Imatges de pàgina

Yet thou art beautiful, O earth!'

But what is beauty now to me?
What the bright summer's laughing mirth,

Or autumn's joyous revelry ?
Away, away, my spirit flies,

Away, a way, to realms unknown; Where love, untouched by sorrow, lies,

And peace erects her endless throne. I've tried thee, and have found thee vain;

I grasp'd thee, and embrac'd a shade ; Why tempt me then to turn again?

Whelm not the wreck thy hopes have made. From year to year, in restless toil,

I're followed on in search of peace,
And found but envy's scornful smile;

And ended but in wretchedness.
There was a time,--hope then was young,

When ev'ry path a garden seem'd;
When pleasure urged the hours along,

And life with endless prospects beam'd : But, like the phantom of a dream,

With life's first dawn it passed away, And sunk,-as sinks the crimson beam,

When darkness ends the setting day. Adieu, thou fading world! adieu !

In other lands my treasure lies ; With calm indifference I view

Thy pleasant fields, thy sunny skies. To me no more thy beauty brings

A single trace of pleasure here; Nor can it touch the thousand strings

That kindle hope, or waken fear. Still thou art beautiful, 0 earth!

But what are all thy charms to me? What the bright summer's laughing mirth,

Or autumn's joyous revelry? Away, away, my spirit flies,

Away, away, to realms unknown; Where joy, untouched by sorrow, lies,

And peace erects her endless throne.


See science now in lovelier charms appear,
Grac'd with new garlands from the blooming fair ;
See laurel'd nymphs in polished pages shine,
And sapphire sweetness glow in every line.
No more the rougher muse shall dare disgrace
The radiant charms that deck the blushing face;
But rising beauties scorn the tinsel show,
The powdered coxcomb and the flaunting beau ;
While humble merit, void of flattering wiles,
Claims the soft glance, and wakes enlivening smiles.
The opening luster of an angel-mind,
Beauty's bright charms with sense superior join'd,
Bid virtue shine, bid truth and goodness rise,
Melt from the voice, and sparkle from the eyes ;
While the pleased muse the gentle bosom warms,
The first in genius, as the first in charms.
Thus age and youth a smiling aspect wear,
Aw'd into virtue by the leading fair;
While the bright offspring, rising to the stage,
Conveys the blessings to the future age.

These are the views that freedom's cause attend;
These shall endure till time and nature end.
With science crown'd, shall peace and virtue shine,
And blest religion beam a light divine.
Here the pure church, descending from her God,
Shall fix on earth her long and last abode;
Zion arise, in radiant splendors dress'd,
By saints admired, by infidels confess'd;
Her opening courts, in dazzling glory blaze,
Her walls salvation, and her portals praise.


Honor and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honor lies.
Fortune in men has some small difference made ;
One flaunts in rags; one flutters in brocade;
The cobler aprou'd, and the parson gown'd;
The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.
“What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?"
I'll tell you, friend! A wise man and a fool.
You'll find if once the wise man acts the monk,
Or, cobler-like, the parson will be drunk;
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow;

The rest is all but leather or prunella.
Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood,
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood;
Go! and pretend your family is young;
Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.
What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.

Look next on greatness. Say where greatness lies:
Where, but among the heroes and the wise.
Heroes are all the same, it is agreed,
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede.
The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find,
Or make, an enemy of all mankind.
Not one looks backward, onward still he goes ;
Yet ne'er looks forward farther than his nose.
No less alike the politic and wise ;
All sly, slow things, with circumspective eyes ;
Men in their loose, unguarded hours they take;
Not that themselves are wise; but others weak,
But grant that those can conquer; these can cheat ;
'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great.
Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,
Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.
Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
Or, falling, smiles in exile, or in chains,
Like good Aurelius let him reign; or bleed
Like Socrates; that man is great indeed!

What's fame? A fancied life in other's breath; A thing beyond us, even before our death. Just what you hear's your own; and what's unknown, The same (my lord!) if Tully's or your own. All that we feel of it, begins and ends In the small circle of our foes and friends; To all besides as much an empty shade, An Eugene living, as a Cæsar dead; Alike, or when or where they shone, or shine, Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine. A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod; An honest man's the noblest work of God. Fame, but from death a villain's name can save, As justice tears his body from the grave; When what t'oblivion better were consign'd Is hung on high, to poison half mankind. All fame is foreign, but of true desert ; Plays round the head; but comes not to the heart. One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas;

Avd more true joy, Marcellus exil'd feels,
Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels.

In parts superior what advantage lies ?
Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise?
'Tis but to know how little can be known:
To see all others' faults, and feel our own:
Condemn’d in business or in arts to drudge,
Without a second and without a judge.
Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land,
All fear, none aid you, and few understand.
Painful pre-eminence! yourself to view
Above life's weakness, and its comforts 100.

Bring then these blessings to a strict account;, Make fair deductions: see to what they 'mount; How much of other each is sure to cost; How each for other oft is wholly lost; How inconsistent greater goods with these; How sometimes life is risk'd, and always ease; Think; and if still such things thy envy call, Say, would'st thou be the man to whom they fall? To sigh for ribbons if thou art so silly, Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy. Is yellow dirt ihe passion of thy life? Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife. If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd, The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind; Or, ravish'd with the whistling of a name, See Cromwell, damn’d to everlasting fame : If all united thy ambition call, From ancient story learn to scorn them all.

• Turn, gentle hermit of he dale,

And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the vale

With hospitable ray.
For here forlorn and lost I tread,

With fainting steps and slow ;
Where wilds immeasurably spread,

Seem length’ning as I go.'
• Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries,

• To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies,

To lure thee to thy doom.

Here to the houseless child of want

My door is open still; And though my portion is but scant,

I give it with good-will. Then turn to-night, and freely share

Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch, and frugal fare,

My blessings and repose. No flocks that range the valley free,

To slaughter I condemn;
Taught by that Power that pities me,

I learn to pity them.
But from the mountain's grassy side

A guiltless feast I bring ;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,

And water from the spring. Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ;

All earth-born cares are wrong : Man wants but little here below,

Nor wants that little long.'
Soft as the dew from heaven descends,

His gentle accents fell:
The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure,

The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighboring poor,
And strangers

led astray. No stores beneath its humble thatch,

Requir'd a master's care;
The wicket, opening with a latch,

Receiv'd the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire,

To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,

And cheer'd his pensive guest : And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily press'd, and smil'd; And skill'd in legendary lore,

The ling'ring hours beguiled.

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