'Tis greatly wife to talk with our past hours; And ask them, what report they bore to Heaven; And how they might have borne more welcome news. Their answers form what men Experience call; If Wisdom's friend, her beft; if not, worst foe. O reconcile them! kind Experience cries,
"There's nothing here, but what as nothing weighs;
“The more our joy, the more we know it vain ;
"And by Succefs are tutor❜d to Despair."
Nor is it only thus, but must be so.
Who knows not this, tho' grey, is flill a child.
Loofe, then, from Earth, the grafp of fond Defire,
Weigh anchor, and some happier clime explore.
Art thou fo moor'd thou can'ft not disengage,
Nor give thy thoughts a ply to future scenes?
Since, by Life's paffing breath, blown up from Earth,
Light, as the Summer's duft, we take in air
A moment's giddy flight, and fall again;
Join the dull mass, increase the trodden foil,
And fleep, till Earth herself shall be no more;
Since then (as emmets, their small world o'erthrown)
We, fore amaz'd, from out Earth's ruins crawl,
And rife to fate extreme of foul or fair,
As man's own choice (controuler of the skies!)
As man's defpotic will, perhaps one hour,
(O how omnipotent is Time!) decrees;
Should not each warning give a strong alarm?
Warning, far less than that of bofom torn
From bofom, bleeding o'er the facred dead!
Should not each dial ftrike us as we pass,
Portentous, as the written wall, which ftruck,
O'er midnight bowls, the proud Affyrian pale,
Ere-while high-flufh'd with infolence and wine?
•Like that, the dial fpeaks; and points to thee,
Lorenzo! loth to break thy banquet up:
"O man, thy kingdom is departing from thee;
"And, while it lafts, is emptier than my fhade."
Its filent language fuch: nor need'ft thou call
Thy magi, to decypher what it means.
Know, like the Median, Fate is in thy walls:
Doft afk, How? Whence? Belshazzar-like, amaz'd?
Man's make inclofes the fure feeds of Death;
Life feeds the murderer: ingrate! he thrives.
On her own meal, and then his nurse devours.
But here, Lorenzo, the delufion lies;
That folar-fhadow, as it measures life,
It Life resembles too: Life fpeeds away
From point to point, tho' feeming to stand ftill.
The cunning fugitive is fwift by stealth:
Too fubtle is the movement to be feen;
Yet foon man's hour is up, and we are gone.
Warnings point out our danger; gnomons, Time;'
As thefe are ufelefs when the fun is fet;
So thofe, but when more glorious Reason shines.
Reason fhould judge in all; in Reafon's eye,
That fedentary fhadow travels hard.
But fuch our gravitation to the wrong,
So prone our hearts to whisper what we wish,
'Tis later with the wife, than he's aware;
A Wilmington goes flower than the fun:
And all mankind mistake their time of day;
Ev'n Age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly fown
In furrow'd brows. So gentle Life's defcent,
We shut our eyes, ́and think it is a plain.
We take fair days in Winter, for the Spring;
And turn our bleffings into bane. Since oft
Man must compute that age he cannot feel,
He scarce believes he's older for his years.
Thus, at Life's latest eve, we keep in store
One difappointment fure, to crown the reft;
The disappointment of a promis'd hour.
On this, or fimilar, Philander! thou,
Whofe mind was moral as the preacher's tongue;
And strong, to wield all science, worth the name;
How often we talk'd down the Summer's Sun,
And cool'd our paffions by the breezy stream!
How often thaw'd and fhorten'd Winter's eve,
By conflict kind, that ftruck out latent truth,
Beft found, fo fought; to the reclufe more coy!
Thoughts difentangle, paffing o'er the lip;
Clean runs the thread; if not, 'tis thrown away,
Or kept to tie up nonsense for a song;
Song, fashionably fruitlefs: fuch as stains
The Fancy, and unhallow'd Paffion fires;
Chiming her faints to Cytherea's fane.
Know't thou, Lorenzo! what a Friend contains?
As bees mix'd Nectar draw from fragrant flow'rs,
So men from Friendship, Wisdom and Delight;
Twins ty'd by Nature; if they part, they die.
Haft thou no Friend to fet thy mind abroach?
Good Sense will stagnate. Thoughts fhut up, want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the Sun.
Had Thought been all, fweet Speech had been deny'd; Speech, Thought's canal! Speech, Thought's criterion too!
Thought in the mine, may come forth gold, or drofs;
When coin'd in word, we know its real worth.
If fterling, ftore it for thy future ufe;
"Twill buy thee benefit, perhaps renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more poffeft:
Teaching, we learn; and, giving, we retain
The births of Intellect; when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire;
Speech burnishes our mental magazine;
Brightens, for ornament; and whets, for ufe.
What numbers, fheath'd in Erudition, lie,
Plung❜d to the hilts in venerable tomes,
And rufted in, who might have borne an edge,
And play'd a fprightly beam, if born to Speech;
If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue!
'Tis Thought's exchange, which, like th' alternate
Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned fcum,
And defecates the ftudent's ftanding pool.
In Contemplation is his proud resource?
'Tis poor, as proud, by Converse unfuftain'd.
Rude Thought runs wild in Contemplation's field;
Converfe, the menage, breaks it to the bit
Of due restraint; and Emulation's fpur
Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw’d.
G 4
"Tis converfe qualifies for folitude;
As exercife, for falutary rest.
By that untutor'd, Contemplation raves;
And Nature's fool by Wifdom's is outdone.
Wifdom, tho' richer than Peruvian mines,
And fweeter than the fweet ambrofial hive,
What is fhe, but the means of Happiness ?
That unobtain'd, than Folly more a fool;
A melancholy fool, without her bells.
Friendship, the means of wisdom, richly gives
The precious end which makes our wisdom wife.
Nature, in zeal for human amity,
Denies, or damps, an undivided joy.
Joy is an import; joy is an exchange;
Joy flies monopolifts; it calls for two;
Rich fruit! heav'n-planted! never pluck'd by one}
Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give
To focial man true relish of himself.
Full on ourselves defcending in a line
Pleafure's bright beam, is feeble in delight:
Delight intenfe is taken by rebound;
Reverberated pleafures fire the breast.
Celestial happinefs, whene'er she stoops
To vifit earth, one fhrine the goddess finds,
And one alone, to make her fweet amends
For abfent Heav'n---the bofom of a Friend;
Where heart meets heart, reciprocally foft,
Each other's pillow to repofe divine.
Beware the counterfeit in Paion's flame
Hearts melt; but melt like ice, foon harder froze.
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