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QUOTATIONS 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 BRITISH POETS: 
 
 A POCKET DICTIONARY 
 
 OF THEIR 
 
 MOST ADMIRED PASSAGES. 
 
 THE WHOLE ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED AC- 
 CORDING TO THE SUBJECTS, 
 
 R. W« POMEROY. FIFTH, BELOW WALNUT STi 
 
 1826. 
 
,% 
 
 V 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Although the title of this work sufficient- 
 ly explains its object, we may be permitted 
 to say, that we conceive its plan has novelty 
 enough to exempt it from the charge of being 
 a downrightredundancy,in a market already 
 pretty well stocked. Although the art of 
 clipping out books, and cabbaging thoughts, 
 has now arrived at great perfection, we yet 
 consider a Dictionary of Detached Passages, 
 from the inexhaustible treasury of the British 
 Poets, as somewhat of a new clip, and that 
 we are consequently entitled to the same 
 privilege which every ingenious tailor en- 
 joys on a similar occasion. We do not mean 
 to puff, but we hereby challenge any book- 
 seller, to show us half as much good poetry 
 (always excepting his own publications,) in 
 any work three times the size and three 
 times the price; we therefore heartily re- 
 commend this Dictionary as the best penny- 
 worth of poetry now extant. 
 
 We have only further to observe, that 
 nothing has been admitted, which has a 
 tendency to offend decency or injure mo- 
 rality; and we have been fully as studious to 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 select those passages which convey some 
 solid instruction, as those that are merely 
 addressed to the fancy. Indeed, he must 
 know little of the vigorous nerve and intel- 
 lectual grasp of our great English poets, who 
 is not aware that, while they throw " the 
 drapery of a moral imagination over our 
 poor shivering nature," they have sung as 
 many great truths as others have said, and 
 with a felicity and energy peculiar to them- 
 selves. In our selections, we have paid more 
 attention to the sterling character of the 
 poetry than to the triteness of the quotation; 
 our squeamish reader must not, therefore, 
 turn away, if he should meet " Tlie curfew 
 tolls ^ " To be or not to be," and many more 
 of his school companions. 
 
 These Quotations may, then, with per- 
 fect safety, and some profit, be put into the 
 hands of our youth: they may even refresh 
 the memory of the old; and they may, per- 
 haps, be not altogether unprofitable to those 
 misses and misters, who, smit with the love 
 of song and their own pretty fancies, mis- 
 take the fury of a diseased appetite for the 
 flame of genius, and plunge incontinently 
 into a sea of ink, where, after floundering 
 about, and making the most indecent expo- 
 sures, they either sink outright, or are res- 
 cued by the humane efforts of their friends, 
 and restored to the rank of sober citizens, 
 
QUOTATIONS 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 BRITISH POETS. 
 
 Abbey. Melrose Abbey. 
 If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright. 
 Go visit it by the pale moonlight; 
 For the gay beams of lightsome day 
 Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 
 When the broken arches are black in night,. 
 And each shafted oriel glimmers white; 
 When the cold light's uncertain shower 
 Streams on the ruined central tower; 
 When buttress and buttress, alternately, 
 Seem framed of ebon and ivory; 
 When silver edges the imagery, 
 Ajid the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; 
 When distant Tweed is heard to rave, 
 And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave; 
 Then go — but go alone the while — 
 Then view St David's ruined pile. Scolt. 
 
 Achitophel. Character of 
 
 For close designs and crooked counsels fit; 
 Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; 
 Restless, unfix'd in principles and place; 
 In pow'r unpleas'd, impatient of disgrace; 
 A fiery soul, which, working out its way, 
 Fretted the pigmy body to decay, 
 And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay. 
 A 2 
 
6 ACTIONS. 
 
 A daring pilot in extremity; 
 
 Pleas'd with the danger when the waves went high. 
 
 He sought the storms: but, for a calm unfit, 
 
 Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. 
 
 Great wits are sure to madness near allied, 
 
 And thin partitions do their bounds divide; 
 
 Else why should he, with wealth and honour blest. 
 
 Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? 
 
 Punish a body which he could not please; 
 
 Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? Dryden, 
 
 Action. In Defiance of Evil Tongues. 
 If I am traduced by tongues which neither know 
 My faculties, nor person, yet will be 
 The chronicles of my doing, — let me say, 
 3 Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
 That virtue must go through. We must not stint 
 Our necessary actions, in the fear 
 To cope malicious censurers; which ever, 
 As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
 That is new trimm'd; but benefit no further 
 Than vainly longing. What we oft do best. 
 By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 
 Not ours, or not allow'd: what worst, as oft, 
 Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
 For our best act. If we shall stand still, 
 In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
 We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
 State statues only. Shakspeare, 
 
 Actions. Do not always show the man. 
 Behold ! if Fortune, or a Mistress frowns, 
 Some plunge in business, others shave their crowns,. 
 To ease the soul of one oppressive weight, 
 This quits an empire, that embroils a State; 
 The same adust complexion has impelPd 
 Charles to the Convent, Philip to the Field. 
 Not always Actions show the man; we find 
 Who does a kindness, is not therefore kind; 
 
ACTORS. 7 
 
 Perhaps Prosperity beealm'd his breast, 
 Perhaps the wind just shifted from the east. 
 Not therefore humble he who seeks retreat, 
 Pride guides his steps, and bids him shun the great. 
 Who combats bravely is not therefore brave; 
 He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave; 
 Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise; 
 His pride in Reasoning, not in Acting, lies. Pope. 
 
 Action. Springs of Lost. 
 Nor will life's stream for observation stay: 
 It hurries all too fast to mark their way; 
 In vain sedate reflections we would make, 
 W^hen half our knowledge we must snatch, not take 
 Oft in the passions' wild rotation tost, 
 Our spring of action to ourselves is lost: 
 Tir'd, not determin'd, to the last we yield; 
 And what comes then is master of the field, 
 As the last image of that troubled heap, 
 When sense subsides, and fancy sports in sleep 
 (Though past the recollection of the thought) 
 Becomes the stuff of which our dream is wrought. 
 Something as dim to our internal view, 
 Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do. Pope* 
 
 Actors. Of last Year gone. 
 Where the prime actors of the last year's scene; 
 Their port so proud, their buskin, and their plume? 
 How many sleep, who kept the world awake 
 With lustre, and with noise? Has Death proclaimed 
 A truce, and hung his sated lance on high? 
 'Tis brandish'd still; nor shall the present year 
 Be more tenacious of her human leaf, 
 Or spread of feeble life a thinner fall. [ Young. 
 
