The Almighty word, which form'd this ball,
Made man for man, and all for all.
Taste!-if with me thou deign to dwell,
Let signs like these thy influence tell;
Mode, whim, expense, and awkward pain
Usurp thy semblance all in vain ;
Invention with proportion join'd,
Ardour corrected, strength refined
Announce (in spite of proud pretence)
The child of Genius and of Sense!
O THOU! to whom these lines belong,
Inspirer of the languid song,
In apathy my senses steep,
Or lull them in the arms of sleep;
Deaden each active power of soul;
Reflection's deep felt pangs control;
Quench Fancy's beam-Enough to know
Our present state, or joy or woe.
For ills to come as yet are not;
Those past are nothing if forgot.
This state, by Dulness realized,
Is to be envied, not despised.
If ills the thinking mind annoy,
Stupidity is surely joy.
Of calm Indifference possess'd,
And by unfeeling Folly bless'd,
Her son, unmoved, with tearless eye,
Beholds a friend or mistress die :
Unmoved by the wild shrieks of pain;
Unmoved by want's imploring train;
Unmoved he views the widow's tears;
Unmoved the orphan's cry he hears.
On evils past, or those to come,
Disease, or Death's impending doom,
The dull ne'er muse, but wear away
In thoughtless ease life's transient day.
Should o'er their head Affliction lour,
And all its stores of sorrow pour,
Insensible they still remain-
Kind Dulness blunts the shafts of pain:
And gross Stupidity supplies
Those aids Philosophy denies.
But men who of their reason boast,
In idle speculation lost,
Who vainly plume themselves as wise,
With others' evils sympathize.
Their own misfortunes rend their heart
With keenest pangs and torturing smart.
They shudder at ideal ills;
And causeless care their bosom fills.
Does Mirth, at some auspicious hour,
O'er their sad breasts exert its power,
Reflection soon their joy controls,
And Melancholy sways their souls.
For Pleasures, when we analyze
And hold them forth to Reason's eyes,
A test so strong they cannot bear,
But melt like vapours into air.
Thus tricks display'd by juggler's sleight
No longer than they cheat delight.
O Queen of those who never think, With poppies pluck'd from Lethe's brink Be thy votary's temples crown'd, While sombrous vapours float around!
No more perplex'd with worldly cares,
Heedless of life's surrounding snares;
With soul that never quits its home,
But takes things easy as they come,
Be Dulness with Contentment mine!-
Let others reason and repine.
HAIL, Goddess of the vacant eye!
To whom my earliest vows were paid;
Whose prattle hush'd my infant cry,
As on thy lap supinely laid
I saw thee shake, in sportive mood,
Thy tinkling bells and antic hood.
Source of the sweets that never cloy,
Folly, indulgent parent, hail!
Thine are the charming draughts of joy
That childhood's ruby lips regale:
Thy hands with flowers the goblet crown,
And pour the' ingredients all thy own.
No fiery spirits enter there
To rouse the tingling nerves to pain,
Thy balmy cups, unbought with care,
Swim lightly o'er the tender brain;
Bland as the milky streams they flow,
Nor leave the pungent dregs of woe.
Gay partner of the schoolboy band,
Who charm'd the starting tear away;
What though beneath the pedant's hand
My flaxen head devoted lay,
Oft were my truant footsteps seen
In thy brisk gambols on the green.
Too soon those moments danced away;
My years to manhood onward drew,
And as my heart began to play,
My listless limbs more languid grew :
For now a thorn disturb'd my rest,
The wish of something unpossess'd.
At length with wonted pastimes tired,
Aside the boyish gawds I threw;
But when with expectation fired
I to the world's wide circle flew,
I look'd around with simple stare,
And found thee in broad features there.
There saw thee high in regal state,
Thy crowded clamorous orgies hold,
With bounding hands thy cymbals beat,
And wide thy tawdry flag unfold;
Whilst thy gay motley liveries shone
On myriads that begirt thy throne.
Thy devious path, sweet Power, I join'd:
Through fancied fields of bliss we stray'd,
A thousand wonders we design'd,
A thousand idle pranks we play'd;
Now grasp'd at glory's quivering ray,
And now in Chloe's chains we lay.
But, Folly, why prolong my verse
To sing the laughter-loving age?
Or what avails it to rehearse
Thy triumphs on the youthful stage
Where Wisdom, if she claims a place,
Sits ever with an awkward grace?
For now, even now in riper years,
Smit with thy many-colour'd vest,
Oft I renounce my cautious fears,
And clasp thee to my thoughtless breast; Enough that in Presumption's mien Beneath my roof thou ne'er art seen:
That, as my harmless course I run,
The world through candid lights I view, And still with generous pity shun The moody, moping, serious crew; Since what they fondly vainly prize, Is ever, ever to be wise.
TO A FOUNTAIN.
SEQUESTER'D fountain! ever pure,
Whose placid streamlet flows,
In silent lapse, through glens obscure,
Where timid flocks repose:
Tired and disabled in the race,
I quit Ambition's fruitless chase,
To shape my course by thine;
And, pleased, from serious trifles turn,
As thus around thy little urn
A votive wreath I twine.
Fair fountain! on thy margin green
May tufted trees arise,
And spreading boughs thy bosom screen
From summer's fervent skies ;—
Here may the Spring her flowerets strew,
And Morning shed her pearly dew,
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