« ZurückWeiter »
0 H A P. X X. Elegy to a young Nobleman leaving the
Front Cam's smooth margin , and the peaceful Where Science call’d tkee to her studious quire,
And met thee musing in her cloisters pale : O! let thy friend (and may he boast the name )
Breathe from his artless reed one parting lay! A lay like this thy early Virtues claim,
And this let voluntary friendship pay.
When all those Virtues, opening now so fair, Transplanted to the world's tempestuous clime, Must learn each Passion's boist'rous breath to
bear. There if Ambition, pestilent and pale,
Or luxury should taint their vernal glow; If cold Self-interest, with her chilling gale,
Should blast th’unfolding blossomsere they blow; If mimic hues, by Art, or Fashion spread,
Their genuine , simple colouring should supply; 0! with them may these laureate honours fade;
And with them (if it can) my friendship die.
Cautious I strike the panegyric string;
And vainly vent'rous, soars on waxen wing. Too actively awake at Friendship's voice,
The poet's bosom pours the fervent strain, 'Till sad reflection blames the hasty choice,
And oft invokes Oblivion's aid in vain.
Condemn me, if I check the plausive string :
Muse would wish to sing, Be styll Thyself: that open path of Truth,
Which led thee here, let Manhood firm pursue; Retain the sweet simplicity of Youth,
And all thy virtue dictates , dare to do. Still scorn, with conscious pride, the mask of Art;
On Vice's front let fearful Caution lour, And teach the diffident, discreeter part
Of knaves that plot, and fools that fawn for porver. So, round thy brow when age's honours spread, When death's cold hand unstrings thy Mason's
lyre, When the green turf lies lightly on his head,
Thy worth shall some superior bard inspire : He to the amplest bounds of Time's domain,
On Rapture's plume shall give thy Name to fly; For trust, with rev'rence trust this Sabine strain: «The Muse forbids the virtuous Man to die. »
CH A P X X I.
very moment, death
Whence, tumbling headlong from the height of life,
stand Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, And point the partinganguish!Thought fondman Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, That one incessant struggle render life One scene of toil, of suflering, and of fate, Vice in his high career would stand appallid, And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think : The conscious heart of Charity would warm, And her wide wish Benevolence dilate; The social tear w.suid rise, the social sigh; And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, Refining still, the social passions work. THOMSON.
CHA P. X X I I. Reflections on a future State. ' T is done!-dread Winter spreads his latest
thoughts Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life? All now are vanish'd! Virtue sole survives,
i pass some few
Immortal never-failing friend of Man,
the glorious morn! the second birth
awhile, And what your bounded view, which only saw A little part, deem'd Evil, is no more. The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass, And one unbounded Spring encircle all.
THOMSON. C H A P. X X II I.
E wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer:
And to the mercies of a moment leaves
Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears
y, not to scorn a fool; And scarce in human Wisdom to do more. All promise is poor dilatory man, And that thro' every stage. When young, indeed, In full content, we sometimes nobly rest Un-anxious for ourselves; and only wish, As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise... At thirty , man suspects himself a fool; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; At aly, chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to Resolre; In all the magnanimity of thought, Resolves, and re-resolves, then dies the same.
And why? Because he thinks himself immortal. All men think all men niortal, but themselves ; Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate Strikes throʻtheir wounded hearts the sudden dread; But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon close; where past the shaft, no trace is found. As from the wing no scar the sky retains; The parted wave no furrow from the keel; So dies in human hearts the thought of death. Ev'n with the tender tear which nature sheds D'er those we love, we drop it in their grave.