From Virtue's rugged path to right, By pleasure are we brought
To flowery fields of wrong, and there Pain chides us for our fault:
Yet whilst it chides it speaks of peace, If folly is withstood,
And says, Time pays an easy price, For our eternal good.
In earth's dark cot, and in an hour, And in delusion great,
What an economist is man!
To spend his whole estate,
And beggar an eternity! For which, as he was born,
More words than one against it weighed, As feathers he should scorn.
Say not your loss in triumph leads, Religion's feeble strife; Joys future amply reimburse Joys bankrupts of this life.
But not deferred your joy so long, It bears an early date; Affliction's ready pay in hand Befriends our present state.
What are the tears which trickle down Her melancholy face,
Like liquid pearl? like pearls of price, They purchase lasting peace.
Grief softens hearts, and curbs the will, Impetuous passion tames,
And keeps insatiate keen desire From launching in extremes.
'Twill sound severe-yet rest assured I'm studious of your peace;
Though I should dare to give you joy- Yes, joy of his decease.
An hour shall come, (you question this) An hour, when you shall bless, Beyond the brightest beams of life, Dark days of your distress.
Hear then, without surprise, a truth,
A daughter truth to this, Swift turns of fortune often tie A bleeding heart to bliss.
Esteem you this a paradox? My sacred motto read; A glorious truth, divinely sung By one whose heart had bled.
To resignation swift he flew; In her a friend he found;
A friend which blessed him with a smile, When gasping with his wound.
On earth nought precious is obtained But what is painful too;
By travel, and to travel born, Our sabbaths are but few.
To real joy we work our way, Encountering many a shock,
Ere found what truly charms, as found A Venus in the block.
In some disaster, some severe Appointment for our sins,
That mother-blessing, (not so called True happiness, begins.
No martyr e'er defied the flames
Through Time's dark womb, our judgment right, By stings of life unvexed;
If our dim eye was thrown,
Clear should we see the will divine Has but forestalled our own.
At variance with our future wish, Self-severed, we complain: If so, the wounded, not the wound, Must answer for the pain.
The day shall come, and swift of wing, Though you may think it slow, When, in the list of Fortune's smiles, You'll enter frowns of wo.
For mark the path of Providence; This course it has pursued, "Pain is the parent, wo the womb, Of sound important good:"
Our hearts are fastened to this world By strong and endless ties; And every sorrow cuts a string, And urges us to rise.
First rose some quarrel with this world, Then passion for the next.
You see then pangs are parent pangs, The pangs of happy birth; Pangs, by which only can be born True happiness on earth.
The peopled earth look all around, Or through times records run, And say, what is a man unstruck? It is a man undone.
This moment am I deeply stung- My bold pretence is tried.
When vain man boasts, heaven puts to prow The vauntings of his pride.
Now need I, Madam! your support.- How exquisite the smart! How critically timed the news* Which strikes me to the heart!
The death of Mr Richardson.
The pangs of which I spoke I feel:
If worth like thine is borne,
O long beloved! I bless the blow, And triumph whilst I mourn.
Nor mourn I long; by grief subdued Be reason's empire shown,
Deep anguish comes by heaven's decree, Continues by our own;
And when continued past its point, Indulged in length of time,
Grief is disgrace, and what was fate Corrupts into a crime.
And shall I, criminally mean, Myself and subject wrong? No; my example shall support The subject of my song.
Madam! I grant your loss is great, Nor little is your gain:
Let that be weighed; when weighed aright, It richly pays your pain.
When heaven would kindly set us free, And earth's enchantments end, It takes the most effectual means, And robs us of a friend.
But such a friend!—and sigh no more! 'Tis prudent, but severe : Heaven aid my weakness, and I drop All sorrow with this tear.
Perhaps your settled grief to sooth I should not vainly strive,
But with soft balm your pain assuage, Had he been still alive;
Whose frequent aid brought kind relief In my distress of thought,
Tinged with his beams my cloudy page, And beautified a fault.
To touch our passions' secret springs Was his peculiar care;
And deep his happy genius dived In bosoms of the fair.
Nature, which favours to the few All art beyond imparts,
To him presented, at his birth, The key of human hearts.
But not to me by him bequeathed His gentle smooth address;
His tender hand to touch the wound In throbbings of distress.
Howe'er, proceed I must, unblessed With Esculapian art:
Know, Love, sometimes, mistaken Love! Plays Disaffection's vart.
Nor lands, nor seas, nor suns, nor stars, Can soul from soul divide; They correspond from distant worlds, Though transports are denied.
Are you not then unkindly kind? Is not your love severe?
O! stop that crystal source of wo, Nor wound him with a tear.
As those above from human bliss Receive increase of joy,
May not a stroke from human wo,
In part their peace destroy?
