He is the happy man, whose life e'en now,
Shows somewhat of that happier life to come:
Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state,
Is pleas'd with it, and, were he free to choose
Would make his fate his choice: whom peace, the fruit
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,
Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one
Content, indeed, to sojourn while he must
Below the skies, but having there his home,
The world o'erlooks him in her busy search
Of objects more illustrious in her view;
And occupy'd as earnestly as she,
Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world.
She scorns his pleasures for she knows them not;
He seeks not hers, for he has prov'd them vain.
He cannot skim the ground like such rare birds
Pursuing gilded flies, and such he deems
Her honours, her emoluments, her joys.
Therefore in contemplation is his bliss,

Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth
She makes familiar with a Heaven unseen,
And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd.

END OF PART I.

K

SOLITUDE.

PART II.

SOLITUDE;

or, the

PERNICIOUS INFLUENCE OF A TOTAL SECLUSION FROM

SOCIETY UPON THE

MIND AND THE HEART.

CHAP. I.

Introduction.

SOLITUDE, in its strict and literal accepta. tion, is equally unfriendly to the happiness, and foreign to the nature of mankind. An inclination to exercise the faculty of speech, to interchange the sentiments of the mind, to indulge the affections of the heart, and to receive themselves, while they bestow on others, a kind assistance and support, drives men, by an ever active, and almost irresistible impulse, from Solitude to Society: and teaches them that the highest temporal felicity they are capable of enjoying, must be sought for in a suitable union of the sexes, and in a friendly intercourse with their fellow-creatures. The profoundest deductions of reason, the highest flights of fancy, the finest sensibilities of the heart, the happiest discoveries of science, and the most valuable productions of art, are feebly felt, and imperfectly enjoyed, in the cold and cheerless region of Solitude. It is not to the senseless rock, or to the passing gale, that we can satisfactorily com. municate our pleasures and our pains. The heavy sighs which incessantly transpire from the vacant bosoms of the solitary hermit and the