And drinks a fancied draught, exulting so to drink. In his own room, and with his books around, His lively mind its chief employment found; Then idly busy, quietly employ'd, And, lost to life, his visions were enjoy'd: Yet still he took a keen inquiring view Of all that crowds neglect, desire, pursue; And thus abstracted, curious, still, serene, He, unemploy'd, beheld life's shifting scene: Still more averse from vulgar joys and cares, Still more unfitted for the world's affairs. There was a house where Edward ofttimes went, And social hours in pleasant trifling spent; He read, conversed, and reason'd, sang and play'd, And all were happy while the idler stay'd; Too happy one! for thence arose the pain, Till this engaging trifler came again. But did he love? We answer, day by day, The loving feet would take th' accustom'd way, The amorous eye would rove as if in quest Of something rare, and on the mansion rest; The same soft passion touch'd the gentle tongue, And Anna's charms in tender notes were sung; The ear, too, seem'd to feel the common flame, Soothed and delighted with the fair one's name; And thus, as love each other part possess'd, The heart, no doubt, its sovereign power confess'd. Pleased in her sight, the Youth required no more; Not rich himself, he saw the damsel poor; And he too wisely, nay, too kindly loved, To pain the being whom his soul approved. A serious Friend our cautious Youth possess'd, And at his table sat a welcome guest; Both unemploy'd, it was their chief delight To read what free and daring authors write; Authors who loved from common views to soar, And seek the fountains never traced before: Truth they profess'd, yet often left the true And beaten prospect, for the wild and new. His chosen friend his fiftieth year had seen, His fortune easy, and his air serene; Deist and atheist call'd; for few agreed What were his notions, principles, or creed; His mind reposed not, for he hated rest, But all things made a query or a jest; Perplex'd himself, he ever sought to prove That man is doom'd in endless doubt to rove; Himself in darkness he profess'd to be, And would maintain that not a man could see. The youthful Friend, dissentient, reason'd still Of the soul's prowess, and the subject-will; Of virtue's beauty, and of honour's force, And a warm zeal gave life to his discourse: Since from his feelings all his fire arose, And he had interest in the themes he chose. The Friend, indulging a sarcastic smile, Said, "Dear enthusiast! thou wilt change thy style, When man's delusions, errors, crimes, deceit, No more distress thee, and no longer cheat." Yet, lo! this cautious man, so coolly wise, On a young Beauty fix'd unguarded eyes; And her he married: Edward at the view Bade to his cheerful visits long adieu; But haply err'd, for this engaging bride No mirth suppress'd, but rather cause supplied: And when she saw the friends, by reasoning long, Confused if right, and positive if wrong,