Her votaries? What avails from iron chains
Exempt, if rosy fetters bind as fast?

Bestir, and answer your creation's end.
Think we that man, with vig'rous pow'r endow'd
And room to stretch, was destin'd to fit ftill?
Sluggards are Nature's rebels, slight her laws,
Nor live up to the terms on which they hold
Their vital lease. Laborious terms and hard ;
But such the tenure of our earthly state !
Riches and fame are Industry's reward; ;
The nimble runner courses Fortune down,
And then he banquets, for the feeds the bold.

Think what you owe your country, what yourself.
If splendor charm not, yet avoid the scorn
That treads on lowly stations. . Think of some
Asliduous booby mounting o'er your head,
And thence with faucy grandeur looking down :
Think of (Reflection's stab!) the pitying friend
With shoulder Ihrugg'd and forry. Think that Time
Has golden minutes, if discreetly seiz'd:
And if some sad example, indolent,
To warn and scare be wanting--think of me.



RE yet, ingenuous Youth ! thy steps retire

From Cam's smooth margin, and the peaceful vale, Where Science call'd thee to her studious quire,

And met thee musing in her cloysters pale ; 0! let thy friend (and may he boast the name) Breathe from his artless reed one parting lay!

A lay

G 5

A lay like this thy early virtues claim,

And this let voluntary Friendfhip pay.
Yet know, the time arrives, the dangerous time,

When all thofe Virtues, opening now fo fair,
Transplanted to the world's tempestuous clime,

Muit learn each Pallion's boist'rous breath to bear. There if Ambition; pestilent and pale,

Or Luxury should taint their vernal glow: If cold Self-interest, with her chilling gale,

Should blast th? unfolding bloffoms ere they blow; If mimic hues, by Art, or Fashion fpread,

Thiir genuine, simple colouring, should supply ! O! with them may these laureat honours fade; And with them (if it can). my Friendfhip die.

And do not blame, if, tho' thyself inspire, Cautious I strike the panegyric string ; 'The Mufe full oft pursues a meteor fire,

And vainly vent'rous, soars on waxen wing, Too actively awake at Friendship's voice.

The poet's bosom pours the fervent strain,
Till lad Reflection blames the hasty choice,

And oft invokes Oblivion's aid in vain.
Go then, my Friend ! nor let thy candid breast

Condemn me, if I check the plausive string :
Go to the wayward world; complete the reit:

Be, what the porest Muse wou'd with to fing. Be still thyself; that open path of Truth,

Which led thee here, let Manhood firm pursue ;
Retain the sweet fimplicity of Youth,

And all thy virtue dictates, dare to do.
Still fcorn, with confcicus pride, the mask of Art!
On Vice's front let fearful Caution lour,


And teach the diffident, discreeter part

Of knaves that ploc, and fools that fawn for pow'r. So, round thy brow when Age’s honours spread,

When Death's cold hand unftrings thy Mason's lyre, When the green turf lies lightly on his head,

Thy worth shall fome fuperior bard inspire : He to the amplest bounds of Time's domain,

On Rapture's plume shall give thy name to fly; For trust, with rev'rence truff this Sabian strain; "The Mufe forbids the virtuóu's Man to die.”


Ah little think the gay licentious proud,
Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround;
They, who their thoughtless hours' in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel, riot waste !
Ah little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death,
And all the fad variety of pain !
How many fink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame : how many bleed,
By shameful variance betwixt Man and Man:
How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms; :
Shut from the common air, and common use
Of their own limbs : How many drink the cup
Of baleful Grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of Misery : fore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless Poverty; how many shake


With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse:
Whence, tumbling headlong from the height of life,
They furnith matter for the Tragic Muse :
Even in the vale, where Wisdom loves to dwell,
With Friendship, Peace, and Contemplation join'd,
How many rack'd, with honeft passions, droop,
In deep retir'd distress : how


Around the death bed of their dearest friends,
And point the parting anguish !--Thought fond man
Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
That one incessant struggle render life
One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate,
Vice in his high career would stand appallid,
And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think :
The conscious heart of Charity would warm,
And her wide wish Benevolence dilate ;
The social tear would rise, the social figh;
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,
Refining still, the social passions work,



REFLECTIONS ON A FUTURE STATE. 'Tis dene!--dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year, How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! How dumb the tuneful! horror wide extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond Man! See here thy pictur'd life; pass some few years : Thy flow'ring Spring, thy Summer's ardeat strength,


Thy sober Autumn fading into age,
And pale concluding Winter comes at last,
And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are filed
Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes
Of happiness ? those longings after fame?
Those restless cares? those busy bustling days ?
Those gay-spent festive nights ? those veering thoughts
Loft between good and ill, that Mar'd thy life?
All now are vanilk'd! Virtue sole survives,
Immortal never

r- failing friend of Man,
His guide to happiness on high-And see !
•Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth
Of heaven and earth! awakening Nacure hears
The new-creating word, and itarts to life,
In every heighten'd form, from pain and death
For ever free. The great eternal scheme
Involving all, and in a perfect whole
Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads,
To Reason's


refin'd clears up apace.
Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous ! now,
Confounded in the dust, adore that Power,
And Wisdom oft arraign’d: see now the cause,
Why unassuming worth in secret liv'd,
And dy'd neglected! why the good man's share
In life was gall and bitterness of soul !
Why the lone widow, and her orphans, pin'd
In starving folitude, while Luxury
In palaces lay straining her low thought
To form unreal wants ! why heav'n-born Truth,
And Moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of Superstition's scourge! why licens'd Pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe,


« VorigeDoorgaan »