He lives in those he left;-to what! Your now paternal care:
Clear from its clouds your brightened cya It will discern him there;
In features, not of form alone, But those, I trust of mind, Auspicious to the public weal, And to their fate resigned.
Think on the tempests he sustained, Revolve his battles won, And let those prophesy your joy From such a father's son.
Is consolation what you seek? Fan then his martial fire, And animate to flame the sparks Bequeathed him by his sire.
As nothing great is born in haste, Wise Nature's time allow; His father's laurels may descend, And flourish on his brow.
Nor, Madam! be surprised to hear, That laurels may be due Not more to heroes of the field (Proud boasters!) than to you.
Tender as is the female frame, Like that brave man you mourn, You are a soldier, and to fight Superior battles born.
Beneath a banner nobler far Than ever was unfurled
In fields of blood; a banner bright! High-waved o'er all the world;
It, like a streaming meteor, casts An universal light;
Sheds day, sheds more, eternal day, On nations whelmed in night. Beneath that banner, what exploit Can mount our glory higher, Than to sustain the dreadful blow When those we love expire?
Go forth a moral Amazon, Armed with undaunted thought; The battle won, though costing dear, You'll think it cheaply bought.
The passive hero, who sits down Inactive, and can smile Beneath Affliction's galling load, Outacts a Cæsar's toil.
The billows stained by slaughtered foes Inferior praise afford;
Reason's a bloodless conqueror More glorious than the sword.
Nor can the thunder of huzzas From shouting nations, cause
Such sweet delight, as from your heart Soft whispers of applause.
The dear deceased so famed in arms, With what delight he'll view His triumphs on the main outdone, Thus conquered twice by you!
Share his delight; take heed to shun Of bosoms most diseased
That odd distemper, and absurd Reluctance to be pleased.
Some seem in love with Sorrow's charms. And that foul fiend embrace; This temper let me justly brand And stamp it with disgrace.
Sorrow! of horrid parentage! Thou second-born of hell!
Against heaven's endless mercies poured How dar'st thou to rebel?
From black and noxious vapours bred, And nursed by want of thought, And to the door of Frenzy's self By Perseverance brought.
Thy most inglorious coward tears, From brutal eyes have ran; Smiles, incommunicable smiles! Are radiant marks of man; They cast a sudden glory round The illumined human face; And light, in sons of honest Joy, Some beams of Moses' face. Is Resignation's lesson hard? Examine, we shall find
That duty gives up little more Than anguish of the mind. Resign; and all the load of life l'hat moment you remove; Its heavy tax, ten thousand cares Devolve on One above;
Who bids us lay our burden down On his Almighty hand, Softens our duty to relief,
To blessing a command.
For joy what cause! how every sense Is courted from above,
The year around, with presents rich The growth of endless love!
But must o'erlook the blessings poured, Forget the wonders done,
And terminate, wrapt up in sense, Their prospect at the sun;
From that their final point of view, From that their radiant goal, On travel infinite of thought, Sets out the nobler soul.
Broke loose from Time's tenacious ties, And earth's involving gloom, To range at large its vast domain, And talk with worlds to come:
They let unmarked, and unemployed Life's idle moments run;
And doing nothing for themselves, Imagine nothing done.
Fatal mistake! their fate goes on, Their dread account proceeds, And their not-doing is set down Amongst their darkest deeds.
Though man sits still, and takes his ease, God is at work on man:
No means, no moments unemployed, To bless him, if he can.
But man consents not, boldly bent To fashion his own fate;
Man, a mere bungler in the trade, Repents his crime too late.
Hence loud laments. Let me thy cause, Indulgent Father! plead;
Of all the wretches we deplore, Not one by thee was made.
What is thy whole creation fair?
Of love divine the child:
Love brought it forth, and, from its birth, Has o'er it fondly smiled.
Now, and through periods distant far,
Long ere the world began,
Heaven is, and has in travail been, Its birth the good of man.
Man holds in constant service bound The blustering winds and seas; Nor suns disdain to travel hard, Their master, man, to please.
To final good the worst events Through secret channels run; Finish, for man, their destined course, As 'twas for man begun.
One point (observed, perhaps, by few) Has often smote, and smites My mind, as demonstration strong That heaven in man delights.
What's known to man of things unseen, Of future worlds or fates?
So much, nor more, than what to man's Sublime affairs relates.
What's revelation then? a list, An inventory just,
Of that poor insects goods so late Called out of night and dust.
What various motives to rejoice! To render joy sincere,
Has this no weight? Our joy is felt Beyond this narrow sphere.
Would we in heaven new heaven create, And double its delight?
A smiling world, when heaven looks down, How pleasing in its sight!
