How oft the laughing brow of Joy
A sick'ning heart conceals;
And thro' the cloister's deep recc9
Invading Sorrow steals!
In vain, thro' beauty, fortune, wit,
The fugitive we trace;
It dwells not in the faithless smile
That brightens Clodia's face.
Perhaps the joy to these denied,
The heart in friendship finds;
Ah! dear delusion, gay conceit
Of visionary minds!
Howe'er our varying notions rove,
Yet all agree in one,
To place its being in some state
At distance from our own.
O blind to each indulgent aim
Of power supremely wise,
Who fancy Happiness in aught
The hand of Heaven denies!
Vain is alike the joy we seek,
And vain what we possess,
Unless harmonious Reason tunes
The passions into peace.
To temper'd wishes, just desires,
Is Happiness confin'd;
And, deaf to Folly's call, atten
The music of the mind.
NOT winds to voyages at sea,
Nor showers to earth more necessary be
(Heaven's vital seed cast on the womb of earth
To give the fruitful year a birth)
Than Verse to Virtue; which can do
The midwife's office and the nurse's too;
It feeds it strongly, and it clothes it gay,
And, when it dies, with comely pride
Embalms it, and erects a Pyramid
That never will decay,
Till heaven itself shall melt away,
And nought behind it stay.
Begin the song, and strike the living lyre;
Lo! how the years to come, a numerous and well-fitted All hand in hand do decently advance,
And to my song with smooth and equal measures dance;
Whilst the dance lasts, how long soe'er it be,
My music's voice shall bear it company;
Till all gentle notes be drown'd
In the last trumpet's dreadful sound:
That to the spheres themselves shall silence bring,
Untune the universal string:
Then all the wide-extended sky,
And all th' harmonious worlds on high,
And Virgil's sacred work, shall die.
And he himself shall see in one fire shine
Rich Nature's ancient Troy, tho' built by hands divine.
Whom thunder's dismal noise,
And all that prophets and apostles ouder spake,
And all the creatures' plain conspiring voice
Could not, whilst they liv'd, awake,
This mightier sound shall make
When dead t' arise;
And open tombs, and open eyes,
To the long sluggards of five thousand years!
This mightier sound shall make its hearers ears.
Then shall the scatter'd atoms crowding come
Back to their ancient home.
Some from birds, from fishes some,
Some from earth, and some from seas,
Some from beasts, and some from trees,
Some descend from clouds on high,
Some from metals upwards fly,
And where th'attending soul naked and shiveringstands,
Meet, salute, and join their hands;
As dispers'd soldiers, at the trumpet's call,
Haste to their colours all.
Unhappy most like tortur❜d men,
Their joints new set, to be new rack'd again;
To mountains they for shelter pray,
The mountains shake, and run about no less confus'd than they.
Stop, stop, my Muse! allay thy vigorous heat,
Kindled at a hint so great;
Hold thy Pindaric Pegasus closely in,
Which does to rage begin,
And this steep hill would gallop up with violent course; 'Tis an unruly and a hard-mouth'd horse,
Fierce and unbroken yet,
Impatient of the spur or bit;
Now prances stately, and anon flies o'er the place;
Disdains the servile law of any settled pace.
Conscious and proud of his own natural force,
"Twill no unskilful touch endure,
But fings writer, and reader too, that sits not sure
WHEN restless on my bed I lie,
Still courting sleep, which still will fly,
Then shall reflection's brighter power
Illume the lone and midnight hour.
If hush'd the breeze and calm the tide,
Soft will the stream of memory glide,
And all the past, a gentle train,
Waked by remembrance, live again.
Perhaps that anxious friend I trace,
Belov'd till life's last throb shall cease,
Whose voice first taught a Saviour's worth,
And future bliss unknown on earth.
His faithful counsel, tender care,
Unwearied love, and humble prayer;
O these still claim the grateful tear,
And all my drooping courage cheer.
If loud the wind, the tempest high,
And darkness wraps the sullen sky,
I muse on life's tempestuous sea,
And sigh, O Lord, to come to thee.
Toss'd on the deep and swelling wave,
O mark my trembling soul, and save;
Give to my view that harbour near,
Where thou wilt chase each grief and fear.
THERE'S grandeur in the sounding storm,
That drives the hurrying clouds along,
That on each other seem to throng,
And mix in many a varied form;
While, bursting now and then between,
The moon's dim misty orb is seen,
And casts faint glimpses on the green.
Beneath the blasts the forests bend,
And thick the branchy ruin lies,
And wide the shower of foliage flies,
The lake's black waves in tumult blend;
Revolving o'er, and o'er, and o'er,
And foaming on the rocky shore,
Whose caverns echo to their roar.
The sight sublime enwraps my thought,
And swift along the past it strays,
And much of strange event surveys,
What History's faithful tongue has taugh
Or Fancy form'd, whose plastie skill
The page with fabled change can fill,
Of ill to good, or good to ill.
But can my soul the scene enjoy
That rends another's breast with pain?
O helpless he who near the main,
Now sees its billowy rage destroy.
Beholds the foundering bark descend,
Nor knows but what its fate may end
The moments of his dearest friend.
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