Obrázky na stránke

A world is

up in arms, and thou, a spot Not quickly found, if negligently sought, Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, Endur'st the brunt, and dar'st defy them all: And wilt thou join to this bold enterprise A bolder still, a contest with the skies? Remember, if He guard thee and secure, Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure; But if He leave thee, though the skill and pow'r Of nations, sworn to spoil thee and devour, Were all collected in thy single arm, And thou couldst laugh away the fear of harm, That strength would fail, oppos'd against the push And feeble onset of a pigmy rush.

Say not (and if the thought of such defence Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence) What nation amongst all my foes is free From crimes as base as any charg'd on me? Their measure fill’d, they too shall pay the debt, Which God, though long forborn, will not forget. But know that Wrath divine, when most severe, Makes justice still the guide of his career, And will not punish, in one miogled crowd, Them without light, and thee without a cloud.

Muse, hang this harp upon yon aged beech, Still murm’ring with the solemn truths

teach; And while at intervals a cold blast sings Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings, My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament A nation scourg'd, yet tardy to repent. I know the warning song is sung in vain ; That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain; But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd A blessing to my country and mankind, Reclaim the wand'ring thousands, and bring home A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam, Then place it once again between my knees; The sound of truth will then be sure to please: And truth alone, where'er my life be cast, In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste, Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last.


-doceas iter, et sacra ostia pandas.

Virg. En. G.

Ask what is human life-the sage replies,
With disappointment low'ring in his eyes,
A painful passage o'er a restless flood,
A vain pursuit of fugitive false good,
A scene of fancied bliss and heart-felt care,
Closing at last in darkness and despair.
The poor, inur'd to drudg’ry and distress,
Act without aim, think little, and feel less,
And no where, but in feign’d Arcadian scenes,
Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means.
Riches are pass'd away from hand to hand,
As fortune, vice, or folly may command;

As in a dance the pair that take the lead
Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed,
So shifting and so various is the plan,
By which Heav'n rules the mix'd affairs of man;
Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd,
The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud;
Bus'ness is labour, and man's weakness such,
Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much,

very sense of it foregoes its use,
By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse.
Youth lost in dissipation we deplore,
Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore;
Our years, a fruitless race without a prize,
Too many, yet too few to make us wise.

Dangling his cane about, and taking snuff, Lothario cries, What'philosophic stuffO querulous and weak!-whose useless brain Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain; Whose eye reverted weeps o'er all the past, Whose prospect shows thee a disheart'ning waste; Would age in thee resign his wintry reign, And youth invigorate that frame again, Renew'd desire would grace with other speech Joys always priz’d, when plac'd within our reach.

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For lift thy palsied head, shake off the gloom, That overhangs the borders of thy tomb, See Nature gay, as when she first began With smiles alluring her admirer man; She spreads the morning over eastern hills, Earth glitters with the drops the night distils; The Sun obedient at her call appears, To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears ; Banks cloth'd with flow’rs, groves fill’d with

sprightly sounds, Thy yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising

grounds, Streams edg’d with osiers, fattning ev'ry field, Where'er they flow, now seen and now conceald; From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet, Down to the very turf beneath thy feet, Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise, Or Pride can look at with indiff'rent eyes, All speak one language, all with one sweet voice Cry to her universal realm, Rejoice! Man feels the spur of passions and desires, And she gives largely more than he requires; Not that his hours devoted all to Care, Hollow-ey'd Abstinence, and lean Despair,

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