« ПредишнаНапред »
How oft' his godship had been drunk;
He swore, drank, whor'd, sung, danc'd with spirit,
Ye bards, on verse let Phcbus doat,
O DE on Ambition.
By the Same.
He mariner, when first he fails,
While his bold oars the sparkling surface sweep,
With new delight, transported hails The blue expanded skies, and level deep.
Such young Ambition's fearless aim,
In the gay morn of early fame,
Life's opening views bright charms reveal, Feed the fond wish, and fan the youthful fire.
But woes unknown those charms conceal, And fair illusions cheat our fierce defire.
There Envy shows her fullen mien,
There Malice stabs, with rage serene ;
High on a mountain's lofty brow, 'Mid clouds and storms, has Glory fix'd her seat;
Rock'd by the roaring winds that blow, The lightnings blaft it, and the tempefts beat.
Within the sun-gilt vale beneath, More moderate Hope with sweet Contentment dwells,
While gentler breezes round them breathe, And softer showers refresh their peaceful cells.
To better genius ever blind,
Man quits the path by heaven design'd,
Our native powers we fcorn to know ; With stedfat error still the wrong pursue :
Instruct our forward ills to grow ; While sad successes but our pain renew.
In vain heaven tempers life with sweet,
If dupes to passion, and deceit,
Few can on Grandeur's stage appear,
No common virtue safe can fteer,
Then happiest he, whose timely hand
Enjoys the calm, in sight of land,
O D E to 'FAN CY.
By the Same.
Now haftes the car of day to rise.
Morpheus, no more
Thou drowsy god,
And give thy slumbers o'er.
Mistress of the vocal song,
Fancy, ever fair and free;
The graces danc'd thy bower around, ,
With blossoms fair thy cradle drest,
And rock'd their smiling babe to reft. To kiss thy lips, the bees, a murmuring throngi ! With busy wings, unnumber'd flew; For thee, from every flower their tribute drew, And lulld thy slumbers with an airy fong.
Come, in thy heav'nly woven vest,
With which the paints the sky,
O'er the seas, and thro' the air ;
O'er the plains extended wide,
Now mounting high, now sinking low,
Where is treasur'd up the snow:
Where the swift-wing'd lightnings dwell ;
Now tread the milky way;
To the lunar orbit Ay,
Which, since the birth of time,
Have, in according chime,
With each diviner sound
Whom to wisdom's secret throne
In thy airy car, peryade,