More delightful are my woes
Than the rapture pleasure knows;
Richer far the weeds I bring,
Than the robes that grace a king.
On my wars of shortest date,
Crowns of endless triumph wait;
On my cares a period blest;
On my toils eternal rest.

Come, with Virtue at thy side;
Come, be ev'ry bar defied,
Till we gain our native shore;
Sister, come, and turn no more.

§ 135. The Young Lady and Looking-Glass. WILKIE.

YE deep philosophers, who can
Explain that various creature, Man,
Say, is there any point so nice
As that of off'ring an advice?
To bid your friend his errors mend,
Is almost certain to offend :
Though you in softest terms advise,
Confess him good, admit him wise,
In vain you sweeten the discourse,
He thinks you call him fool, or worse.
You paint his character, and try
If he will own it, and apply;
Without a name reprove and warn ;
Here none are hurt, and all may learn:
This too must fail; the picture shown,
No man will take it for his own.
In moral lectures treat the case,
Say this is honest, that is base;
In conversation none will bear it;
And for the pupil, few come near it;
And is there then no other way
A moral lesson to convey?
Must all that shall attempt to teach,
Admonish, satirize, or preach?
Yes, there is one, an ancient art,
By sages found to reach the heart,
Ere science, with distinctions nice,
Had fix'd what virtue is, and vice.
Inventing all the various names

On which the moralist declaims :
They would by simple tales advise,
Which took the hearer by surprise;
Alarm'd his conscience unprepar'd,
Ere pride had put it on its guard;
And made him from himself receive
The lessons which they meant to give.
That this device will oft prevail,
And gain its end when others fail,
If any shall pretend to doubt,
The tale which follows makes it out.
There was a little stubborn dame,
Whom no authority could tame;
Restive, by long indulgence, grown,
No will she minded but her own:
At trifles oft she'd scold and fret,
Then in a corner take a seat,
And, sourly moping all the day,
Disdain alike to work or play.

Papa all softer arts had tried,
And sharper remedies applied;
But both were vain; for ev'ry course
He took, still made her worse and worse.
"Tis strange to think how female wit
So oft should make a lucky hit;
When man, with all his high pretence
To deeper judgment, sounder sense,
Will err, and measures false pursue-
'Tis very strange, I own, but true.-
Mamma observ'd the rising lass
By stealth retiring to the glass,
To practise little airs unseen,
In the true genius of thirteen:
On this a deep design she laid
To tame the humor of the maid;
Contriving, like a prudent mother,
To make one folly cure another.
Upon the wall, against the seat
Which Jessy us'd for her retreat,
Whene'er by accident offended,

A looking-glass was straight suspended,
That it might show her how deform'd
She look'd, and frightful, when she storm'd
And warn her, as she priz'd her beauty,
To bend her humor to her duty.
All this the looking-glass achiev'd;
Its threats were minded and believ'd.

The Maid, who spurn'd at all advice,
Grew tame and gentle in a trice.
So, when all other means had fail'd,
The silent monitor prevail'd.

Thus, Fable to the human kind
Presents an image of the mind;
It is a mirror, where we spy

At large our own deformity;

And learn of course those faults to mend,
Which but to mention would offend.

$136. The Rake and the Hermit. WILKIE
A YOUTH, a pupil of the town,
Philosopher and atheist grown,
Benighted once upon the road,
Found out a hermit's lone abode,
Whose hospitality in need
Reliev'd the trav'ller and his steed;
For both sufficiently were tir'd,
Well drench'd in ditches, and bemir'd.
Hunger the first attention claims;
Upon the coals a rasher flames;
Dry crusts, and liquor something stale,
Were added to make up a meal;
At which our trav'ller, as he sat,
By intervals began to chat.-
'Tis odd, quoth he, to think what straina
Of folly govern some folks' brains:
What makes you choose this wild abode "
You'll say, 'Tis to converse with God
Alas, I fear, 'tis all a whim;
You never saw or spoke with him.
They talk of Providence's pow'r,
And say, it rules us ev'ry hour:
To me all nature seems confusion,
And such weak fancies mere delusion.

The Muses drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmost shades retire.
Howe'er the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the sage, and mounts the car;
The lash resounds, the coursers spring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring;
And gathering crowds, with eager eyes,
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.

Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd;
And now along th' indented plain
The self-same track he marks again;
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.

Amazement seis'd the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glow'd;
E'en bearded sages hail'd the boy,
And all but Plato gaz'd with joy.
For he, deep-judging sage, beheld
With pain the triumphs of the field:
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye,
Alas! unhappy youth, he cried,
Expect no praise from me (and sigh'd).
With indignation I survey

Such skill and judgment thrown away.
The time profusely squander'd there
On vulgar arts, beneath thy care,
If well employ'd, at less expense,
Had taught thee honor, virtue, sense,
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate
To govern men, and guide the state.

