« PreviousContinue »
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me.
Sounds inharmonious in themselves, and harsh,
Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,
And only there, please highly for their sake.
THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower; Which Mary to Anna convey'd ;
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower, And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret, On the flourishing bush where it grew.
I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd;
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapp'd it-it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part, Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart, Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile:
And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
Care of birds for their young.
AS THUS the patient dam assiduous sits,
Not to be tempted from her tender task,
Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight,
Tho' the whole loosen'd spring around her blows,
Her sympathising partner takes his stand
High on the opponent bank, and ceaseless sings
The tedious time away or else supplies
Her place a moment, while she sudden flits
To pick the scanty meal. The appointed time
With pious toil fulfill'd, the callow young,
Warm'd and expanded into perfect life,
Their brittle bondage break, and come to light,
A helpless family, demanding food
With constant clamour. O what passions then,
What melting sentiments of kindly care,
On the new parents seize! Away they fly
Affectionate, and undesiring bear
The most delicious morsel to their
Which equally distributed, again
The search begins. Even so a gentle pair,
By fortune sunk, but form'd of gen'rous mould,
And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast,
In some lone cot amid the distant woods,
Sustain'd alone by providential Heav'n,
Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train,
Check their own appetites, and give them all.
Liberty and slavery contrasted. Part of a letter writ ten from Italy by ADDISON.
How has kind Heav'n adorn'd the happy land,.
And scatter'd blessings with a liberal hand!
But what avail her unexhausted stores,
Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores,
With all the gifts that heav'n and earth impart,
The smiles of nature, and the charms of art,
While proud oppression in her valleys reigns,
And tyranny usurps her happy plains?
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
The redd'ing orange, and the swelling grain;
Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines.
Oh! Liberty, thou, pow'r supremely bright,
Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight!
Perpetual pleasures in thy presence reign;
And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train
Eas'd of her load, subjection grows more light;
And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight.
Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay;
Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day.
On foreign mountains, may the sun refine
The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine;
With citron groves adorn a distant soil,
And the fat olive swell with floods of oil :
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgent skies;
Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine,
Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine;
'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,
And makes her barren rocks, and her bleak mountains
Aparaphrase on the 13th Chapter of the first epistle to the Corinthians.
DID sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,
Than ever man pronounc'd or angel sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or science can define;
And had I pow'r to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling earth;
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,
When Moses gave them miracles, and law :
Yet, gracious charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy pow'r exerted in my breast;
Those speeches would send up unheeded pray'r;
That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A cymbal's sound were better than
my voice ;
My faith were form; my eloquence were noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guide
Betwixt vile shame, and arbitrary pride.
Not soon provok'd, she easily forgives;
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives;
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even;
And opens in each heart a little heav'n.
Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
proper bounds, and due restriction knows;
To one fix'd purpose dedicates its pow'r ;
And finishing its act, exists no more.
Thus, in obedience to what Heav'n decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;
But lasting charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall forever live ;
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
As through the artist's intervening glass,
Our eye observes the distant planets pass;
A little we discover; but allow,
That more remains unseen, than art can show;
So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
(Its feeble eye intent on things above,)
High as we may, we lift our reason up,
By faith directed, and confirm'd by hope;
Yet are we able only to survey,
Dawnings of beams, and promises of day;
Heav'n's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight;
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.
But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd;
The sun shall soon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne.
Then constant faith, and holy hope shall die,
One lost in certainty, and one in joy:
Whilst thou, more happy pow'r, fair charity,
Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,
Thy office, and thy nature still the same,
Lasting thy lamp, and unconsum'd thy flame,/
Shalt still survive-
Shalt stand before the host of heav'n confest,
For ever blessing, and for ever blest.
Picture of a good man.
SOME angel guide my pencil, while I draw,
What nothing else than angel can exceed,