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Thrown off to sea, and soon to perish there ;)
Will toys amuse ?-No: thrones will then be toys,
And earth and skies seem dust upon the scale.
Redeem we time !--its loss we dearly buy.
What pleads Lorenzo for his high-priz'd sports ?
He pleads time's num'rous blanks ; he loudly pleads
The straw-like trifles on life's common stream.
From whom those blanks and trifles, but from thee?
No blank, no trife, nature made or meant.
Virtue, or purpos’d virtue, still be thine :
This cancels thy complaint at once; this leaves
In act no trifle, and no blank in time.
This greatens, fills, immortalizes all :
This, the blest art of turning all to gold;
This, the good heart's prerogative to raise
A royal tribute, from the poorest hours."
Immense revenue ! every moment pays.
If nothing more than purpose in thy pow'r,
Thy purpose firm, is equal to the deed':
Who does the best his circumstance allows,
Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.
Our outward act, indeed, admits restraint;
'Tis not in things o'er thought to domineer;
Guard well thy thoughts ; our thoughts are heard in heavent
On all-important time, thro' ev'ry age,
Tho' much, and warm, the wise have urg'd ; the map
Is yet unborn, who duly weighs an hour. "
s I've lost a day”—the prince who nobly cried,
Had been an emperor without his crown.
He spoke, as if deputed by mankind.
So should all speak: so reason speaks in all.
From the soft whispers of that God in man,
Why fly to folly, why to phrenzy fly,.
For rescue from the blessing we possess ?
Time, the supreme !-Time is eternity;
Pregnant with all eternity can give,
Pregnant with all that makes arch-angels smile :
Who murders time, he crushes in the birth
A pow'r ethereal, only not ador'd. YOUNG.
LO! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours,
Fair Venus' train, appear;
Disclose the long-expected flow'rs,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo's note,
The untaught harmony of Spring ;
While whisp'ring pleasure as they fly,
Cool zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky
Their gather'd fragrance Aling. Foere or the oak's thick branches stretch
A broader, browner shade;
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech
O'er-canopies the glade ;
Beside some water's rushy brink,
With me the Muse shall sit and think
(At ease reclin'd in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud,
How indigent the great!
Still is the toiling hand of care ;
The panting herds repose ;
Yet hark, how thro’ the peopled air
The busy murmur glows !
The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honey'd spring,
And float amid the liquid noon :
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some show their gaily-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To contemplation's sober eye
Such is the race of man;
And they that creep, and they that ily,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the busy and the gay
But flutter thro’ life's little day,
In fortune's varying colours drest;
Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance,
Or chill'd by age, their airy dance
They leave in dust to rest. GRAY.
Description of winter at Copenhagen.
FROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow,
From streams that northern winds forbid to flow,
What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring,
Or how, so near the Pole, attempt to sing ?
The hoary winter here conceals from sight
All pleasing objects that to verse invite.
The hills and dales, and the delightful woods,
The flow'ry plains, and silver-streaming floods,
By snow disguis’d, in bright confusion lie,
And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye.
No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring ;
No birds within the desert region sing.
The ships, unmov'd, the boistrous winds defy,
While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly,
The vast leviathan wants room to play,
And spout his waters in the face of day.
The starving wolves along the main sea prowl,
And to the Moon in icy valleys howl.
For many a shining league the level main,
Here spreads itself into a glassy plain :
There solid billows, of enormous size,
Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise.
And yet but lately have I seen, e'en here,
The winter in a lovely dress appear.
Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow,
Or winds began through hazy skies to blow, ,
At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arose;
And the descending rain unsullied froze
Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view
The face of nature in a rich disguise,
And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes:
For ev'ry shrub, and ev'ry blade of grass,
And ev'ry pointed thorn seem'd wrought in glass.
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorn show,
While thro’ the ice the crimson berries glow.
The thick-sprung reeds the wat’ry marshes yield
Seem polishid lances in a hostile field.
The Stag, in limpid currents, with surprise .
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise.
The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing ether shine.
The frighted birds the rattling branches shun,
That wave and glitter in the distant sun.
Wben, if a sudden gust of wind arise,
The brittle forest into atoms flies;
The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends,
And in a spangled show'r the prospect ends :
Or if a southern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wint’ry charm,
The traveller a miry country sees,
And journeys sad beneath the dropping trees.
Like some deluded peasant Merlin leads
Thro fragrant bow'rs, and thro' delicious meads ;
While here enchanting gardens to him rise,
And airy fabrics there attract his eyes,
· His wand'ring feet the magic path pursue ;
And, while he thinks the fair illusion true,
The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny waves appear .
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns.-PHILLIPS. !
Now came still ev'ning on, and twilight gray
Had, in her sober liv'ry all things clad.
Silence accompanied; for beasts and birds,
Those to their grassy couch, these to their neste
Were slunk; all but the wakeful nightingale :
She all night long her plaintive descant sung.
Silence was pleas’d. Now glow'd the firmament
With living sapphires. Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light ;
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.
Night, sable power! from her ebon throne,
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden sceptre o’er a slumb'ring world.
Silence, how dead, and darkness how profound:
Nor eye, nor list’ning ear, an object finds :
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the gen'ral pulse
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause,
An awful pause! prophetic of her end. YOUNG.
Silent Nymph! with curious eye,
Who, the purple eve, dost lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of busy man,
Painting fair the form of things
While the yellow linnet sings;
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the forest with her tale.;
Come, with all thy various hues,
Come, and aid thy sister Muse. ,
Now, while Phoebus riding high,
Gives lustre to the land and sky,
Grongar hill invites my song,
Draw the landscape bright and strong;
Grongar! in whose mossy cells,
Sweetly musing quiet dwells ;
Grongar! in whose silent shade,
For the modest Muses made,
So oft I have, the ev'ning still,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sat upon a flow'ry bed,
With my hand beneath my head,
While stray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood,
Over mead and over wood,
From house to house, from hill to hill,
Till Contemplation had her fill.