HE DESCRIBES HIS DISINTERESTED NESS TO A FRIEND. I NE'ER must tinge my lip with Celtic wines; And from my grove I hear the throstle sing. To carve your loves, to paint your mutual flames, See vocal grots, and echoing vales assign'd! Wouldst thou, my Strephon, Love's delighted slave! Though sure the wreaths of chivalry to share, Forego the ribbon thy Matilda gave, And giving, bade thee in remembrance wear? Ill fare my peace, but every idle toy, If to my mind my Delia's form it brings, Has truer worth, imparts sincerer joy, Than all that bears the radiant stamp of kings. O my soul weeps, my breast with anguish bleeds, When Love deplores the tyrant pow'r of Gain! Disdaining riches as the futile weeds, I rise superior, and the rich disdain. Oft from the stream, slow-wandering down the glade, And to a ducat's dirty sphere confines. But come, my Friend! with tae, with science blest, Ere age impair me, and ere gold allure; Restore thy dear idea to my breast, The rich deposit shall the shrine secure. Let others toil to gain the sordid ore, The charms of independence let us sing; Bless'd with thy friendship, can I wish for more? I'll spurn the boasted wealth of Lydia's king '. TO FORTUNE, SUGGESTING HIS MOTIVE FOR REPINING AT HER Ask not the cause why this rebellious tongue 1 Crœsus. 'Tis not, that in my shed I lurk forlorn, Nor see my roof on Parian columns rise; That on this breast no mimic star is borne, Rever'd, ah! more than those that light the skies. "Tis not, that on the turf supinely laid, I sing or pipe, but to the flocks that graze; And, all inglorious, in the lonesome shade My finger stiffens, and my voice decays. Not, that my fancy mourns thy stern command, When many an embryo dome is lost in air; While guardian Prudence checks my eager hand, And ere the turf is broken, cries, Forbear: 'Forbear, vain Youth! be cautious, weigh thy gold, Nor let yon rising column more aspire; Ah! better dwell in ruins than behold Thy fortunes mouldering, and thy domes entire. 'Honorio built, but dar'd my laws defy; He planted, scornful of my sage commands; The peach's vernal bud regal'd his eye, The fruitage ripen'd for more frugal hands. 'See the small stream that pours its murmuring tide O'er some rough rock that would its wealth disDisplays it aught but penury and pride? [play, Ah! construe wisely what such murmurs say. 'How would some flood, with ampler treasures Disdainful view the scantling drops distil! [blest, How must Velino ' shake his reedy crest! I How every cygnet mock the boastive rill!' At noon the poor mechanic wanders home, Yes, I can patient view the shadeless plains ; To see it scarce survive a winter's day. That his rude voice, his grating reed's preferr'd? Let him exult, with boundless wealth supplied, Mine and the swain's reluctant homage share; But, ah! his tawdry shepherdess's pride, Gods! must my Delia, must my Delia bear? Submit to Marian's dress? to Marian's gold? Ye glittering daughters of Disguise, adieu!' Ah! what is native worth esteem'd of clowns? 'Tis thy false glare, O Fortune! thine they see; 'Tis for my Delia's sake I dread thy frowns, And my last gasp shall curses breathe on thee. HE COMPLAINS HOW SOON THE PLEASING NOVELTY OF LIFE IS OVER. TO MR. J. Ан me! my Friend! it will not, will not last! The weaken'd passions, self-subdued, obey. Scarce has the sun seven annual courses roll'd, Scarce shown the whole that Fortune can supply, Since not the miser so earess'd his gold As I, for what it gave, was heard to sigh. On the world's stage I wish'd some sprightly part, To deck my native fleece with tawdry lace! 'Twas life, 'twas taste, and-oh, my foolish heart! Substantial joy was fix'd in pow'r and place. And you, ye works of Art! allur'd mine eye, The breathing picture and the living stone: [deny, 'Though gold, though splendor, Heav'n and Fate Yet might I call one Titian stroke my own!' Smit with the charms of Fame, whose lovely spoil, The wreath, the garland, fire the poet's pride, I trimm'd my lamp, consum'd the midnight oilBut soon the paths of health and fame divide! |