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Are but childish empty toys,
When compard to Love's sweet joys.
Love alone can pleasure give,
Only while we love, we live.
To the Honourable and Reverend F. C.
IN frolic's hour, ere serious thought had birth,
There was a time, my dear C—s, when
The Muse would take me on her airy wing
And waft to views romantic ; there present
Some motley vision, shade and sun: the cliff
O’erhanging, sparkling brooks, and ruins grey;
Bade me meanders trace, and catch the form
Of varying clouds, and rainbows learn to paint.
Sometimes Ambition, brushing by, would twitch
My mantle, and with winning look sublime :
Allure to follow. What though steep the track,
Her mountain's top would overpay when climb'd
The scaler's toil; her temple there was fine,
Ar.d lovely thence the prospects. She could tell
Where laurels grew, whence many a wreath antique ;
But more advis'd to shun the barren twig,,
(What is immortal verdure without fruit ?)
And woo fome thriving art: her num'rous mines
Were open to the searcher's skill and pains.
Caught by th’harangue, heart beat, and Autt'ring pulse
Sounded irregular marches to be gone
What! pause a moment when Ambition calls ?
No, the blood gallops to the distant goal,
And throbs to reach it. Let the lame fit still.
When Fortune gentle, at the hill's verge extreme,
Arrayd in decent garb, but somewhat thin,
Smiling approach'd, and what occasion ask'd,
Of climbing? She already provident
Had cater'd well, if ftomach could digest
Her viands, and a palate not too nice.
Unfit she said, for perilous attempt,
That manly limb requir’d, and sinews tough.
She took, and lay'd me in a vale remote,
Amid the gloomy scene of fir and yew,
On poppy beds, where Morpheus strew'd the ground:
Obscurity her curtain round me drew,
And fyren Sloth a dull quietus sung.
Sithence no fairy lights, no quick’ning ray,
Nor stir of pulse, nor objects to entice
Abroad the spirits ; but the cloyster'd heart
Sits squat at home, like pagod in a niche
Obscure, or grandees with nod-watching eye,
And folded arms, in presence of the throne,
Turk, or Indoftan. -Cities, forums, courts
And prating sanhedrims, and drumming wars,
Affect no more than stories told to bed
Lethargic, which at intervals the fick
Hears and forgets, and wakes to doze again.
Instead of converfe and variety,
The same trite round, the same stale silent scene : ;
Such are thy comforts, bleffed Solitude!
But Innocence is there, but Peace all kind,
And simple Quiet with her downy couch,
Meads lowing, tune of birds, and lapse of streams,
And Saunter, with a book, and warbling Mufe,
In praise of hawthorns. — Life's whole business this!
Is it to bask i th' fun? if so, a snail
Were happy crawling on a southern wall.
Why fits Content upon a cottage-fill
At eventide, and blefseth the coarse meal
In footy corner? why fweet slumbers wait
Th' hard pallet ? not because from haunt remote
Sequester'd in a dingle's bushy lap:
'Tis labour makes the peasant's say’ry fare, s .
And works out his repose : for ease must alk
The leave of diligence to be enjoy'd.
Oh! liften not to that enchantress Ease
With seeming smile, her palatable cup
By standing grows infipid; and beware
The bottom, for there's poison in the lees.
What health impair'd, and crowds inactive maim'd!
What daily martyrs to her Nuggish caufe !
Less strict devoir the Russ and Persian claim
Despotic ; and as subjects long inur'd .
To fervile burden, grow supine and tame,
So fares it with our fov'reign and her train.
What though with lure fallacious she pretend .
From worldly bondage to set free, what gain
Her votaries ? What avails from iron chains
Exempt, if rofy fetters bind as fast?
Bestir, and answer your creation's end.
Think we that man with vig'rous pow'r endow'd,
And room to stretch, was destin'd to sit still ?
Sluggards are Nature's rebels, flight her laws,
Nor live up to the terms on which they hold
Their vital lease. Laborious terms and hard !
But such the tenure of our earthly state !
Riches and fame are Industry's reward;
The nimble runner courses Fortune down,
And then he banquets, for she feeds the bold.
Think what you owe your country, what yourself.
If splendor charm not, yet avoid the scorn
That treads on lowly stations. Think of some
Asliduous booby mounting o'er your head,
And thence with faucy grandeur looking down :
Think of (Reflection's stab) the pitying friend
With shoulder shrug'd, and sorry. Think that Time
Has golden minutes, if discreetly seiz'd: ..
And if some fad example, indolent,
To warn and scare be wanting - think of me.
. [want - Rench pow'r, and weak allies ; and war, and
I No more of that, my friend ; you touch a string That hurts my ear. All politics apart, Except a gen'rous wish, a glowing prayer For British welfare, commerce, glory, peace. Give party to the winds : it is a word,