 Actors. Traits of. 
 Here Havard, all serene, in the same strains, 
 Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs, and complains: 
 His easy vacant face proclaim'd a heart 
 Which could not feel emotions, nor impart. — — 
 
8 ACTORS* 
 
 Next Holland came. — With truly tragic stalk, 
 He creeps, he flies — A hero should not walk: 
 As if with heav'n he warr'd, his eager eyes 
 Planted their batteries against the skies; 
 Attitude, action, air, pause, start, sigh, groan, 
 He borrow'd, and made use of as his own.— — 
 
 In characters of low and vulgar mould, 
 Where Nature's coarsest features we behold, 
 Where, destitute of ev'ry decent grace, 
 Unmanner'd jests are blurted in your face, 
 There Yates with justice strict attention draws, 
 Acts truly from himself, and gains applause. 
 But when, to please himself or charm his wife, 
 He aims at something in politer life, 
 When, blindly thwarting nature's stubborn plan, 
 He treads the stage, by way of gentleman, 
 The clown, who no one touch of breeding knows, 
 Looks like Tom Errand dress'd in Clincher's clothes. 
 Fond of his dress, fond of his person grown, 
 Laugh'd at by all, and to himself unknown, 
 From side to side he struts, he smiles, he prates, 
 And seems to wonder what 's become of Yates. . 
 
 Woodward, endow'd with various tricks of face, 
 Great master in the science of grimace, 
 A speaking Harlequin, made up of whim, 
 He twists, he twines, he tortures every limb, 
 Plays to the eye with a mere monkey's art, 
 And leaves to sense the conquest of the heart. 
 We laugh indeed, but, on reflection's birth, 
 We wonder at ourselves, and curse our mirth. 
 
 By turns transform'd into all kinds of shapes, 
 Constant to none, Foote laughs, cries, struts and 
 
 scrapes; 
 Now in the centre, now in van or rear, 
 The Proteus shifts, bawd, parson, auctioneer. 
 His strokes of humour, and his bursts of sport, 
 Are all contain'd in this one word, Distort. 
 
 Next Jackson came. — Observe that settled glare, 
 Which better speaks a puppet than a player: 
 
ACTORS. 9 
 
 List to that voice — did ever discord hear 
 Sounds so well fitted to her untun'd ear? 
 When, to enforce some very tender part, 
 The right hand sleeps by instinct on the heart, 
 His soul, of every other thought bereft, 
 Is anxious only where to place the left; 
 He sobs and pants to sooth his weeping spouse, 
 To sooth his weeping mother, turns and bows, 
 Awkward, embanass'd, stiff, without the skill 
 Of moving gracefully, or standing still: 
 One leg, as if suspicious of his brother, 
 Desirous seems to run away from t'other. 
 
 Sparks at his glass sat comfortably down 
 To sep'rate frown from smile, and smile from frown: 
 Smith, the genteel, the airy, and the smart, 
 Smith was just gone to school to say his part: 
 Ross (a misfortune which we often meet) 
 Was fast asleep at dear Statira's feet; 
 Statira, with her hero to agree, 
 Stood on her feet as fast asleep as he: 
 Maclin, who largely deals in half-formed sounds, 
 Who wantonly transgresses nature's bounds, 
 Whose acting's hard, affected, and constrained, 
 "Whose features as each other they disdain'd, 
 At variance set, inflexible and coarse, 
 Ne'er know the workings of united force, 
 Ne'er kindly soften to each other's aid, 
 Nor show the mingled pow'rs of light and shade, 
 No longer for a thankless stage concern'd, 
 To worthier thoughts his mighty genius turn'd. 
 
 Quin, from afar lur'd by the scene of fame, 
 A, stage Leviathan, put in his claim, 
 Pupil of Betterton and Booth. Alone 
 Sullen he walk'd, and deem'd the chair his own. 
 His words bore sterling weight, nervous and strong 
 In manly tides of sense they roll'd along. 
 Happy in art, he chiefly had pretence 
 To keep up numbers, yet not forfeit sense. 
 No actor ever greater heights could reach 
 In all the labour'd artifice of speech.— 
 
10 ADVERSITY. 
 
 I laugh at those, who, when the stage they tread, 
 Neglect the heart to compliment the head; 
 With strict propriety their care 's confin'd 
 To weigh out words, while passion halts behind. 
 To syllable dissectors they appeal, 
 Allow them accent, cadence — fools may feel; 
 But, spite of all the criticising elves, 
 Those who would make us feel, must feel themselves. 
 
 His eyes, in gloomy socket taught to roll, 
 Proclaim'd the sullen habit of his soul. 
 Heavy and phlegmatic he trod the stage, 
 Too proud for tenderness, too dull for rage. 
 
 Last Garrick came. Behind him throng a train 
 Of snarling critics, ignorant as vain. 
 
 If manly sense; if nature link'd with art; 
 If thorough knowledge of the human heart; 
 If pow'rs of acting vast and unconfm'd: 
 If fewest faults with greatest beauties join'd; 
 If strong expression, and strange pow'rs which lie 
 Within the magic circle of the eye; 
 If feelings which few hearts like his can know, 
 And which no face so well as his can show, 
 Deserve the prefrence : — Garrick, take the chair, 
 Nor quit it — till thou place an equal there. Churchill. 
 
 Adversity. Address to. 
 
 Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly 
 Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
 Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy 
 And leave us leisure to be good. 
 Light they disperse; and with them go 
 The summer-friend, the flatt'ring foe; 
 By vain Prosperity receiv'd, 
 To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd. 
 
 Wisdom in sable garb array'd, 
 Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound, 
 And Melancholy, silent maid, 
 With leaden eye that loves the ground, 
 
AFFECTATION. 11 
 
 Still on thy solemn steps attend, 
 Warm Charity, the general friend, 
 With Justice, to herself severe, 
 And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 
 
 Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, 
 Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand! 
 JN'ot in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 
 Nor circled with the vengeful band, 
 (As by the impious thou art seen) 
 With thund'ring voice, and threading mien, 
 With screaming Horror's fun'ral cry, 
 Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty, 
 
 Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear, 
 Thy milder influence impart; 
 Thy philosophic train be there 
 To soften, not to wound, my heart 
 The gen'rous spark exinct revive; 
 Teach me to love and to forgive; 
 Exact my own defects to scan; 
 "What others are, to feel; and know myself a man, 
 
 Gray. 
 
 Affectation. Clerical, exposed. 
 In man or woman, but far most in man, 
 And most of all in man that ministers 
 And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
 All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn; 
 Object of my implacable disgust. 
 What! — will a man play tricks, will he indulge 
 A silly iond conceit of his fair form 
 And just proportion, fashionable mien 
 And pretty face, in presence of his God? 
 Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, 
 As with the diamond on his lily hand, 
 And play his brilliant parts before my eyes 
 When I am hungry for the bread of life? 
 He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
 
12 AGED. 
 
 His noble office, and, instead of truth, 
 Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock. 
 Therefore avaunt all attitude, and stare, 
 And start theatric, practis'd at the glass! 
 I seek divine simplicity in him, 
 Who handles things divine; and all besides, 
 Though learn'd with labour, and tho' much admir'd 
 By curious eyes and judgments ill inform'd, 
 To me is odious as the nasal twang 
 Heard at conventicle, where worthy men, 
 Misled by custom, strain celestial themes 
 Through the press'd nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 
 
 Cowper* 
 
 Affectation. Female. 
 
 There affectation with a sickly mien, 
 Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen; 
 Practis'd to lisp, and hang the head aside, 
 Faints into airs, and languishes with pride; 
 On the rich quilt sinks with becoming wo, 
 Wrapt in a gown for sickness and for show. Pope, 
 
 Age. Should retire from the World. 
 
