Of life opprefs, whom fober Senfe conducts, And Virtue, thro' this labyrinth we tread. Virtue and Senfe I mean not to disjoin; Virtue and Senfe are one: and, trust me, ftill A faithlefs heart betrays the head unfound. Virtue (for mere good-nature is a fool) Is Senfe and Spirit, with Humanity : 'Tis fometimes angry, and its frown confounds; "Tis ev'n vindictive, but in vengeance juft. Knaves fain would laugh at it; fome great ones But at his heart the moft undaunted fon [dare; Of fortune dreads its name and awful charms. To nobleft ufes this determines wealth; This is the folid pomp of profp 'rous days, The peace and fhelter of adverfity. And, if you pant for glory, build your fame On this foundation, which the secret shock Defies of Envy and all-fapping Time. The gaudy glofs of Fortune only strikes The vulgar eye; the fuffrage of the wife, The praife that 's worth ambition, is attain'd By fenfe alone, and dignity of mind.
Virtue, the ftrength and beauty of the foul, Is the best gift of Heaven; a happiness That ev'n above the smiles and frowns of fate Exalts great Nature's favourites; a wealth That ne'er encumbers, nor to bafer hands Can be transferr'd: it is the only good Man justly boafts of, or can call his own. Riches are oft by guilt and bafeness earn'd; Or dealt by chance, to fhield a lucky knave, Or throw a cruel fun-thine on a fool. But for one end, one much-neglected ufe, Are riches worth your care (for Nature's wants Are few, and without opulence fupplied): This noble end is, to produce the foul; To fhew the virtues in the fairest light; To make humanity the minifter
Of bounteous Providence; and teach the breaft That gen'rous luxury the gods enjoy.
Thus, in his graver vein, the friendly fage Sometimes declaim'd. Of right and wrong he taught
Truths as refin'd as ever Athens heard; And (ftrange to tell!) he practis'd what preach'd.
Skill'd in the paffions, how to check their fway He knew, as far as reafon can controul The lawless pow'rs. But other carcs are mine: Form'd in the school of Pæon, I relate What paffions hurt the body, what improve; Avoid them, or invite them, as you may.
Know then, whatever cheerful and ferene Supports the mind, fupports the body too. Hence, the most vital movement mortals feel Is Hope, the balm and life-blood of the foul: It pleases, and it lafts. Indulgent Heaven Sent down the kind delufion, thro' the paths Of rugged life to lead us patient on, And make our happieft ftate no tedious thing. Our greatest good, and what we leaft can fpare, Is Hope; the laft of all our evils, Fear.
But there are paffions grateful to the breast, And yet no friends to life: perhaps they please
Or to excefs, and diffipate the foul; Or, while they pleafe, torment. The ill-tam'd ruffian, and pale ufurer, (If love's omnipotence fuch hearts can mould) May fafely mellow into love; and grow Refin'd, humane, and gen'rous, if they can. Love in fuch bofoms never to a fault Or pains or pleases. But, ye finer fouls, Form'd to foft luxury, and prompt to thrill With all the tumults, all the joys and pains, That beauty gives; with caution and referve Indulge the feet deftroyer of repose, Nor court too much the Queen of charming cares. For, while the cherish'd poifon in your breast Ferments and maddens; fick with jealoufy, Abfence, diftruft, or even with anxious joy, The wholefome appetites and pow'rs of life Diffolve in languor. The coy ftomach loaths The genial board; your cheerful days are gone; The gen'rous bloom that flush'd your cheeks is fled. To fighs devoted, and to tender pains, Penfive you fit, or folitary stray,
And wafte your youth in mufing. Mufing firft Toy'd into care your unfufpecting heart: It found a liking there, a fportful fire, And that fomented into ferious love; Which mufing daily ftrengthens and improves Thro' all the heights of fondness and romance: And you're undone, the fatal fhaft has sped, If once you doubt whether you love or no: The body waftes away; th' infected mind, Diffolv'd in female tendernefs, forgets Each manly virtue, and grows dead to fame. Sweet Heaven from fuch intoxicating charms Defend all worthy breafts! Not that I deem Love always dangerous, always to be fhunn'd. Love well repaid, and not too weakly funk In wanton and unmanly tenderness, Adds bloom to health; o'er ev'ry virtue fheds A gay, humane, and amiable grace, And brightens all the ornaments of man. But fruitless, hopeless, difappointed, rack'd With jealoufy, fatigued with hope and fear, Too ferious, or too languishingly fond, Unnerves the body, and unmans the foul. And fome have died for love, and fome run mad; And fome with defp'rate hand themselves have