Angels stoop forward from the thrones To hear its joyful lays;
As incense sweet enjoy, and join, Its aromatic praise.
Have we no cause to fear the stroke
Of heaven's avenging rod, When we presume to counteract A sympathetic God?
If we resign, our patience makes His rod an harmless wand; If not, it darts a serpent's sting, Like that in Moses' hand;
Like that it swallows up whate'er Earth's vain magicians bring, Whose baffled arts would boast below Of joys a rival spring.
Consummate love! the list how large Of blessings from thy hand? To banish sorrow, and be blessed, s thy supreme command.
Are such commands but ill obeyed? Of bliss shall we complain?
The man who dares to be a wretch Deserves still greater pain.
Joy is our duty, glory, health; The sunshine of the soul; Our best encomium on the power Who sweetly plans the whole.
Joy is our Eden still possessed: Begone, ignoble Grief!
'Tis joy makes gods, and men exalte Their nature our relief:
Relief, for man to that must stoop, And his due distance know; Transport's the language of the skies, Content the style below.
Content is joy; and joy in pain Is joy and virtue too;
Thus, whilst good present we possess, More precious we pursue.
Of joy the more we have in hand The more have we to come; Joy, like our money, interest bears, Which daily swells the sum.
"But how to smile, to stem the tide Of nature in our veins;
Is it not hard to weep in joy? What then to smile in pains?"
Victorious joy! which breaks the clouds And struggles through a storm, Proclaims the mind as great as good, And bids it doubly charm.
If doubly charming in our sex, A sex by nature bold,
What then in yours? 'tis diamond there Triumphant o'er our gold.
And should not this complaint repress And check the rising sigh?
Yet farther opiate to your pain
I labour to supply.
Since spirits greatly damped distort Ideas of delight,
Look through the medium of a friend, To set your notions right.
As tears the sight, grief dims the soul; Its object dark appears;
True friendship, like a rising sun, The soul's horizon clears.
A friend's an optic to the mind With sorrow clouded o'er; And gives it strength of sight to see Redress unseen before.
Reason is somewhat rough in man; Extremely smooth and fair,
When she, to grace her manly strength, Assumes a female air.
A friend you have, and I the same, Whose prudent soft address
Will bring to life those healing thoughts, Which died in your distress.
That friend, the spirit of my theme Extracting for your ease,
Will leave me to the dreg, in thoughts Too common, such as these.
Let those lament, to whom full bowls Of sparkling joys are given; That triple bane inebriates life, Imbitters death, and hazards heaven.
Wo to the soul at perfect ease! "Tis brewing perfect pains;
Lulled Reason sleeps, the Pulse is king; Despotic Body reigns.
Have you ne'er pitied Joy's gay scenes, And deemed their glory dark? Alas, poor Envy! she's stone blind, And quite mistakes her mark:
Her mark lies hid in Sorrow's shades, But sorrow well subdued; And in proud Fortune's frown defied By meek, unborrowed good.
By Resignation; all in that A double friend may find,
A wing to heaven, and, while on earth, The pillow of mankind.
On pillows void of down for rest Our restless hopes we place;
When hopes of heaven lie warm at least, Our hearts repose in peace.
That peace which resignation yields, Who feel alone can guess:
'Tis disbelieved by murmuring minds, They must conclude it less.
The loss or gain of that alone Have we to hope or fear;
That Fate controls, and can invert The seasons of the year.
O! the dark days, the year around,
Of an impatient mind;
Through clouds, and storms, a summer breaks, To shine on the resigned.
While man, by that, of every grace And virtue is possessed,
Foul Vice her Pandemonium builds In the rebellious breast.
By Resignation we defeat
The worst that can annoy, And suffer with far more repose Than worldlings can enjoy.
From small experience this I speak; O grant to those I love Experience fuller far, ye powers Who form our fates above!
My love where due, if not to those Who leaving grandeur, came To shine on age in mean recess, And light me to my theme?
A theme themselves! a theme how rare! The charms which they display To triumph over captive heads, Are set in bright array.
With his own arms proud man's o'ercone, His boasted laurels die;
Learning and Genius, wiser grown, To female bosoms fly.
This revolution, fixed by Fate, In fable was foretold;
The dark prediction puzzled wits, Nor could the learned unfold.
But as those ladies' works I read, They darted such a ray,
The latent sense burst out at once, And shone in open day.
So burst full ripe distended fruits When strongly strikes the sun; And from the purple grape unpressed, Spontaneous nectars run.
Pallas, ('tis said) when Jove grew dull, Forsook his drowsy brain,
And sprightly leaped into the throne Of Wisdom's brighter reign;
Her helmet took; that this, shot rays Of formidable wit;
« PredošláPokračovať » |