 What folly can be ranker? like our shadows, 
 Our wishes lengthen, as our sun declines. 
 No wish should loiter, then, this side the grave. 
 Our hearts should leave the world, before the knell 
 Calls for our carcases to mend the soil. 
 Enough to live in tempest; die in port. 
 Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat 
 Defects of judgment, and the will subdue; 
 Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore 
 Of that vast ocean it must sail so soon ! Young. 
 
 Aged. Folly of their Love of life. 
 O my co'evals! remnant of yourselves! 
 Poor human ruins, totfring o'er the grave! 
 Shall we, shall aged men, like aged trees, 
 Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling, 
 
AGES. 13 
 
 Still more enamour'd of this wretched soil? 
 Shall our pale, wither'd hands be still stretch'd out, 
 Trembling, at once with eagerness and age? 
 With avarice, and convulsions grasping hard? 
 
 When in this vale of years I backward look, 
 And miss such numbers, numbers too of such, 
 Firmer in health, and greener in their age 
 And stricter on their guard, and fitter far 
 To play life's subtle game, I scarce believe 
 I still survive: and am I fond of life, 
 Who scarce can think it possible I live? 
 Alive by miracle! if still alive, 
 AVho long have buried what gives life to live, 
 Firmness of nerve, and energy of thought. 
 Life's lee is not more shallow, than impure 
 And vapid ; sense and reason show the door, 
 Call for my bier, and point me to the dust. Young. 
 
 Ages. The Seven tflges. 
 
 All the world 's a stage, 
 And all the men and women merely players: 
 They have their exits and their entrances: 
 And one man in his time plays many parts, 
 His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; 
 And then, the whining schoolboy, with his satchel, 
 And shining morning-face, creeping like snail 
 Unwillingly to school; And then the lover, 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
 Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then, a soldier, 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
 Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 
 Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice, 
 In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, 
 With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances, 
 And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean andslipper'd pantaloon; 
 B 
 
14 AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; 
 His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
 For his shrunk shank: and his big manly voice . 
 Turning again towards childish treble, pipes 
 And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 
 That ends this strange eventful history, 
 Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 
 
 Skakspeare. 
 
 Alehouse. Village. 
 Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts in- 
 spir'd, 
 Where gray -beard mirth and smiling toil retir'd, 
 Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, 
 And news much older than their ale went round. 
 Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
 The parlour splendours of that festive place; 
 The white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, 
 The rarnish'd clock that click'd behind the door; 
 The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, 
 A bed by night, a chest of draw'rs by day; 
 The pictures plac'd for ornament and use, 
 The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose; 
 The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, 
 With aspen boughs, and fiow'rs, and fennel gay. 
 While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 
 Rang'd o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 
 
 Goldsmith - 
 
 Amusements. Tiresome. 
 What numbers here would into fame advance - 
 Conscious of merit in the coxcomb's dance ! 
 The tavern, park, assembly, mask, and play. 
 Those dear destroyers of the tedious day! 
 That wheel of fops ! that saunter of the town ! 
 Call it diversion, and the pill goes down; 
 Fools grin on fools; and Stoic-like support, 
 Without one sigh, the pleasures of a court. 
 
IKILATI 15 
 
 Courts can give nothing to the wise and good, 
 
 B..- ?■:■: ::: ■:■: r - :w . ;.. . : ve :: i:V::::iz. 
 
 H:«w ?:2ti::-.s :■.:.::: .:'.:. b w. :::* bliss, create : 
 
 N :. ..k •.: ~ 2.: -at ... . ; r. : . . the £:ea: 
 
 Fools gaze and envy: envy darts a sting. 
 
 Which makes a swain as wretched a? a king . Yc : : r.£. 
 
 Axgelo, 
 Lord Aragelo is precise; 
 
 That his blood Bows, or that bis apetifce 
 
 Is more to bread than stone: Hence shall we - 
 
 If power cha.ri.se purpose, what our seemers be. 
 
 Sfadbpeort. 
 
 A-VGELS. 
 
 Oth 
 lr. ■:. . ...i *>.'■_;;- r - -v..-...-. ..-. -,..-. ;n ? d high 
 Otpr; 
 I 
 
 And found no end, in wane. - s lost 
 
 Of good and evil muck ihey argued then. 
 Of happiness and final misery . 
 
 ime, 
 
 V?:;: wisictr. a!! ;c: :a.se 
 
 I el with a pleasing b old charm 
 
 wophy: 
 
 Pa: 
 
 
 Fa .w: . > _._-. :: am-he tlb cbdu.-ate breas: 
 With stubborn patience as with triple steel. M 
 
 Akki:hilati:n*. Horror 
 b: : -:- ... ~ ::e sad _;,: r . :■: : w. . we/al.l l:s£ 
 Though full of pain, this intellectual I 
 
 T:.ose thought? that -■;.;-.;-_■ ::.:. _-_. Wr.Lity: 
 
 T: ;:•:::: ia:b.er, jw_-.11 ewe .:. ... bi lest 
 
 J: '--- vr '-- "-'• wb: ::" „:-.;:eat- 3 nigh:. 
 
 Devoid of sense and motion! M ■/.■::-:,■ 
 
16 ANIMALS. 
 
 Animals. Feasted by Man. 
 
 That very life his learned hunger craves, 
 He saves from famine, from the savage saves^ 
 Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast, 
 And till he ends the being, makes it blest; 
 Which sees no more the stroke, or feels the pain, 
 Than favour'd Man by touch ethereal slain, 
 The creature had his feast of life before; 
 Thou too must perish when thy feast is o'er. 
 To each unthinking being Heaven a friend, 
 Gives not the useless knowledge of its end! 
 To Man imparts it; but with such a view 
 As, while he dreads it, makes him hope it too: 
 The hour conceal'd, and so remote the fear, 
 Death still draws nearer, never seeming near; 
 Great standing miracle ! that Heaven assign'd 
 Its only thinking thing this turn of mind. 
 
 Whether with Reason or with Instinct blest, 
 Know, all enjoy that pow'r which suits them best; 
 To bliss alike by that direction tend, 
 And find the means proportion'd to their end. Pope. 
 
 Animals. Their Happiness. 
 The heart is hard in nature, and unfit 
 For human fellowship, as being void 
 Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike 
 To love and friendship both, that is not pleas'd 
 With sight of animals enjoying life, 
 Nor feels their happiness augment his own. 
 The bounding fawn that darts across the glade 
 When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, 
 And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; 
 The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, 
 That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, 
 Then stops, and snorts, and throwing high his heels, 
 Starts to the voluntary race again: 
 The very kine that gambol at high noon, 
 The total herd receiving first from one, 
 
APPEARANCES. ' 17 
 
 That leads the dance, a summons to be gay, 
 
 Though wild their strange vagaries and uncouth 
 
 Their efforts, yet resolv'd, with one consent 
 
 To give such act and utt'rance, as they may 
 
 To ecstasy too big to be suppressed — 
 
 These, and a thousand images of bliss, 
 
 "With which kind Nature graces ev'ry scene, 
 
 Where cruel man defeats not her design, 
 
 Impart to the benevolent who wish 
 
 All that are capable of pleasure pleas'd, 
 
 A far superior happiness to theirs, 
 
 The comfort of a reasonable joy. Coivper. 
 
