We gaze and turn away, and know not where, Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart Reels with its fulness; there for ever thereChain'd to the chariot of triumphal art,

We stand as captives, and would not depart. Away! there need no words, nor terms precise, The paltry jargon of the marble mart

Where pedantry gulls folly-we have eyes:

Blood, pulse, and breast, confirm the Dardan shepherd's prize.

VESSEL.

(Life Compared to one)

BYRON.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;

Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm ;
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,

That, hush'd in grim repose, expect his evening prey.

GRAY.

VICE. (Dunger of Familiarity with)
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet, seen too oft, familiar with her face,

We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

VICES. (Various Kinds of)

Porz.

Some future strain, in which the muse shall tell How science dwindles, and how volumes swell; How commentators each dark passage shun, And hold their farthing candle to the sun; How tortur'd texts to speak our sense are made, And every vice is to the Scripture laid;

How misers squeeze a young voluptuous peer,
His sins to Lucifer not half so dear;
How Versus is less qualified to steal

With sword and pistol, than with wax and seal;
How lawyers' fees to such excess are run,
That clients are redress'd till they're undone :
How one man's anguish is another's sport,
And ev'n denials cost us dear at court;
How man eternally false judgments makes,
And all his joys and sorrows are mistakes.

VILLAGE.

YOUNG.

(Auburn, its Beauties)

Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer the labouring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd; Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when ev'ry spot could please; How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! How often have I paus'd on every charm, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made! How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree! While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd ; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round; And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;

The dancing pair that simply sought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down;
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love,

The matron's glance that would these looks reprove; These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these

With sweet succession taught ev'n toil to please; These round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence shed; These were thy charms-but all these charms are fled.

VILLAIN.

GOLDSMITH.

(Sight of, Tempting to Evil)

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds,
Makes deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd,

Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame,
This murder had not come into my mind.
Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause,
When I spake darkly what I purposed;
Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face,
As bid me tell my tale in express words;

Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off,

And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me. SHAKSPEARE

In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half

hung,

The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw,
With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,

Great Villiers lies-alas! how chang'd from him
That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim!
Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove,
The bow'r of wanton Shrewsbury and love;
Or just as gay, at council, in a ring
Of mimic statesmen, and their merry king,
No wit to flatter left of all his store!

No fool to laugh at, which he valued more.
There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends,
And fame-this lord of useless thousands ends.

VIRTUE. (Its Prize)

POPE.

What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy,
Is virtue's prize: a better would you fix?
Then give humility a coach and six,
Justice a conqu'ror's sword, or truth a gown,
Or public spirit its great cure, a crown.

WAR. (Beacon Blaze of)

So pass'd the day-the evening fell,
'Twas near the time of curfew bell;
The air was mild, the wind was calm,
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm ;
E'en the rude watchman, on the tower,
Enjoyed and bless'd the lovely hour.
Far more fair Margaret lov'd and bless'd
The hour of silence and of rest.

On the high turret sitting lone,

She waked at times the lute's soft tone;
Touch'd a wild note, and, all between,
Thought of the bower of hawthorns green.
Her golden hair stream'd free from band,
Her fair cheek rested on her hand,

POPE.

Her blue eyes sought the west afar,
For lover's love the western star.
Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Fen,
That rises slowly to her ken,

And spreading broad its wavering light,
Shakes its loose tresses on the night?
Is yon red glare the western star?-
O, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war!

Scarce could she draw her tighten'd breath,
For well she knew the fire of death!
The warder view'd its blazing strong,
And blew his war-note loud and long.
Till at the high and haughty sound,
Rock, wood, and river, rang around.
The blast alarmed the festal hall,
And startled forth the warriors all;
Far downward in the castle-yard,
Full many a torch, and cresset glar'd;
And helms, and plumes, confusedly toss'd,
Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost;
And spears in wild disorder shook,
Like reeds beside a frozen brook.
The seneschal, whose silver hair
Was redden'd by the torches' glare,
Stood in the midst, with gesture proud,
And issued forth his mandate loud-
"On Penchryst glows a ball of fire,

And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire."

SCOTT.

Prostrate in the dust

Those walls were laid, and towns and temples stood Tottering in frightful ruins, as the flame

Had left them, black and bare; and through the

streets,

All with the recent wreck of war bestrewn,