrow shores, Narrow shores of flesh and sense, Picking shells and pebbles thence; Or she sits at Fancy's door, Calling shapes and shadows to her, Foreign visits still receiving, And t'herself a stranger living. Never, never would she buy Indian dust or Tyrian dye, Never trade abroad for more, If she saw her native store, If her inward worth were known, She might ever live alone.

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