 Appearances. Deceitful 
 
 The world is still deceived with ornament. 
 Tn law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
 But, being season'd with a gracious voice, 
 Obscures the show of evil? In religion, 
 What damned error, but some sober brow 
 Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 
 Hiding the giossness with fair ornament? 
 There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
 Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 
 How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
 As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
 The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, 
 Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk? 
 And these assume but valour's excrement, 
 To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 
 And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight; 
 Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
 Making them lightest that wear most of it: 
 So are those crisped snaky golden locks 
 Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, 
 Upon supposed fairness, often known 
 To be the dowry of a second head; 
 The skull that bred them, in the sepulchre. 
 Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 
 To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf 
 b 2 
 
18 APOTHECARY, 
 
 Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, 
 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
 
 To entrap the wisest. Shakspeare, 
 
 Apollo. The Vatican. 
 Or view the lord of the unerring bow, 
 The God of life, and poesy, and light — 
 The Sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow 
 All radiant from his triumph in the fight; 
 The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright 
 "With an immortal vengeance; in his eye 
 And nostril beautiful disdain, and might, 
 And majesty, flash their full lightnings by; 
 Developing, in that one glance, the Deity. 
 
 But in his delicate form — a dream of love, 
 Shaped by some soiltary nymph, whose breast 
 Long'd for a deathless lover from above, 
 And madden'd in that vision— are exprest 
 All that ideal beauty ever bless'd 
 The mind with, in its most unearthly mood, 
 When each conception was a heavenly guest — 
 A ray of immortality — and stood 
 Star-like, around, until they gather'd to a god ! Byron. 
 
 Apothecary. Wretchedness of one. 
 I do remember an apothecary, — 
 And hereabouts he dwells, — whom late I noted 
 In tatter'd weeds with overwhelming brows. 
 Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, 
 And in his needy shop a tortoise hung. 
 Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: 
 An alligator stuff'd, and other skins 
 Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves 
 A beggarly account of empty boxes, 
 Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 
 Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, 
 Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
ARTS. 19 
 
 Apothecary. Visit of, to the Parish Poor: 
 
 Anon, a figure enters, quaintly neat, 
 All pride and business, bustle and conceit; 
 With looks unalter'd by these scenes of wo, 
 With speed that, entering, speaks his haste to go, 
 He bids the gazing throng around him fly, 
 And carries fate and physic in his eye: 
 A potent quack, long vers'd in human ills, 
 Who first insults the victim whom he kills; 
 Whose murd'rous hand a drowsy bench protect, 
 And whose most tender mercy is neglect. 
 
 Paid by the parish for attendance here, 
 He wears contempt upon his sapient sneer; 
 In haste he seeks the bed where Misery lies, 
 Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes; 
 And some habitual queries hurried o'er, 
 Without reply, he rushes on the door: 
 His drooping patient, long innur'd to pain, 
 And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain; 
 He ceases now the feeble help to crave 
 Of Man; and silent sinks into the grave, Crabbe. 
 
 Army. Character of one. 
 
 All the unsettled humours of the land — 
 Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, 
 With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, — ■ 
 Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
 Bearing their birth-rights proudly on their backs, 
 To make a hazard of new fortunes here, 
 In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, 
 Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er, 
 Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
 To do offence and scath in Christendom. 
 The interruption of their churlish drums 
 Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand. 
 
 Shakspeare- 
 Arts. Views extend with our Progress in. 
 
 Fir'd at first sight, with what the muse imparts, 
 In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts, 
 
£0 ATTICUS. 
 
 While from the bounded level of our mind 
 Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind; 
 But, more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise 
 New distant scenes of endless science rise! 
 So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try, 
 Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky; 
 Th' eternal snows appear already past, 
 And the first clouds and mountains seem the last; 
 But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey 
 The growing labours of the lengthen'd way; 
 Th 5 increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes, 
 Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise ! Pope. 
 
 Aspasia. Character of. 
 
 Aspasia's highly born, and nicely bred, 
 Of taste refin'd, in life and manners read, 
 Yet reaps no fruit from her superior sense, 
 But to be teas'd by her own excellence. 
 " Folks are so awkward.' things so unpolite!" 
 She 's elegantly pain'd from morn to night. 
 Her delicacy 's shock'd where'er she goes; 
 Each creature's imperfections are her woes. 
 Heaven by its favours has the fair distress'd, 
 And pour'd such blessings — that she cant be blest. 
 
 Young. 
 
 Atticus. Character of 
 Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires 
 True genius kindles, and fair Fame inspires; 
 Blest with each talent and each art to please, 
 And born to write, converse, and live with ease: 
 Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 
 Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, 
 View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 
 And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise; 
 Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 
 And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; 
 Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 
 Ju«t hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; 
 
AUTHORITY. 21 
 
 Alike reserv'd to blame, or to commend, 
 
 A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend; 
 
 Dreading ev'n fools, by flatterers besieged, 
 
 And so obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd; 
 
 Like Cato, gives his little Senate laws, 
 
 And sit attentive to his own applause; 
 
 While Wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise, 
 
 And wonder with a foolish face of praise, — 
 
 Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? 
 
 Who would not weep, if Atticus were he? Pope, 
 
 Atossa. Character of 
 
 But what are these to great Atossa's mind ? 
 Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind! 
 Who, with herself, or others, from her birth 
 Finds all her life one warfare upon earth: 
 Shines in exposing knaves, and painting fools, 
 Yet is whate'er she hates and ridicules. 
 No thought advances, but her eddy brain 
 Whisks it about, and down it goes again. 
 Full sixty years the world has been her trade. 
 The wisest fool much time has ever made. 
 From loveless youth to unrespected age. 
 No passion gratified, except her rage, 
 So much the fury still outran the wit, 
 The pleasure miss'd her, and the scandal hit. 
 Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell; 
 But he 's a bolder man who dares be well, Pope. 
 
 Authority. The abuse of, 
 O, it is excellent 
 To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous 
 To use it like a giant. 
 Could great men thunder, 
 
 As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet; 
 For every pelting, petty officer, 
 Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thun- 
 der. — 
 Merciful heaven ! 
 Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
 
22 BARD. 
 
 Split's the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, 
 
 Than the soft myrtle — O, but man, proud man? 
 
 Drest in a- little brief authority; 
 
 Most ignorant of what he 's most assur'd, 
 
 His glassy essence, — like an angry ape, 
 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
 
 As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, 
 
 Would all themselves laugh mortal. Shakspeare* 
 
 Bard. A Bard's Epitaph. 
 Is there a whim-inspired fool, 
 Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 
 Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, 
 
 Let him draw near; 
 And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 
 
 And drap a tear, 
 
 Is there a bard of rustic song, 
 
 Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 
 
 That weekly this area throng, 
 
 O, pass not by! 
 But, with a frater-feeling strong, 
 
 Here, heave a sigh. 
 
 Is there a man whose judgment clear, 
 Can others teach the course to steer, 
 Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, 
 
 Wild as the wave; 
 Here pause — and, through the starting tear, 
 
 Survey this grave. 
 
