Then let good-nature every charm exert, And while it mends it, win th' unfolding heart. Let moral mirth a face of triumph wear, Yet smile unconscious of th' extorted tear. See with what grace instructive satire flows, Politely keen, in Olio's numbered prose! That great example should our zeal excite, And censors learn from Addison to write. So, in our age, too prone to sport with pain, Might soft humanity resume her reign; Pride without rancour feel th' objected fault, And folly blush, as willing to be taught; Critics grow mild, life's witty warfare cease, And true good-nature breathe the balm of peace. THE ENTHUSIAST Once--I remember well the day, 'Twas ere the blooming sweets of May Had lost their freshest hues, When every flower on every hill, In every vale, had drank its fill Of sunshine and of dews. In short, 'twas that sweet season's prime When Spring gives up the reins of time To Summer's glowing hand, And doubting mortals hardly know By whose command the breezes blow Which fan the smiling land. 'Twas then, beside a greenwood shade Which clothed a lawn's aspiring head, I urged my devious way, With loitering steps regardless where, So soft, so genial was the air, So wondrous bright the day. And now my eyes with transport rove O'er all the blue expanse above, Unbroken by a cloud! And now beneath delighted pass, Where winding through the deep-green grass A full-brimmed river flowed. I stop, I gaze; in accents rude, To thee, serenest Solitude, Bursts forth th' unbidden lay; 'Begone vile world! the learned, the wise, The great, the busy, I despise, And pity even the gay. 'These, these are joys alone, I cry, 'Tis here, divine Philosophy, Thou deign'st to fix thy throne! Here contemplation points the road Through nature's charms to nature's God! These, these are joys alone! 'Adieu, ye vain low-thoughted cares, Ye human hopes, and human fears, Ye pleasures and ye pains!' While thus I spake, o'er all my soul A philosophic calmness stole, A stoic stillness reigns. The tyrant passions all subside, Fear, anger, pity, shame, and pride, No more my bosom move; Yet still I felt, or seemed to feel A kind of visionary zeal Of universal love. When lo! a voice, a voice I hear! 'Twas Reason whispered in my ear These monitory strains; 'What mean'st thou, man? wouldst thou unbind The ties which constitute thy kind, The pleasures and the pains? 'The same Almighty Power unseen, Who spreads the gay or solemn scene To contemplation's eye, Fixed every movement of the soul, Taught every wish its destined goal, And quickened every joy. 'He bids the tyrant passions rage, He bids them war eternal wage, And combat each his foe: Till from dissensions concords rise, And beauties from deformities, And happiness from woe.