God loves from whole to parts; but human soul Must rise from individual to whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds, Another still, and still another spreads; Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace; His country next; and next all human race; Wide and more wide, th' o'erflowings of the mind Take every creature in, of every kind; Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blessed, And Heaven beholds its image in his breast. Come then, my friend! my Genius! come along; Oh master of the poet, and the song! And while the Muse now stoops, or now ascends, To man's low passions, or their glorious ends, Teach me, like thee, in various nature wise, To fall with dignity, with temper rise; Formed by thy converse, happily to steer From grave to gay, from lively to severe; Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease, Intent to reason, or polite to please. Oh! while along the stream of time thy name Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame, Say, shall my little bark attendant sail, Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale? When statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose, Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes, Shall then this verse to future age pretend Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend? That urged by thee, I turned the tuneful art From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart; For wit's false mirror held up Nature's light; Shewed erring pride, _Whatever is, is right;_ That reason, passion, answer one great aim; That true self-love and social are the same; That virtue only, makes our bliss below; And all our knowledge is, _ourselves to know_. FROM MORAL ESSAYS OF THE CHARACTERS OF WOMEN Nothing so true as what you once let fall, 'Most women have no characters at all.' Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, And best distinguished by black, brown, or fair. How many pictures of one nymph we view, All how unlike each other, all how true! Arcadia's countess, here in ermined pride, Is there Pastora by a fountain side; Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, And there, a naked Leda with a swan. Let then the fair one beautifully cry, In Magdalen's loose hair and lifted eye, Or dressed in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine, With simpering angels, palms, and harps divine; Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it. * * * * *