 The poor inhabitant below 
 
 Was quick to learn and wise to know, 
 
 And keenly felt the friendly glow, 
 
 And softer flame. 
 But thoughtless follies laid him low, 
 
 And stained his name. 
 
 Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
 Soars fancy's flight beyond the pole, 
 Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 
 
 In low pursuit: 
 
BEAUTY. 23 
 
 Know, prudent, cautious, self-control 
 
 Is wisdom's root. Burns. 
 
 Bashfulness. 
 
 I pity bashful men, who feel the pain 
 Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, 
 And bear the marks upon a blushing face 
 Of needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace, 
 Our sensibilities are so acute, 
 The fear of being silent makes us mute. 
 We sometimes think we could a speech produce 
 Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose; 
 Eut being tried, it dies upon the lip, 
 Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip: 
 Our wasted oil unprofitable burns, 
 Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. 
 Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd; 
 It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd, 
 By way of wholesome curb upon our pride, 
 To fear each other, fearing none beside. 
 The cause perhaps inquiry may descry, 
 Self-searching with an introverted eye, 
 Conceal'd within an unsuspected part, 
 The vainest corner of our own vain heart: 
 For ever aiming at the world's esteem, 
 Our self-importance ruins its own scheme: 
 In other eyes our talents rarely shown, 
 Become at length so splendid in our own, 
 We dare not risk them into public view, 
 Lest they miscarry of what seems their due. Cowper. 
 
 B eauty. A satirical one. 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
 Misprising what they look on; and her wit 
 Values itself so highly, that to her 
 All matter else seems weak: she cannot love 
 Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
 She is so self-endeared. 
 I never yet saw man, 
 How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured. 
 
24 BELIAL. 
 
 But she would spell him backward: if fair-faced* 
 
 She'd swear the gentleman should be her sister; 
 
 If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic, 
 
 Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill headed: 
 
 If low, an agate very vilely cut: 
 
 If speaking, why, a vane blown with all wind: 
 
 If silent, why a block moved with none. 
 
 So turns she every man the wrong side out: 
 
 And never gives to truth and virtue, that 
 
 Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. Shakspeare. 
 
 Beauty. Moral and natural compared. 
 Look then abroad through nature, to the range 
 Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres 
 Wheeling unshaken through the void immense; 
 And speak, O man! does this capacious scene 
 With half that kindling majesty dilate 
 Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose 
 Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate, 
 Amid the crowd of patriots; and his arm 
 Aloft extending, like eternal Jove 
 When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud 
 On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel. 
 
 Menside 
 
 Being. Pangs at our resigning. 
 
 For who, to dumb forge tfulness a prey, 
 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, 
 Left the warm precints of the cheerful day, 
 
 Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind: 
 On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
 
 Some pious drops the closing eye requires: 
 Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, 
 
 Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. Gray 
 
 Belial. His Character. 
 Belial, in act more graceful and humane; 
 A fairer person lost not Heav'n; he seem'd 
 For dignity compos'd and high exploit: 
 But all was false and hollow; though his tongue 
 
liEPPO AND LAURA. 25 
 
 Dropp'd manna, and could make the worse appear 
 The better reason, to perplex and dash 
 Maturest counsels; for his thoughts were low; 
 To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds 
 Timorous and slothful; yet he pleas'd the ear. Milton 
 
 Belinda. Character of. 
 
 On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, 
 Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. 
 Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, 
 Quick as her eyes, and as unfixt as those: 
 Favours to none, to all she smiles extends; 
 Oft she rejects, but never once offends. 
 Bright as the sun her eyes the gazers strike, 
 And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 
 Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, 
 Might hide their faults, if belles had faults to hide: 
 If to her share some female errors fall, 
 Look on her face, and you '11 forget them all. Pope, 
 
 Beelzebub. His Character. 
 Than whom 
 Satan except, none higher sat, with grave 
 Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd 
 A pillar of state; deep on his front engraven* 
 Deliberation sat anJ public care; 
 And princely counsel in his face yet shone 
 Majestic, though in ruin; sage he stood, 
 With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear 
 The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look 
 Drew audience and attention, still as night 
 Or summer's noontide air. Milton, 
 
 Beppo and Laura. Humorous Rencontre between. 
 
 Now, Laura, much recover'd, or less loth 
 To speak, cries, -'« Beppo ! what 's your Pagan name ? 
 
 Bless me! your beard is of amazing growth! 
 And how came you to keep away so long? 
 Are you not sensible 'twas very wrong? 
 C 
 
£6 BLINDNESS. 
 
 " And are you really, truly, now a Turk? 
 
 With any other woman did you wive ? 
 Is 't true they use their ringers for a fork ? 
 
 Well, that 's the prettiest shawl — as I 'm alive! — 
 You 11 give it me? — they say you eat no pork — 
 
 And how so many years did you contrive 
 To — Bless me ! did I ever — No, I never 
 Saw a man grown so yellow! — How 's your liver? 
 
 (i Beppo! that beard of your's becomes you not; 
 
 It shall be shaved before you 're a day older; 
 Why do you wear it? — Oh! I had forgot — 
 
 Pray, don't you think the weather here is colder? 
 How do I look? — You shan't stir from this spot 
 
 In that queer dress, for fear that some beholder 
 Should find you out and make the story known — 
 How short your hair is ! — Lord ! how gray it 's grown ! 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Blindness. Milton's Complaint of. 
 
 Thee I revisit safe, 
 And feel thy sov'reign vital lamp; but thou 
 Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
 To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; 
 So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, 
 Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more 
 Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt 
 Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hiil.— 
 
 Thus with the year 
 Seasons return, but not to me returns 
 Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, 
 Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
 Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; 
 But cloud instead, and ever-during dark 
 Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
 Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair 
 Presented with an universal blank 
 Of nature's works, to me expung'd and ras'd, 
 And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 
 So much the rather thou, celestial Light, 
 
BOASTING. 27 
 
 Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
 Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence 
 Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
 Of things invisible to mortal sight. Milton. 
 
 Bliss. Human, small. 
 Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 
 To see the hoard of human bliss so small; 
 And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find 
 Some spot to real happiness consign'd; 
 Where my worn soul, each wand'ring hope at rest, 
 May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. Goldsmith . 
 
 Bluntness. Effected. 
 
 This is some fellow, 
 Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect 
 A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb, 
 Quite from his nature: He cannot flatter, he! — 
 An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth: 
 An' if they will take it, so; if not, he 's plain. 
 These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness 
 Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, 
 Than twenty silly ducking observants. 
 That stretch their duties nicely. Shakspeare. 
 
 Boasting. Of youth. 
 I '11 hold thee any wager, 
 W T hen we are both accouter'd like young men, 
 1 5 11 prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
 And wear my dagger with a braver grace; 
 And speak, between the change of man and boy. 
 With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps 
 Into a manly stride; and speak of frays, 
 Like a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies, 
 How honourable ladies sought my love, 
 Which I denying, they fell sick and died; 
 I could not do with all; — then I '11 repent, 
 And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them: 
 And twenty of these puny lies I '11 tell, 
 That men shall swear, I have discontinued school 
 Above a twelvemonth. Shakspeare. 
 
