Alas! that art so seldom can deceive II. What seek ye here? Joy's evenescent bloom! SMITH. Such faith has pliant youth: I since have seen Hal, Falstaff, Quickly, Hotspur's fiery spleen, To Cook, to Keen, to Matthews' matchless art Of mimic nature; actors not a few, Nor worthless seen; have felt the warm tear start, In tragic passion; joined in laughter too, Not less sincere: yet none could e'er impart Feelings that equalled, in intense delight, INDOLENCE. I. Here naught but candour reigns, indulgent ease, THOMPSON. How soon, alas! impediments arise In virtue's paths: the stripling that could dare Each adverse height, how sinks he in despair, At toils unseen, at labours that surprise, In mid career, his inexperienced eyes. The stated tasks grow irksome; daily care, And nightly study health and hope impair, Till courage droops, and young ambition dies. Yet sink not so, fond youth! e'en now the chain Of sloth is round thee: siren Pleasure wins Thy heart, yet virtuous, but to venal sins, Mere freaks of youthful folly; but her reign, Though oft in harmless sport the course begins, Brings Vice full soon, with misery in her train. II. Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's treasure, SCOTT. "Oh! call not Pleasure Vice; nor seek to balk Thou need'st not sure condemn; nor evening walk, The world, perchance, my idleness might deem Each vale exploring, and each secret nook; In streams of thought, that murmured like a brook. II. And we were canopied by the blue sky, BYRON. Deem not such hours mispent, though not confined Is working for itself the problem out Of some deep truth, or solving subtle doubt. In these broad diagrams, by nature lined On hill and plain, the studious thought may find Solution that puts servile fear to rout. On yonder bank, while basking in the sun, How deeply hath the varied prospect wrought On our wrapt souls! how purified each thought, From low desire, from selfish feelings won, To virtue's lore, by liberal nature taught. AMBITION. His frame of mind was serious and severe, WALLENSTEIN. Yet loved I better, Bird! at times, with thee, To watch, with kindling eye, the world of men, And frame high schemes of action; idle then, And haply ill advised; yet generous, free, In pride of youth, that scorned servility, And mocked at baseness. Oft, entranced, we dwelt On glowing annals of the olden time, The Greek, or Roman, till our bosoms felt Congenial ardour; oft in thought sublime, Statesmen ourselves, or warriors! dealt the blow, In fancied combat with our country's foe, When tyrants menaced: nor less eager bent, In halls of state, on public cares intent, To rise supreme, and rule the crowd below! How different, yet not adverse, was the strain Of tranquil hope, what time, day's labours o'er, I wandered oft, well pleased, along the plain, Stevens! with thee; indulging thoughts that soar, Humble, yet high, above ambition's aim. The setting sun, and fading twilight wrought, Oft in our minds, oblivion of low thought, And selfish cares; till, kindling as it came, Our hearts grew holy in devotion's flame. Not cowled, nor cloistered, nor with venom fraught Of fierce contentious zeal, or bigot pride, Came mild Religion there; but robed in might Of meek humility, and reason's light, Our sorrow's comforter, and virtue's guide. |