"ON SOME FOND BREAST THE PARTING SOUL RELIES; SOME PIOUS DROPS THE CLOSING EYE REQUIRES."-GRAY.
THE PATHS OF GLORY LEAD BUT TO THE GRAVE."-GRAY.
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!
The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring
And float amid the liquid noon :
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some show their gaily gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation's sober eye
Such is the race of Man :
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the busy and the gay
But flutter through life's little day,
In Fortune's varying colours drest:
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chilled by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear in accents low
The sportive kind reply:
Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display :
On hasty wings thy youth is flown:
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-
We frolic while 'tis May.
[T. GRAY, author of "The Bard," "Elegy in a Country Churchyard," and other immortal poems, born 1716, died 1771. His specialty is a remarkable richness and felicity of diction.]
"FULL MANY A FLOWER IS BORN TO BLUSH UNSEEN."-GRAY.
"IN GALLANT TRIM THE Gilded vesseL GOES; YOUTH ON THE PROW, AND PLEASURE AT THE HELM."-GRAY.
66 MAN'S FEEBLE RACE, WHAT ILLS AWAIT,
HASSAN; OR, THE CAMEL-DRIVER.
AN EPITAPH FOR HEROIC WARRIORS.
JOW sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there!
[W. COLLINS, author of some fine "Eclogues," or "Pastoral Poems," and of the most vigorous lyrical poetry in our language, born 1720, died
"PITY, THE FRIEND OF MAN ASSIGNED, WITH BALMY HANDS HIS WOUNDS TO BIND."-WILLIAM COLLINS.
"AH, FEAR! AH, FRANTIC FEAR! I KNOW THY HURRIED STEP, THY HAGGARD EYE."-WILLIAM COLLINS.
Scene-The Desert. Time-Mid-day.
IN silent horror, o'er the boundless waste,
The driver Hassan with his camels past;
One cruise of water on his back he bore,
And his light scrip contained a scanty store;
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,
To guard his shaded face from scorching sand.
The sultry sun had gained the middle sky,
And not a tree and not an herb was nigh;
The beasts with pain their dusty way pursue,
Shrill roared the winds, and dreary was the view!
LABOUR AND PENUKY, THE RACKS OF PAIN.”—GRAY.
"STILL HOPE WHISPERED PROMISED PLEASURE, AND BADE THE LOVELY SCENES AT DISTANCE HAIL."-COLLINS.
"6 THOUGHTS THAT BREATHE, AND WORDS THAT BURN."-GRAY.
HASSAN; OR, THE CAMEL-DRIVER.
With desperate sorrow wild, the affrighted man
Thrice sighed, thrice struck his breast, and thus began:
"Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!
Ah, little thought I of the blasting wind,
The thirst or pinching hunger that I find!
Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage,
When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage?
Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign,
Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine?
Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear
In all my griefs a more than equal share!
Here, where no springs in murmurs break away,
Or moss-crowned fountains mitigate the day,
In vain ye hope the green delights to know,
Which plains more blest or verdant vales bestow;
Here rocks alone and tasteless sands are found,
And faint and sickly winds for ever howl around.
Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!
Cursed be the gold and silver which persuade
Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade!
The lily peace outshines the silver store,
And life is dearer than the golden ore;
Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown,
To every distant mart and wealthy town.
Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea;
And are we only yet repaid by thee?
Ah, why was ruin so attractive made,
Or why fond man so easily betrayed?
Why heed we not, while mad we haste along,
The gentle voice of Peace, or Pleasure's song?
Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's side,
The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride—
"WHERE BREATHING NATURE LIVES IN EVERY LINE."-COLLINS.
"THE NATIVE LEGENDS OF THY LAND REHEARSE; TO SUCH ADAPT THY LYRE AND SUIT THY VERSE."-collins.
"O MUSIC, SPHERE-DESCENDED MAID, FRIEND OF PLEASURE, WISDOM'S AID!"-WILLIAM COLLINS.
66 MAJESTIC Forms of MIGHTY MONArchs rise."-COLLINS.
HASSAN; OR, THE CAMEL-DRIVER.
Why think we these less pleasing to behold
Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold!
Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!
Oh, cease, my fears! All frantic as I go,
When thought creates unnumbered scenes of woe,
What if the lion in his rage I meet!
Oft in the dust I view his printed feet;
And fearful oft when Day's declining light
Yields her pale empire to the mourner Night,
By hunger roused he scours the groaning plain,
Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train;
Before them Death with shrieks directs their way,
Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey.
Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!
At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep,
If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep;
Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around,
And wake to anguish with a burning wound.
Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor,
From lust of wealth and dread of death secure!
They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find;
Peace rules the day where reason rules the mind.
Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!
O hapless youth! for she thy love hath won,
The tender Zara! will be most undone.
Big swelled my heart, and owned the powerful maid,
When fast she dropped her tears, as thus she said:
'Farewell the youth whom sighs could not detain,
Whom Zara's breaking heart implored in vain!
Yet as thou go'st may every blast arise
Weak and unfelt as these rejected sighs!
EACH BEAUTEOUS IMAGE OF THE BOUNDLESS MIND."-COLLINS.
"LEARN, WHERE SCIENCE SURE IS FOUND, FROM NATURE AS SHE LIVES AROUND."-WILLIAM COLLINS.
66 'HOW BLESSED IS HE WHO CROWNS, IN SHADes like these,
Safe o'er the wild no pearls mayst thou see,
No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me.'
Oh, let me safely to the fair return,
Say with a kiss, she must not, shall not mourn;
Oh, let me teach my heart to lose its fears,
Recalled by Wisdom's voice and Zara's tears."
He said, and called on Heaven to bless the day
When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way.
[WILLIAM COLLINS. From the "Persian Eclogues."]
"CONTENTED TOIL, AND HOSPITABLE CARE, AND KIND CONNUBIAL TENDERNESS ARE THERE."-GOLDSMITH.
"AND PIETY, WITH WISHES PLACED ABOVE, AND STEADY LOYALTY, AND FAITHFUL LOVE."-GOLDSMITH.
THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER AND THE VILLAGE INN.
ESIDE yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule,
The village master taught his little school;
A man severe he was, and stern to view-
I knew him well, and every truant knew;
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round,
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned;
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declared how much he knew ;
'Twas certain he could write and cypher too;
Lands he could measure, times and tides presage,
And even the story ran that he could gauge;
A YOUTH OF LABOUR WITH AN AGE OF EASE !"-GOLDSMITH.
|