28 BUFO. 
 
 Bodies. Heavenly, Regularity of. 
 
 Nor think thou seest a wild disorder here; 
 
 Through this illustrious chaos, to the sight, 
 
 Arrangement neat, and chastest order reign. 
 
 The path prescribed, inviolably kept, 
 
 Upbraids the lawless sallies of mankind: 
 
 "Worlds, ever thwarting, never interfere; 
 
 They rove for ever, without error rove: 
 
 Confusion unconfus'd ! nor less admire 
 
 This tumult un tumultuous; all on wing, 
 
 In motion all ! yet what profound repose ! 
 
 What fervid action, yet no noise! as aw'd 
 
 To silence by the presence of their Lord. Young 
 
 Brothers. Jtjfection for . 
 Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 
 My heart, untravelPd, fondly turns to thee; 
 Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, 
 And drags, at each remove, a lengthening chain. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Bufo. Character of. 
 Proud, as Apollo on his forked hill, 
 Sat full-blown Bufo, puff'd by ev'ry quill 
 Fed with soft dedication all day long, 
 Horace and he w T ent hand in hand in song. 
 His library (where busts of poets dead 
 And a true Pindar stood without a head) 
 Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race, 
 Who first his judgment ask'd, and then a place: 
 Much they extoll'd his pictures, much his seat, 
 And flatter'd every day, and some days eat: 
 Till grown more frugal in his riper days, 
 He paid some bards with port, and some with praise: 
 To some a dry rehearsal was assign 'd; 
 And others (harder still) he paid in kind. 
 Dryden alone (what wonder!) came not nigh; 
 Dryden alone escap'd this judging eye: 
 But still the great have kindness in reserve; 
 He help'd to bury whom he help'd to starve. Pope, 
 
CALIBAN. 29 
 
 Burke. Character of. 
 Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, 
 We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; 
 Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, 
 And to party gave up what was meant for mankind, 
 Tho' fraught with all learning, yet strarning his throat, 
 To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote: 
 Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining. 
 And tho't of convincing, while they thought of dining. 
 Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, 
 Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit: 
 For a patriot too cool, for a drudge disobedient, 
 And too fond of the right to pursue the exepdient. 
 In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, Sir, 
 To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. 
 
 Goldsmith.. 
 
 Caliban. His Curses. 
 As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
 With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
 Drop on ye both! a southwest blow on ye, 
 
 And blister you all o'er ! ■ 
 
 I must eat my dinner. 
 This island 's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
 Which thou tak'st from me. When thou earnest first. 
 Thou strok'dstme, and mad'st much of me; would'st 
 
 give me 
 Water with berries in 't; and teach me how 
 To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
 That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee, 
 And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, 
 The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile; 
 Cursed be I that did so! — All the charms 
 Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on y r ou! 
 For I am all the subjects that you have, 
 Which first was mine own king, and here you sty me 
 In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
 The rest of the island. Shakspean, 
 
 c2 
 
oO CAMP. 
 
 Camp. Night in & camp. 
 From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night 
 The hum of either army stilly sounds, 
 That the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
 The secret whispers of each other's watch: 
 Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames 
 Each battle sees the other's umber'd face: 
 Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
 Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents, 
 The armourers, accomplishing the knights, 
 "With busy hammers closing rivets up, 
 Give dreadful note of preparation. 
 The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
 And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
 Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, 
 The confident and over-lusty French 
 Do the low-rated English play at dice, 
 And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, 
 Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
 So tediously away. The poor condemned English, 
 Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
 Sit patiently, and inly ruminate 
 The morning's danger; and their gesture sad, 
 Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 
 Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
 So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold 
 The royal captain of this ruin'd band, 
 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 
 Let him cry — Praise and glory on his head! 
 For forth he goes, and visits all his host; 
 Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile; 
 And calls them — brothers, friends, and countrymen. 
 Upon his royal face there is no note, 
 How dread an army hath enrounded him; 
 Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
 Unto the weary and all-watched night: 
 But freshly looks, and overbears attaint, 
 With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty; 
 That very wretch, pining and pale before, 
 
CATARACT. 31 
 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks: 
 
 A largess universal, like the sun 
 
 His liberal eye doth give to everyone, 
 
 Thawing cold fear. Shakspeare, 
 
 Cassius. Casar's dislike of. 
 Would he were fatter! — But I fear him not: 
 Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
 I do not know the man I should avoid 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; 
 He is a great observer, and he looks 
 Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays, 
 As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music: 
 Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort, 
 As if he mock'd himself, and seorn'd his spirit 
 That could be mov'd to smile at any thing; 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease, 
 Whiles they behold a greater than themselves; 
 And therefore are thev very dangerous. 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd, 
 Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. Shakspeare. 
 
 Cataract of Velino. 
 
 The roar of waters! — from the headlong height 
 Velino cleaves the wave worn precipice; 
 The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 
 The Sashing mass foams, shaking the abyss; 
 The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, 
 And boil in endless torture; while the sweat 
 01 their great agony, wrung out from this 
 Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet 
 That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, 
 
 And mounts in spray the skies, and thence, again 
 
 Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, 
 
 With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, 
 
 Is an eternal April to the ground, 
 
 Making it all one emerald. — How profound 
 
 The gulf! and how the giant element 
 
 From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, 
 
32 CEREMONY. 
 
 Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent 
 With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent. 
 
 To the broad column which rolls on, and shows 
 More like the fountain of an infant sea 
 Torn from the wombs of mountains by the throes 
 Of a new world, than only thus to be 
 Parent of rives, which flow gushingly, 
 With many windings, thro' the vale: — Look back! 
 Lo! where it comes like an eternity, 
 As if to sweep down all things in its track, 
 Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract — 
 
 Horribly beautiful! but on the verge, 
 From side to side, beneath the glittering morn. 
 An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge 
 Like hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn 
 Its steady dyes, while all around is torn 
 By the distracted waters, bears serene 
 Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn, 
 Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, 
 Love watching madness with unalterable mien. Byron. 
 
 Censure. Who deserve. 
 Instructive Satire, true to virtue's cause, 
 Thou shining supplement of public laws! 
 When rlatter'd crimes of a licentious age 
 Ileproach our silence, and demand our rage. — 
 When churchmen scripture for the classics quit: 
 Polite apostates from God's grace to wit; 
 When men grow great from their revenue spent; 
 And fly from baliffs into parliament; 
 When dying sinners, to biot out their score 
 Bequeath the church the leavings of a whore — 
 To chafe our spleen when themes like these increase, 
 Shall panegyric reign and censure cease? Young. 
 
