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R

RETIREMENT.

studiis florens ignobilis otí.

VIRG, Georg, Lib. 4.

HACKNEY'D in business, wearied at that oar Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more, But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,

All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego;

The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,

Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,

Where, all his long anxieties forgot

Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot,

Or recollected only to gild o'er

And add a smile to what was sweet before,

He

may possess the joys he thinks he sees,

Lay his old age upon the lap of ease,

Improve the remnant of his wasted span,

And, having liv'd a trifler, die a man.
Thus conscience pleads her cause within the breast,
Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd,
And calls a creature form'd for God alone,
For heav'n's high purposes, and not his own;
Calls him away from selfish ends and aims,
From what debilitates and what inflames,

From cities, humming with a restless crowd,
Sordid as active,. ignorant as loud,

Whose highest praise is that they live in vain,
The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain,
Where works of man are cluster'd close around,
And works of God are hardly to be found,

To regions where, in spite of sin and woe,
Traces of Eden are still seen below,

Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove,
Remind him of his Maker's power and love.
'Tis well if, look'd for at so late a day,
In the last scene of such a senseless play,

True wisdom will attend his feeble call,

And

grace

his action ere the curtain fall.

Souls that have long despis'd their heav'nly birth, Their wishes all impregnated with earth,

For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care
In catching smoke and feeding upon air,
Conversant only with the ways of men,

Rarely redeem the short remaining ten.
Invet'rate habits choke th' unfruitful heart,

Their fibres penetrate its tend'rest part,

And, draining its nutritious pow'rs to feed
Their noxious growth, starve ev'ry better seed.
Happy, if full of days—but happier far,
If, ere we yet discern life's ev'ning star,

Sick of the service of a world that feeds
Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds,
We can escape from custom's idiot sway,
To serve the Sov'reign we were born t' obey.
Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd
(Infinite skill) in all that he has made!

To trace, in nature's most minute design,
The signature and stamp of pow'r divine,
Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease,
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees,
The shapely limb and lubricated joint,
Within the small dimensions of a point,
Muscle and nerve miraculously spun, 9di seofl
His mighty work, who speaks and it is done,
Th' invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd, "'T

To whom an atom is an ample field;idez to en To wonder at a thousand insect forms,"

T

These hatch'd, and those resuscitated worms, New life ordain'd and brighter scenes to share, Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air, Whose shape would make them, had they bulk du v bak

and size,

More hideous foes than fancy can devise;"

With helmet heads and dragon scales adorn'd, The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd,

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