Cowper.

THE INFIDEL AND THE CHRISTIAN.

THE path to bliss abounds with many a snare;
Learning is one, and wit, however rare.
The Frenchman, first in literary fame,

(Mention him if you please. Voltaire ?—The same.) With spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied,

Lived long, wrote much, laughed heartily, and died.
The Scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew
Bon-mots to gall the Christian and the Jew;
An infidel in health, but what when sick?
O-then a text would touch him at the quick :
View him at Paris in his last career,
Surrounding throngs the demi-god revere;
Exalted on his pedestal of pride,

And fumed with frankincense on every side,
He begs their flattery with his latest breath,
And smothered in't at last, is praised to death.
Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door,
Pillow and bobbins all her little store;

Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay,
Shuffling her threads about the livelong day,
Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night
Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light;
She, for her humble sphere by nature fit,
Has little understanding, and no wit,

Receives no praise; but, though her lot be such,
(Toilsome and indigent) she renders much;
Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true,
A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew;
And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes
Her title to a treasure in the skies.

O happy peasant! O unhappy bard!
His the mere tinsel, her's the rich reward;
He praised perhaps for ages yet to come,
She never heard of half a mile from home:
He lost in errors his vain heart prefers,
She safe in the simplicity of hers.

PORTRAIT OF WHITFIELD.

Leuconomus (beneath well-sounding Greek I slur a name a poet may not speak) Stood pilloried on Infamy's high stage, And bore the pelting scorn of half an age; The very butt of Slander, and the blot For every dart that Malice ever shot.

The man that mentioned him at once dismissed All mercy from his lips, and sneered and hissed; His crimes were such as Sodom never knew, And Perjury stood up to swear all true ;