Some to extinguish, others to prevent, [flain. A mad devotion to one dang'rous Fair, Court all they meet; in hopes to diffipate The cares of love amongst an hundred brides. Th' event is doubtful: for there are who find A cure in this; there are who find it not. 'Tis no relief, alas! it rather galls The wound, to those who are fincerely fick. For while from feverish and tumultuous joys The nerves grow languid, and the foul fubfides, The tender fancy fmarts with ev'ry fting, And what was love before is madnefs now. Is health your care, or luxury your aim? Be temperate ftill; when Nature bids, obey; Her wild impatient fallies bear no curb : But when the prurient habit of delight, Or loofe imagination, spurs you on
To deeds above your ftrength, impute it not To Nature; Nature all compulfion hates. Ah! let nor luxury nor vain renown Urge you to feats you well might fleep without; To make what fhould he rapture a fatigue, A tedious task; nor in the wanton arms Of twining Laïs melt your manhood down. For from the colliquation of foft joys How chang'd you rife! the ghost of what you was! Languid and melancholy, gaunt and wan, Your veins exhaufted, and your nerves unftrung. Spoil'd of its balm and sprightly zeft, the blood Grows vapid phlegm; along the tender nerves (To each flight impulfe tremblingly awake) A fubtle fiend that mimics all the plagues, Rapid and restless, fprings from part to part. The blooming honours of your youth are fallen; Your vigour pines; your vital pow'rs decay; Difeafes haunt you; and untimely age Creeps on, unfocial, impotent, and lewd. Infatuate, impious epicure! to wafte The ftores of pleasure, cheerfulnefs, and health! Infatuate all who make delight their trade, And coy perdition ev'ry hour purfuc.
Who pines with love, or in lafcivious flames Confumes, is with his own confent undone; He chooses to be wretched, to be mad, And warn'd proceeds and wilful to his fate. But there's a paffion, whofe tempeftuous fway Tears up each virtue planted in the breast, And thakes to ruin proud Philofophy. For pale and trembling Anger ruthes in, With faltering fpeech, and eyes that wildly ftare; Fierce as the tiger, madder than the feas, Desperate, and arm'd with more than human ftrength.
How foon the calm, humane, and polish'd man Forgets compunction, and starts up a fiend! Who pines in love, or waftes with filent cares, Envy, or ignominy, or tender grief, Slowly defcends, and ling'ring, to the fhades. But he whom anger ftings, drops, if he dies, At once, and rufhes apoplectic down; Or a fierce fever hurries him to hell. For, as the body thro' unnumber'd ftrings Reverberates each vibration of the foul; As is the paffion, such is still the pain The body feels; or chronic, or acute. And oft a fudden ftorm at once o'erpow'rs The life, or gives your reafon to the winds. Such fates attend the rafh alarm of fear, And sudden grief, and rage, and sudden jov. There are, meantime, to whom the boift'rous fit Is health, and only fills the fails of life; For where the mind a torpid winter leads, Wrapt in a body corpulent and cold, And each clogg'd function lazily moves on, A generous fally fpurns th' incumbent load, Unlocks the breaft, and gives a cordial glow. But, if your wrathful blood is apt to boil, Or are your nerves too irritably ftrung, Wave all difpute; be cautious if you joke, Keep Lent for ever, and forfwear the bowl; For one rath moment fends you to the fhades,
Or fhatters ev'ry hopeful scheme of life, And gives to horror all your days to come. Fate, arm'd with thunder, fire, and ev'ry plague That ruins, tortures, or distracts mankind, And makes the happy wretched, in an hour O'erwhelms you not with woes fo horrible As your own wrath, nor gives more fudden blows. While choler works, good friend, you may be
Diftruft yourself, and fleep before you fight. 'Tis not too late to-morrow to be brave; If honour bids, to-morrow kill or die. But calm advice againft a raging fit Avails too little; and it braves the pow'r Of all that ever taught in profe or fong, To tame the fiend that fleeps a gentle lamb, And wakes a lion. Unprovok`d and calm, You reaton well, fee as you ought to fee, And wonder at the madnefs of mankind; Seiz'd with the common rage, you foon forget The fpeculation of your wiler hours. Befet with furies of all deadly fhapes, Fierce and infidious, violent and flow, With all that urge or lure us on to fate, What refuge fhall we feek, what arms prepare Where reafon proves too weak, or void of wiles, To cope with fubtle or impetuous pow'rs, I would invoke new paffions to your aid; With indignation would extinguish fear, With fear or generous pity vanquish rage, And love with pride; and force to force oppofe.
There is a charm, a pow'r that fways the breath, Bids every pathion revel or be ftill; Infpires with rage, or all your cares diffolves; Can footh diftraction, and almost despair. That pow'r is mufic: far beyond the stretch Of thofe unmeaning warblers on our stage; Thote clumfy heroes, thofe fat-headed gods, Who move no paffion justly but contempt; Who, like our dancers (light indeed and strong') Do wondrous feats, but never heard of grace." The fault is ours; we bear thofe monftrous arts: Good Heaven! we praife them; we with loudeft
Applaud the fool that higheft lifts his heels, And with infipid fhow of rapture die Of idiot notes impertinently long.