 Ceremony. Bigot's Regard for. 
 Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth, 
 Prepar'd to fight for shadows of no worth: 
 
CHATHAM. 3^ 
 
 While truths, on which eternal things depend, 
 Find not, or haidly find, a single friend: 
 As soldiers watch the signal of command, 
 They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand; 
 Happy to fill religion's vacant place 
 With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 Chaos. Satan's Meeting with. 
 So eagerly the Fiend 
 O'er bog, or steep, thro' strait, rough, dense, or rare, 
 With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, 
 And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies: 
 At length a universal hubbub wild 
 Of stunning sounds and voices all confus'd, 
 Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear 
 With loudest vehemence: thither he plies, 
 Undaunted to meet there whatever power 
 Or Spirit of the nethermost abyss 
 Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask 
 Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies 
 Bord'ring on light; when strait behold the throne 
 Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread 
 Wide on the wasteful deep; with him enthron'd, 
 Sat sable-vested Night, eldest of things, 
 The consort of his reign; and by them stood 
 Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name 
 Of Demogorgon: Rumour next, and Chance, 
 And Tumult and Confusion, all embroil'd, 
 And Discord, with a thousand various mouths. Milton. 
 
 Chatham. Lord, Character of. 
 
 Not so — the virtue still adorns our age, 
 Though the chief actor died upon the stage. 
 In him Demosthenes was heard again, 
 Liberty taught him her Athenian strain, 
 She cloth'd him with authority and awe, 
 Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. 
 His speech, his form, his action, full of grace, 
 And all his country beaming in his face. 
 
34 CHHEMES. 
 
 He stood, as some inimitable hand 
 
 Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. 
 
 No sycophant or slave, thatdar'd oppose 
 
 Her sacred cause, but trembl'd when he rose, 
 
 And ev'ry venal stickler for the yoke 
 
 Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 Cheerfulness. 
 
 Let me play the fool: 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 
 Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice 
 By being peevish? Shakspeare. 
 
 Chloe. Character of. 
 
 i; Yet Chloe sure was form'd without a spot." 
 Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot. 
 " With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part, 
 Say, what can Chloe want?" — She wants a heart. 
 She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought, 
 But never, never reach'd one gen'rous thought. 
 Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour; 
 Content to dwell in decencies for ever. 
 So very reasonable, so unmov'd, 
 As never yet to love, or to be lov'd. Pope. 
 
 Chremes. Character of. 
 
 Chremes, for airy pensions of renown, 
 Devotes his service to the state and crown; 
 All schemes he knows, and knowing all improves; 
 Though Britain 's thankless, still this patriot loves. 
 
 Knows for each day the weather of our fate; 
 
 A quidnunc is an almanack of state. 
 
 You smile, and think this statesman void of use, 
 Why may not time his secret worth produce ? 
 
CLELIA. £>0 
 
 Since apes can roast the choice Castanian nut, 
 Since steeds of genius are expert at put, 
 Since half the senate " not content" can say, 
 Geese nations save, and puppies plots betray. 
 
 What makes him model realms and counsel kings: 
 An incapacity for smaller things. 
 Poor Chremes can't conduct his own estate, 
 And thence has undertaken Europe ? s fate. Young. 
 
 Christmas. Hallowed Time. 
 It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
 Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes 
 "Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long; 
 And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; 
 The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, 
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, 
 So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. Shakspeare. 
 
 Clelia. Her Vanity in the Alms-House. 
 
 Now friendless, sick, and old, and wanting bread, 
 The first-born tears of fallen pride were shed: 
 True, bitter tears, and yet that wounded pride, 
 Among the poor for poor distinctions sigh'd. 
 Though now her tales were to her audience fit; 
 Though loud her tones, and vulgar grown her wit: 
 Though now her dress — (but let me not explain 
 The piteous patch work of the needy vain; 
 The flirtish form to coarse materials lent, 
 And one poor robe through fifty fashions sent,) 
 Though all within was sad, without was mean- 
 Still 'twas her wish, her comfort to be seen. 
 She would to plays on lowest terms resort, 
 Where ouce her box was to the beaux a court; 
 And, strange delight! to that same house where she 
 Join'd in the dance, all gayety and glee, 
 Now with the menials, crowding to the wall, 
 She'd see, not share, the pleasures of the ball; 
 And with degraded vanity unfold, 
 Hew she, too, triumph'd in the years of oM. 
 
36 CLERGYMAN. 
 
 To her poor friends 'tis now her pride to tell, 
 On what a height she stood before she fell; 
 At church, she points to one tall seat, and " There 
 We sat/' she cries, " when my papa was mayor." 
 
 Crabber 
 
 Cleopatra Sailing. 
 The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
 Burn'd on the water; the poop was beaten gold; 
 Purple the sails, and so peifum'd, that 
 The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were 
 
 silver; 
 "Which to the tune of lutes kept stroke, and made 
 The water which they beat, to follow faster, 
 As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
 It beggar'd all description; she did lie 
 In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,) 
 O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see, 
 The fancy out-work nature: on each side her 
 Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 With diverse-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem 
 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
 And what they undid, did. Shakspeare. 
 
 Clergyman. Petit Maitre. 
 I venerate the man, whose heart is warm, 
 Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, 
 Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
 That he is honest in the sacred cause. 
 To such I render more than mere respect, 
 Whose actions say, that they respect themselves. 
 But lose in morals, and in manners vain, 
 In conversation frivolous, in dress 
 Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse; 
 Frequent in park with lady at his side, 
 Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes; 
 But rare at home, and never at his books, 
 Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card; 
 Constant at routs, familiar with a round 
 Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor; 
 Ambitious of preferment for its gold. 
 
COLISEUM. b, 
 
 And well-prepar'd, by ignorance and sloth, 
 By infidelity and love of world, 
 To make God's work a sinecure; a slave 
 To his own pleasures and his patron's pride; 
 From such apostles, O ye mitred heads, 
 Preserve the church! and lay not careless hands 
 On sculls that cannot teach, and will not learn. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 Clown. Turned Soldier. 
 The clown, the child of nature, without guile, 
 Blest with an infant's ignorance of all 
 But his own simple pleasures; now and then 
 A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair: 
 Is balloted, and trembles at the news; 
 Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears 
 A bible oath to be whate'er they please, 
 To do he knows not what. The task performed, 
 That instant he becomes the Serjeant's care, 
 His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. 
 His awkward gait, his introverted toes, 
 Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, 
 Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, 
 Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff, 
 He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, 
 Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well: 
 He stands erect; his slouch becomes a walk; 
 He steps right onward, martial is his air, 
 His form, and movement; is as smart above 
 As meal and larded locks can make him; wears 
 His hat, or his plum'd helmet, with a grace. Coioper, 
 
 Coliseum. 
 But when the rising moon begins to climb 
 Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there; 
 When the stars twinkle through the loops of time. 
 And the low night-breeze waves along the air, 
 The garland-forest, which the gray- walls wear, 
 D 
 
38 CONTRADICTION. 
 
 Like Laurels on the bald first Caesar's head, 
 When the light shines serene, but doth not glare, 
 Then in this magic circle raise the dead! — 
 Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread, 
 
 A ruin — yet what ruin ! from its mass 
 Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared; 
 Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass, 
 And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. 
 Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or but cleared? 
 Alas! developed, opens the decay, 
 When the colossal fabric's form is neared, 
 It will not bear the brightness of the day, 
 Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft 
 away. Byron. 
 
 Contradiction. 
 
