« ÎnapoiContinuați »
“ In exile or in dungeon drear “ Their mighty minds could banish fear; “ Thy heart no tenfold woes shall feel, “ 'Twas Virtue temper’d the rough steel, « And, by her heavenly fingers wrought, “ To me the precious present brought."
BY CHRISTOPHER SMART, M. A.
OFFSPRING of Folly and of Pride,
To all that's odious, all that's base allied;
Nurs'd up by Vice, by Pravity misled,
By pedant Affectation taught and bred :.
Away, thou hideous hell-born sprite,
Go, with thy looks of dark design,
Sullen, sour, and saturnine;
Fly to some gloomy shade, nor blot the goodly light,
Thy pianet was remote, when I was born;
'Twas Mercury that rul’d my natal morn,
What time the sun exerts his genial ray,
And ripens for enjoyment every growing day;
When to exist is but to love and sing,
And sprightly Aries smiles upon the spring.
There, in yon lonesome heath,
Which Flora, or Sylvanus never knew,
Where never vegetable drank the dew, Or beast or fowl attempts to breathe ;
Where Nature's pencil has no colours laid;
But all is blank, and universal shade; Vol. XIII,
Contrast to figure, motion, life, and light,
There may’st thou vent thy spite,
For ever cursing, and for ever curs’d,
Of all th' infernal crew the worst ;
The worst in genius, measure, and decree;
For envy, hatred, malice, are but parts of thee.
Or, wouldst thou change the scene, and quit thy den,
Behold the heaven-deserted fen,
Where Spleen, by vapours dense begot and bred,
Hardness of heart, and heaviness of head,
Have rais’d their darksome walls, and plac'd their
thorny bed; There may'st thou all thy bitterness unload,
There may'st thou croak, in concert with the toad. With thee the hollow howling winds shall join,
Nor shall the bittern her base throat deny; The querulous frogs shall mix their dirge with thine,
Th' ear piercing hern, and plover screaming high, While million humming gnats fit oestrum shall supply.
Away-away-behold an hideous band,
An herd of all thy minions are at hand :
Suspicion first with jealous caution stalks,
And ever looks around her as she walks,
With bibulous ear imperfect sounds to catch,
And prompt to listen at her neighbour's latch.
Next Scandal's meagre shade,
Foe to the virgins, and the Poet's fame,
A wither'd, time-deflower'd old maid,
That ne’er enjoy'd Love's ever sacred flame.
Hypocrisy succeeds with saint-like look,
And elevates her hands, and plods upon her book.
Next comes illiberal scambling Avarice,
Then Vanity and Affectation nice
See, she salutes her shadow with a bow,
As in short Gallic trips she minces by,
Starting Antipathy is in her eye,
And squeamishly she knits her scornful brow.
To thee, Ill-nature, all the numerous group
With lowly reverence stoop-
They wait thy call, and mourn thy long delay:
Away—thou art infectious-haste away.
BY SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D.
more, thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With Avarice painful vigils keep,
Still unenjoy'd the present store,
Still endless sighs are breath'd for more.
O quit the shadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys!
To purchase Heaven has gold the power?
Can gold remove the mortal hour?
In life can Love be bought with gold ?
Are Friendship's pleasures to be sold?
No-all that's worth a wish, a thought,
Fair Virtue gives, unbrib’d, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.
With Science tread the wondrous way,
Or learn the Muse's moral lay ;
In social hours indulge thy soul,
Where Mirth and Temperance mix the bowl;
To virtuous Love resign thy breast,
And be by blessing Beauty blest.