And only are of things the outward sign,
And not the things themselves they but define;
So exclamations, tender tones, fond tears,
And all the graceful drap'ry FEELING wears
These are her garb, not her, they but express
Her form, her semblance, her appropriate dress;
And these fair marks, reluctant I relate,
These lovely symbols may be counterfeit.
There are, who fill with brilliant plaints the page,
If a poor linnet meet the gunner's rage;
There are, who for a dying fawn deplore,
As if friend, parent, country, were no more;
Who boast, quick rapture trembling in their eye,
If from the spider's snare they snatch a fly;

There are, whose well-sung plaints each breast inflame,
And break all hearts-but his from whom they came.
He, scorning life's low duties to attend,

Writes odes on friendship, while he cheats his friend ;
Of gaols and punishments he grieves to hear,
And pensions prison'd virtue with a tear;
While unpaid bills his creditor presents,
And ruin'd innocence his crime laments.
Not so the tender moralist of Tweed,
His gen'rous Man of Feeling feels indeed.

O LOVE DIVINE! sole source of Charity!
More dear one genuine deed perform'd for thee,
Than all the periods FEELING e'er could turn,
Than all thy touching page, perverted STERNE.
Not that by deeds alone this love's express'd,
If so, the affluent only were the bless'd;
One silent wish, one pray'r, one soothing word,
The page of mercy shall, well pleas'd, record;

One soul-felt sigh by pow'rless pity giv❜n,
Accepted incense, shall ascend to heav'n.

Since trifles make the sum of human things,
And half our mis'ry from our foibles springs;
Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease,
And though but few can serve, yet all may please :
O let th' ungentle spirit learn from hence,
A small unkindness is a great offence.

To spread large bounties though we wish in vain,
Yet all may shun the guilt of giving pain:
To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth,
With rank to grace them or to crown with health,
Our little lot denies; yet, lib'ral still,

Heav'n gives its counterpoise to every ill;
Nor let us murmur at our stinted pow'rs,
When kindness, love, and concord, may be ours.
The gift of minist'ring to others' ease,

To all her sons impartial she decrees;
The gentle offices of patient love,

Beyond all flatt'ry, and all price above;
The mild forbearance at a brother's fault,
The angry word suppress'd, the taunting thought;
Subduing and subdu'd, the petty strife,
Which clouds the colour of domestic life;
The sober comfort, all the peace which springs
From the large aggregate of little things;
On these small cares of daughter, wife, or friend,
The almost sacred joys of Home depend:
There, SENSIBILITY, thou best may'st reign,
HOME is thy true legitimate domain.
A solitary bliss thou ne'er could'st find,

Thy joys with those thou lov'st are intertwin'd;

And he, whose helpful tenderness removes
The rankling thorn which wounds the breast he loves,
Smooths not another's rugged path alone,
But clears th' obstruction which impedes his own.
The hint malevolent, the look oblique,

The obvious satire, or implied dislike;
The sneer equivocal, the harsh reply,
And all the cruel language of the eye;
The artful injury, whose venom'd dart

Scarce wounds the hearing, while it stabs the heart;
The guarded phrase, whose meaning kills, yet told,
The list❜ner wonders how you thought it cold;
Small slights, neglect, unmixt perhaps with hate,
Make up in number what they want in weight.
These, and a thousand griefs minute as these,
Corrode our comfort and destroy our ease.
AS FEELING tends to good or leans to ill,
It gives fresh force to vice or principle;
'Tis not a gift peculiar to the good,
'Tis often but the virtue of the blood:

And what would seem compassion's moral flow,
Is but a circulation swift or slow:

But to divert it to its proper course,

There wisdom's pow'r appears, there reason's force:
If, ill directed, it pursue the wrong,

It adds new strength to what before was strong;
Breaks out in wild irregular desires,

Disorder'd passions, and illicit fires;

Without deforms the man, depraves within,

And makes the work of GOD the slave of sin.
But if RELIGION's bias rule the soul,
Then SENSIBILITY exalts the whole;

Sheds its sweet sunshine on the moral part,

Nor wastes on fancy what should warm the heart.
Cold and inert the mental pow'rs would lie,
Without this quick'ning spark of Deity.
To melt the rich materials from the mine,
To bid the mass of intellect refine,

To bend the firm, to animate the cold,
And Heav'n's own image stamp on nature's gold;
To give immortal MIND its finest tone,

O SENSIBILITY! is all thy own.

This is th' ethereal flame which lights and warms,
In song enchants us, and in action charms.
'Tis this that makes the pensive strains of GRAY*
Win to the open heart their easy way;

Makes the touch'd spirit glow with kindred fire,
When sweet Serena's poet wakes the lyre:
Makes PORTLAND's face its brightest rapture wear,
When her large bounty smooths the bed of care;
Tis this that breathes through SEVIGNE's fair page
That nameless grace which soothes a second age;
"Tis this whose charms the soul resistless seize,
And gives BOSCAWEN half her pow'r to please.

Yet why those terrors? Why that anxious care,
Since your last hope + the deathful war will dare?
Why dread that energy of soul which leads
To dangerous glory by heroic deeds?

This is meant of the Elegy in a Country Church-Yard, of which exquisite poem Sensibuuty is, perhaps, the characteristi: beauty.

Viscount FALMOrr, Admiral Boscavey's caly remaining wa, was then in America, and at the battle of Lexington.

Why mourn to view his ardent soul aspire? You fear the son because you knew the sire. Hereditary valour you deplore,

And dread, yet wish to find one hero more.