PHILOSOPHY, How charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Milton's Comus. Deluded man! who fondly proud of reason, But reason is the tyrant of the mind; Awakes our thoughts to all our cares and griefs; Smith's Princess of Parmis Philosophy consists not In airy schemes, or idle speculations : Thomson's Coriolanus. Reason! the hoary dotard's dull directress, Dr. Johnson's Irenes Alas! had reason ever yet the power Whitehead's Roman Father's There is a calm upon me→ Inexplicable stillness! which till now Did not belong to what I know of life. If that I did not know philosophy To be of all our vanities the motliest, The merest word that ever fool'd the ear From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem The golden secret, the sought "Kalon" found, And seated in my soul. Byron's Manfred, a. 3, s. 1. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 2. Serene philosophy, Effusive source of evidence and truth! And elegance of life. Much learned dust, Involves the combatants, each claiming truth, Thomson. And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend PITY. Cowper's Task, b. 3. I find a pity hangs upon his breasts, Like gentle dew, that cools all cruel passions. Howard's Duke of Lerma. Nature has cast me in so soft a mould, Dryden's All for Love. Her very judges wrung their hands for pity; Their old hearts melted in 'em as she spoke, And tears ran down upon their silver beards. Rowe's Lady Jane Grey, a. 5, s. 1. Those moving tears will quite dissolve my frame: They melt that soul which threats could never shake. Higgon's Generous Conqueror. The generous heart, Should scorn a pleasure which gives others pain. A Thomson's Sophonisba, a. 5, s. 2. generous warmth opens the hero's soul, And soft compassion flows where courage dwells. Ch. Johnson's Medæa. The brave are ever tender, And feel the miseries of suffering virtue. Martyn's Timoleon. Why clingest thou to my raiment ? Thy grasp of grief is stronger on my heartFor sterner oft our words than feelings are. Maturin's Bertram, a. 3, s. 2. The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, Byron's Doge of Venice, a. 2, s. 2. Pleasure never comes sincere to man: Dryden's Edipus. Methinks I've cast full twenty years aside, Of air that trembles thro' the window bears Unusual odour. Proctor's Mirandola, a. 1, s. 3. What's i' the air? Some subtle spirit runs thro' all my veins. How happy art thou man, when thou'rt no more Yield a shrot interval, and ease from pain! Ibid. Somervile's Chase, b. 3. Oh the dark days of vanity! while here, And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns. Young's Night Thoughts, n. 2. Whom call we gay? That honour has been long Cowper's Task, b. 1. Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song, Milton's Paradise Lost, b. I. POISON. It scatters pains, All sorts, and thro' all nerves, veins, and arteries, POPULARITY. I have no taste Of popular applause: The noisy praise O breath of public praise, Short-liv'd and vain! oft gain'd without desert, But of extremes :-Thou first begin'st with love He who can listen pleas'd to such applause, Mallett's Mustapha. Towards him they bend With awful reverence prone; and as a god Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 2. |