But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime;
An age that melts with unperceived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away;
Whose peaceful day Benevolence endears,
Whose night congratulating Conscience cheers;
The general favourite as the general friend: 
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end? 
Yet even on this her load Misfortune flings,
To press the weary minutes’ flagging wings;
New sorrow rises as the day returns,
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns,
Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier,
Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear. 
Year chases year, decay pursues decay,
Still drops some joy from withering life away;
New forms arise, and different views engage,
Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage,
Till pitying Nature signs the last release,
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace.

* * * * *

Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find? 
Must dull Suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? 
Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? 
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?—­
Enquirer, cease; petitions yet remain,
Which Heaven may hear; nor deem religion vain. 
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice;
Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious prayer. 
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest,
Secure, whate’er He gives, He gives the best. 
Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resigned;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sovereign o’er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind Nature’s signal of retreat: 
These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain;
These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain;
With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,
And makes the happiness she does not find.

RICHARD JAGO

  FROM THE GOLDFINCHES

  All in a garden, on a currant bush,
  With wondrous art they built their airy seat;
  In the next orchard lived a friendly thrush
  Nor distant far a woodlark’s soft retreat.

  Here blessed with ease, and in each other blessed,
  With early songs they waked the neighbouring groves,
  Till time matured their joys, and crowned their nest
  With infant pledges of their faithful loves.

  And now what transport glowed in either’s eye! 
  What equal fondness dealt th’ allotted food! 
  What joy each other’s likeness to descry;
  And future sonnets in the chirping brood!