But be the Mufe's laurel juftly thares,
A poct he, and touch'd with Heaven's own fire, Who with bold rage, or folemn pomp of founds, Inflames, exalts, and ravishes the foul; Now tender, plaintive, fweet almost to pain, In love diffolves you; now in fprightly strains Breathes a gay rapture thro' your thrilling breaft, Or melts the heart with airs divinely fad, Or wakes to horror the tremendous ftrings. Such was the bard whofe heavenly strains of old Appeas'd the fiend of melancholy Saul. Such was, if old and heathen fame fay true, The man who bade the Theban domes afcend, And tam'd the favage nations with his fong; And fuch the Thracian, whofe harthonious lyre, Tun'd to foft woc, made all the mountains weep; Sooth'd ev'n th' inexorable pow'rs of Hell,
And half redeem'd his loft Eurydice. Music exalts each joy, allays each grief, Expels difeafes, foftens ev'ry pain, Subdues the rage of poison, and the plague; And hence the wife of ancient days ador'd One pow'r of phyfic, melody and fong.
§ 73. LO! where the roly-bosom'd Hours, Fair Venus' train, appear; Difclose the long-expected flow'rs, And wake the purple year! The Attic warbler pours her throat, Refponfive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of spring; While, whip'ring pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Ode on the Spring. GRAY.
Where'er the oak's thick branches ftretch A broader, browner fhade;
Where'er the rude and mofs-grown becch O'ercanopies the glade;
Befide fome water's rufhy brink With me the Mufe fhall fit, and think (At cafe reclin'd in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care; The panting herds repofe : Yet, hark, how thro' the peopled air The bufy murmur glovs! The infect youth are on the wing, Eager to tafte the honey'd spring, And float amid the liquid noon : Some lightly o'er the current fkim, Some fhew their gaily-gilded trim Quick-glancing to the fun.
To Contemplation's fober eye Such is the race of man;
And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began. Alike the bufy and the gay But flutter thro' life's little day, In fortune's varying colours dreft: Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance, Or chill'd by age, their airy dance
They leave, in duft to reft.
Methinks I hear, in accents low, The sportive kind reply: Poor moralift and what art thou? A folitary fly!
Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets, No hive haft thou of hoarded sweets, No painted plumage to difplay: On hafty wings thy youth is flown; Thy fun is fet, thy fpring is gone- We frolic while 'tis May.
lofty vafe's fide, Where China's gayeft art had dyed The azure flow'rs that blow; Demureft of the tabby kind, The penfive Selima, reclin'd, Gaz'd on the lake below. Her confcious tail her joy declar'd; The fair round face, the fnowy beard, The velvet of her paws!
Her coat that with the tortoife vies, Her ears of jet, and em'rald eyes, She faw, and purr'd applaufe.
Still had the gaz'd; but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were feen to glide, The Genii of the stream: Their fcaly armour's Tyrian hue, Thro' richest purple, to the view Betray'd a golden gleam.
The haplefs nymph with wonder saw : A whisker firft, and then a claw,
With many an ardent with, She ftretch'd in vain to reach the prize: What female heart can gold defpife? What cat 's averfe to fish? Prefumptuous maid! with looks intent Again the ftretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gulph between: (Malignant Fate fat by and finil'd); The flipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd, She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood, She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god,
Some fpeedy aid to fend. No dolphin came, no Nereid ftirr'd; Nor cruel Tom nor Sufan heard :- A fav'rite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd, Know, one falfe ftep is ne'er retriev'd, And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes, And heedlefs hearts, is lawful prize; Nor all that glitters, gold.
Ah happy hills! ah pleafing fhade!
Ah fields belov'd in vain!
Where once my carelefs childhood stray'd, A ftranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales that from you blow A momentary blifs beftow;
As, waving fresh their gladfome wing, My weary foul they feem to footh, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a fecond fpring.
Say, father Thames, for thou haft fccn Full many a sprightly race, Difporting on thy margent green, The paths of pleasure trace; Who foremost now delight to cleave, With pliant arms, thy glafly wave? The captive linnet which enthrall? What idle progeny fucceed
To chafe the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball?
While fome on earnest business bent Their murmuring labours ply
'Gainft graver hours that bring constraint To fweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers difdain The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in ev'ry wind, And fnatch a fearful joy.
Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, Lets pleafing when poffeft; The tear forgot as foon as shed, The funfhine of the breaft: Theirs buxom health of rofy hue, Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer, of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the cafy night, The fpirits pure, the flumbers light, That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas! regardless of their doom, The little victims play!
No fenfe have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day:
Yet fee, how all around 'em wait
The minifters of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train!
