Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

I wear away

No thought of guilt my bosom fours:
Free-will'd I fled from courtly bowers ;
For well I saw in halls and towers,

That lust and pride,
The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest powers,

In state preside.
I saw mankind with vice incrusted;
I saw that honour's sword was rusted :
That few for aught but folly lufted;
That he was ftill deceiv'd who trusted

In love or friend;
And hither came, with men disgusted,

My life to end.
In this lone cave, in garments lowly,
Alike a foe to noisy folly,
And brow-bent gloomy melancholy,
My life, and in my office holy

Consume the day.
This rock my shield when storms are blowing;
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing
Supplying drink; the earth bestowing

My simple food;
But few enjoy the calm I know in

This desart rude.
Content and comfort bless me more in
This grot, than 'ere I felt before in
A palace; and with thoughts still soaring

To God on high.
Each night and morn with voice imploring

This wish I ligh: " Let me, O Lord! from life retire, Unknown each guilty worldly fire, Remorseful throb, or loose desire ;

And when I die, Let me in this belief expire,

To God I fly!” Stranger, if, full of youth and riot, As yet no grief has marr’d thy quiet,

Thou haply throw'ft a scornful eve at

The Hermit's prayer:
But if thou haft a canse to figh at

Thy fault, or care:
If thou haft known false love's vexation,
Or haft been exil'd from thy nation,
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation,

And makes thee pine ;
Oh! how muft thou lament thy ftation,

And envy mine!

VA

TO A MOTH,

FLUTTERING ABOUT A CANDLE.
CAIN flutt'ring insect, pageant of an hour,

Come, let me thwart thy felf-destructive will; Short are the pleasures in thy little pow'r,

Yet thou wilt make them even shorter stille How apt an emblem of mistaken Man,

When swells each vein with youth's empurpled tide, I see the semblance to my kindred clan,

And own the folly shame would gladly hide. Both are attracted by an empty blaze ;

Pleasure to Man, what flame to thee supplies; Each idly flutters in illusive rays,

Then falls a victim, and repentant dies.

IMITATION OF HORACE,

BOOK xvi. ODE 2.

BY MR. HASTINGS,
On his pasage from Bengal to England.
POR ease the harrafs'd seaman

prays,

F When cquihoctial tempests raile

The Cape's surrounding wave;

When, hanging o'er the reef, he hears
The cracking maft

, and sees or fears,
Beneath, his wat’ry grave.
For ease, the flow Mahratta spoils,
And hardier Sic erratic toils,

While both their ease forgo ;
For ease, which neither gold can buy,
Nor robes, nor gems, which oft belie

The cover'd heart, bestow;
For neither gold nor gems, combin’d,
Can heal the foul, or suff'ring mind :

Lo! where their owner lies;
Perch'd on his couch distemper breathes,
And care, like smoke, in turpid wreathes

Round the gay ceiling flies.
He who enjoys, nor covets morë,
The lands his father held before,

Is of true bliss possess’d:
Let but his mind unfetter'd tread,
Far as the paths of knowledge lead,

And wise, as well as bleft.
No fears his peace of mind annoy,
Left printed lies his fame destroy,

Which labour'd years have won
Nor pack'd committees break his rest,
Nor av'rice sends him forth in quest

Of climes beneath the sun. Short is our span; then why engage In schemes, for which man's transient age,

Was ne'er by fate design’d;
Why slight the gifts of nature's hand,
What wand'rer from his native land

E’er left himself behind ?
The restless thought and wayward will,
And discontent attend him ftill,

Nor quit him while he lives;
At sea, care follows in the wind,
At land, it mounts the pad behind,

Or with the post-boy drives.

He who would happy live to-day,
Must laugh the present ills away,

Nor think of woes to come;
For come they will, or soon or late,
Since mix'd at best is man's estate,

By heaven's eternal doom.
To ripen'd age Clive liv'd renown'd,
With lacks enrich'd, with honour's crown'd,

His valour's well-earn'd meed;
Too long, alas! he liv'd to hate
His envy'd lot, and dy'd too late,

From life's oppression freed.
An early death was Elliot's doom :
I saw his op'ning virtues bloom,

And manly sense unfold;
Too soon to fade! I bade the stone
Record his name 'midst hordes unknown,

Unknowing what it told.
To thee, perhaps, the fates may give,
I wish they may, in health to live,

Herds, flocks, and fruitful fields;
Thy vacant hours in mirth to shine,
With these, the muse already thine,

Her present bounties yields.
For me, O shore, I only claim
To merit, not to seek for fame,

The good and just to please;
A state above the fear of want,
Domestic love, heav'n's choicest grant,

Health, leisure, peace, and ease.

THE BRITISH

POETICAL MISCELLANY.

THE BLEEDING ROCK.

BY MISS HANNAH MORE.

THERE beauteous Belmont rears its modest brow,

Liv'd LINDAMIRA; fair as Beauty's Queen,
The same sweet form, the fame enchanting mien,
With all that softer elegance of mind
By genius heighten’d, and by taste refin'd.
Yet early was The doom'd the child of care,
For love, ill-fated love subdu'd the fair.
Ah! what avails each captivating grace,
The form enchanting, or the finish'd face ?
Or what each beauty on the heav'n-born mind,
The soul superior, or the taste refin’d?
Beauty but serves destruction to insure,
And sense, to feel the pang it cannot cure.
Each neighb’ring youth aspir’d to gain her hand,
And many a suitor came from many a land.
But all in vain each neighboring youth aspir'd,
And distant suitors all in vain admir'd.
Averse to hear, yet fearful to offend,
The lover she refus'd she made a friend :
Her meek rejection wore fo mild a face,
More like acceptance seem'd it than disgrace.

Young POLYDORE, the pride of rural fwains,
Was wont to visit Belmont's blooming plains.
Who has not heard that Polydore could throw
Th’unerring dart to wound the flying doe ?
How leave the swiftest at the race behind,
How mount the courses, and out-strip the wind ?

« ПредишнаНапред »