$138. The Bee, the Ant, and the Sparrow. DR. COTTON.

Addressed to Phoebe and Kitty C. at BoardingSchool.

My dears, 'tis said, in days of old

Or ev'ry tempting rose pursues,
Or sips the lily's fragrant dews;
Yet never robs the shining bloom
Or of its beauty or perfume.
Thus she discharg'd in ev'ry way
The various duties of the day.

It chanc'd a frugal Ant was near,
Whose brow was wrinkled o'er by care;
A great economist was she,
Nor less laborious than the Bee;
By pensive parents often taught
What ills arise from want of thought;
That poverty on sloth attends;
On poverty the loss of friends;
Hence ev'ry day the Ant is found
With anxious steps to tread the ground;
With curious search to trace the grain,
And drag the heavy load with pain.
The active Bee with pleasure saw
The Ant fulfil her parent's law.
Ah! sister laborer, says she,
How very fortunate are we!
Who, taught in infancy to know
The comforts which from labor flow,
Are independent of the great,

Nor know the wants of pride and state.
Why is our food so very sweet?
Because we earn before we eat.
Why are our wants so very few?
Because we nature's calls pursue.
Whence our complacency of mind?
Because we act our parts assign'd.
Have we incessant tasks to do?
Is not all nature busy too?
Doth not the sun, with constant pace,
Persist to run his annual race?

Do not the stars, which shine so bright,
Renew their courses ev'ry night?
Doth not the ox obedient bow

But now,

it seems, the human race

Alone engross the speaker's place.
Yet lately, if report be true,
(And much the tale relates to you)
There met a Sparrow, Ant, and Bee,
Which reason'd and convers'd as we.

Who reads my page will doubtless grant
That Phe's the wise industrious Ant;
And all with half an eye may see
That Kitty is the busy Bee.

Here then are two-but where's the third ?
Go search the school, you'll find the bird.
Your school! I ask your pardon, fair;
I'm sure you'll find no Sparrow there.

Now to my tale-One summer's morn
A Bee rang'd o'er the verdant lawn;
Studious to husband ev'ry hour,
And make the most of ev'ry flow'r.
Nimble from stalk to stalk she flies,
And loads with yellow wax her thighs;
With which the artist builds her comb,
And keeps all tight and warm at home;
Or from the cowslip's golden bells
Sucks honey, to enrich her cells:

Or when did e'er the gen'rous steed
Withhold his labor or his speed?

If you all nature's system scan,
The only idle thing is man.

A wanton Sparrow long'd to hear
Their sage discourse, and straight drew near
The bird was talkative and loud,
And very pert and very proud;
As worthless and as vain a thing,
Perhaps, as ever wore a wing.
She found, as on a spray she sat,
The little friends were deep in chat;
That virtue was their fav'rite theme,
And toil and probity their scheme:
Such talk was hateful to her breast;
She thought them arrant prudes at best.
When to display her naughty mind,
Hunger with cruelty combin'd,
She view'd the Ant with savage eyes,
And hopp'd and hopp'd to snatch the prize
The Bee, who watch'd her op'ning bill,
And guess'd her fell design to kill,
Ask'd her from what her anger rose,
And why she treated Ants as focs ?

Repentant soon, th' offending race
Entreat the injur'd pow'r
To give them back the human face,
And reason's aid restore.

Jove, sooth'd at length, his ear inclin'd,
And granted half their pray'r;
But t'other half he bade the wind
Disperse in empty air.

Scarce had the thund'rer giv'n the nod
That shook the vaulted skies,
With haughtier air the creatures strode,
And stretch'd their dwindled size.

The hair in curls luxuriant now
Around their temples spread;
The tail, that whilom hung below,
Now dangled from the head.
The head remains unchang'd within,
Nor alter'd much the face;
It still retains its native grin,
And all its old grimace.

Thus half transform'd, and half the same,
Jove bade them take their place
(Restoring them their ancient claim)
Among the human race.

Man with contempt the brute survey'd,
Nor would a name bestow;

But woman lik'd the motley breed,
And call'd the thing a beau.

Whence drew I being? to what period tend? Am I th' abandon'd orphan of blind chance, Dropp'd by wild atoms in disorder'd dance? Or from an endless chain of causes wrought, And of unthinking substance, born with thought?

By motion which began without a cause, Supremely wise, without design or laws? Am I but what I seem, mere flesh and blood? A branching channel, with a mazy flood? The purple stream that through my vessels glides, [tides;

Dull and unconscious flows, like common The pipes through which the circling juices

Are not that thinking I, no more than they :
This frame, compacted with transcendent skill
Of moving joints obedient to my will,
Nurs'd from the fruitful glebe, like yonder tree,
Waxes and wastes; I call it mine, not me.
New matter still the mould'ring mass sustains:
The mansion chang'd, the tenant still re-