Ah, fhew them where in ambush stand,
To feize their prey, the murd'rous band! Ah, tell them they are men!
Thefe fhall the fury paffions tear, The vultures of the mind, Difdainful anger, pallid fear, And fhame that fkulks behind;
Or pining love fhall wafte their youth, Or jealoufy with rankling tooth, That inly gnaws the fecret heart; And envy wan, and faded care, Grim-vifag'd comfortless defpair, And forrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this fhall tempt to rife; Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter fcorn a facrifice, And grinning infamy.
The ftings of falfehood thofe fhall try, And hard unkindnefs' alter'd eye, That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And keen remorfe with blood defil'd, And moody madnef's laughing wild Amid ferereft woe.
Lo! in the vale of years, beneath, A grifly troop are feen,
The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That ev'ry labouring finew ftrains, Thofe in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo! poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the foul with icy hand; And flow-consuming age.
To each his fuff 'rings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet, ah! why fhould they know their fate ? Since forrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would deftroy their paradife. No more where ignorance is blifs, 'Tis folly to be wife.
$76. Ode to Adverfity. GRAY. DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r,
Thou tamer of the human breast, Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the beft! Bound in thy adamantine chain, The proud are taught to taste of pain; And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy Sire to fend on earth Virtue, his darling child, defign'd, To thee he gave the heavenly birth, And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurfe! thy rigid lore With patience many a year the bore; What forrow was, thou bad'ft her know,
And from her own the learnt to melt at others woe.
Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,
Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy,
And leave us leifure to be good.
Light they difperfe; and with them go The fummer-friend, the flatt'ring foe; By vain profperity receiv'd,
To her they vow their truth, and are again beWisdom in fable garb array'd,
Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,
And Melancholy, filent maid,
With leaden eye that loves the ground,
Still on thy folemn steps attend; Warm Charity, the general friend, With Juftice, to herself fevere, And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear. Oh, gently on thy fuppliant's head, Dread Goddefs, lay thy chaft'ning hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art feen) With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien, With fcreaming Horror's fun'ral cry, Defpair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear, Thy milder influence impart; Thy philofophic train be there
To foften, not to wound, my heart. The gen'rous fpark extinct revive; Teach me to love, and to forgive; Exact my own defects to fcan;
Slow melting ftrains their Queen's approach declare:
Where'er the turns, the Graces homage pay. With arms fublime, that float upon the air, In gliding ftate fhe wins her cafy way: O'er her warm cheek, and rifing bofom, move The bloom of young defire, and purple light of love.
Man's feeble race what ills await!
Labour, and penury, the racks of pain, Difeafe, and forrow's weeping train;
And death, fad refuge from the ftorms of fate! The fond complaint, my fong, difprove, And juftify the laws of Jove.
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? Night, and all her fickly dews,
Her fpectres wan, and birds of boding cry, He gives to range the dreary sky: Till down the eastern cliffs afar
What others are, to feel; and know myself a man. Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts
O fovereign of the willing foul, Parent of sweet and folemn-breathing airs, Enchanting fhell! the fullen cares
And frantic paffions hear thy foft controul. On Thracia's hills the Lord of War Has curb'd the fury of his car,
And dropp'd his thirfty lance at thy command. Perching on the fceptred hand
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing: Quench'd in dark clouds of flumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye. I. 3.
Thee the voice, the dance obey, Temper'd to thy warbled lay. O'er Idalia's velvet green
The roly-crowned loves are seen
On Cytherea's day,
With antic sports, and blue-eyed pleasures, Frifking light in frolic meafures; Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet; To brifk notes in cadence beating, Glance their many-twinkling feet,
In climes beyond the folar road, [roam, Where fhaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains The Mufe has broke the twilight gloom, To cheer the fhiv'ring native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the od'rous fhade Of Chili's boundlefs forefts laid,
She deigns to hear the favage youth repeat, In loofe numbers, wildly fweet, Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves. Her track, where'er the goddefs roves, Glory purfucs, and gen'rous fhame, [flame. Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy II. 3.
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep; Ifles, that crown th' Egcan deep; Fields, that cool Iliffus laves, Or where Meander's amber waves In ling'ring lab'rinths creep, How do your tuneful echoes languish, Mute but to the voice of anguish! Where each old poetic mountain Infpiration breath'd around; Ev'ry fhade and hallow'd fountain Murmur'd deep a folemn found:
Till the fad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, Left their Parnaffus for the Latian plains. Alike they fcorn the pomp of tyrant pow'r, And coward vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit loft, [coaft. They fought, O Albion! next thy fea-encircled III.
Far from the fun and fummer gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid, What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, To him the mighty mother did unveil Her awful face: the dauntless child Stretch'd forth his little arms, and fmil'd. This pencil take (fhe faid), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year:
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