 Ye pow'rs, who rule the tongue, if such there are, 
 And make colloquial happiness your care, 
 Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, 
 A duel in the form of a debate. 
 The clash of arguments and jar of words, 
 Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, 
 Decide no question with their tedious length,. 
 For opposition gives opinion strength. 
 Divert the champions prodigal of breath; 
 And put the peaceably-dispos'd to death. 
 O! thwart me not, Sir Soph, at ev'ry turn, 
 Nor carp at ev'ry flaw you may discern: 
 Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, 
 I am not surely always in the wrong; 
 5 Tis hard if all is false that I advance, 
 A fool must now and then be right by chance 
 Not that all freedom of dissent I blame; 
 No — there I grant the privilege I claim. 
 A disputable point is no man's ground; 
 Rove where you please, 'tis common all around. 
 Discourse may want an animated — No, 
 To brush the surface, and to make it flow: 
 
CORRUPT I OX. b'J 
 
 But still remember, if you mean to please, 
 
 To press your point with modesty and ease, 
 
 The mark at which my juster aim I take, 
 
 Is contradiction for its own dear sake, 
 
 Set your opinion at whatever pitch, 
 
 Knots and impediments make something hitch; 
 
 Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain, 
 
 Your thread of argument is snapt again. Cowper 
 
 Conversation. Common, Satirized, 
 
 The circle form'd, we sit in silent state, 
 Like figures drawn upon a dial plate; 
 Yes ma'am, and no ma'am, utter d softly, show 
 Ev'ry five minutes how the minutes go; 
 Each individual, suff'ring a constraint 
 Poetry may, but colours cannot paint; 
 As if in close committee on the sky, 
 Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry; 
 And finds a changing ciime a happy source 
 Of wise reflection, and well-tim'd discourse. 
 We next inquire, but softly and by stealth, 
 Like conservators of the pubic health. 
 Of epidemic throats, if such there are, 
 And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh, 
 That theme exhausted a wide chasm ensues, 
 Fill'd up at last with interesting news, 
 Who danc'd with whom, and who are like to wed ; 
 And who is hang'd, and who is brought to bed: 
 But fear to call a more important cause, 
 As if 'twere treason against English laws. 
 The visit paid, with ecstacy we come, 
 As from a sev'n years transportation home, 
 And there resume an unembarrass'd brow, 
 Recovering what we lost we know not how, 
 The faculties, that seem'd reduc'd to nought, 
 Expression and the privilege of thought. Cowper. 
 
 Corruption. 
 Vice is undone if she forgets her birth, 
 And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth* 
 
40 COTTAGER. 
 
 But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a whore; 
 
 Let Greatness own her, and she 's mean no more. 
 
 Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess, 
 
 Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless; 
 
 In golden chains the willing world she draws, 
 
 And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws; 
 
 Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head, 
 
 And sees pale Virtue carted in her stead. 
 
 Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car, 
 
 Old England's Genius, rough with many a scar, 
 
 DraggM in the dust! his arms hang idly round, 
 
 His flag inverted trails along the ground ! 
 
 Our youth all livery 'd o'er with foreign gold, 
 
 Before her dance, behind her crawl the old! 
 
 See thronging millions to the Pagod run, 
 
 And offer country, parent, wife, or son! 
 
 Hear her black trumpet thro 1 the land proclaim. 
 
 That not to be corrupted is the shame. 
 
 In soldier, churchman, patriot, man in pow'r, 
 
 'Tis av'rice all, ambition is no more! 
 
 See all our nobles begging to be slaves! 
 
 See all our fools aspiring to be knaves! 
 
 The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore, 
 
 Are what ten thousand envy and adore: 
 
 All, all look up with reverential awe, 
 
 At crimes that scape or triumph o'er the law; 
 
 While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry: 
 
 " Nothing is sacred now but villany." Pope* 
 
 Cottager. Smplicity of, contrasted. 
 Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door, 
 Pillow and bobbins all her little store; 
 Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay, 
 Shuffling her threads about the livelong day, 
 Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night 
 Lies down secure, her heart and pocket-light; 
 She, for her humble sphere by nature fit, 
 Has little understanding and no wit, 
 Receives no praise; but, though her lot be such, 
 (Toilsome and indigent) she renders much; 
 
COTTER- 41 
 
 Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true 
 A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew; 
 And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes 
 Her title to a treasure in the skies. 
 
 O happy peasant! O unhappy bard! 
 His the mere tinsel, hers the rich reward; 
 He prais'd perhaps for ages yet to come, 
 She never heard of half a mile from home: 
 He lost in errors his vain heart prefers, 
 She safe in the simplicity of hers. Coicper. 
 
 Cotter's Saturday Night. 
 The toil worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 
 This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
 Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 
 
 Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
 And weary, o'er the moor, his course doeshameward 
 bend. 
 
 Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in, 
 At service out amang the farmers roun', 
 
 Some ca 5 the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 
 A cannie errand to aneebor town: 
 
 Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 
 In youthfu 5 bloom, love sparklin in her e'e, 
 
 Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, 
 Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, 
 
 To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 
 
 But hark! a rap comes gently to the door; 
 
 Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
 Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 
 
 To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
 The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
 
 Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek; 
 Wi' heart-struck anxious care inquires his name, 
 
 While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; 
 Weelpleas'd, the mother hears it's nae wild worth 
 less rake. 
 
 D 2 
 
4& COUNSEL. 
 
 Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; 
 
 A strappan youth, he taks the mother's eye, 
 Blythe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill ta'en; 
 
 The father cracks o' horses, pleughs, and kye. 
 
 The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
 
 But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave, 
 The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
 
 What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave; 
 Weel pleas'd to think her bairn 's respected like the 
 
 leave. 
 
 The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 
 
 They round the ingle form a circle wide; 
 The sire turns o'er wi' patriarchal grace, 
 
 The big ha'-bible, ance his father's pride; 
 His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
 
 His lyart haffets wearin thin and bare; 
 Those strains that ance did sweet in Zion glide, 
 
 He wales a portion wi' judicious care, 
 And ' Let us worship God !' he says, wi' solemn air. — -— ■ 
 
 Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way, 
 
 The youngling cottagers retire to rest: 
 The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 
 
 And proffer up to heav'n the warm request, 
 That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest, 
 
 And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
 Would in the wzy His wisdom sees the best, 
 
 For them and for their little ones provide; 
 But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 
 
 From scenes like these Old Scotia's grandeur springs, 
 That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad: 
 
 Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 
 6 An honest man 's the noblest work of God.' Burns. 
 
 Counsel. Vain, in Misery. 
 
 Bring me a father that so lov'd his child, 
 Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine. 
 
COURTIER. 4S 
 
 And bid him speak of patience; 
 
 Measure bis wo the length and breadth of mine. 
 
 And let it answer every strain for strain; 
 
 As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, 
 
 In every lineament, branch, shape and form: 
 
 If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard; 
 
 Cry — sorrow, wag! and hem. when he should groan: 
 
 Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk 
 
 With candle-wasters: bring him yet to me, 
 
 And I of him will gather patience, 
 
 But there is no such man: For, brother, men 
 
 Can counsel; and speak comfort to that grief 
 
 Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, 
 
 Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
 
 Would give preceptial medicine to rage, 
 
 Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, 
 
 Charm ach with air. and agony with words. Shakspearc 
 
 Courtier. Finical one described. 
 
 But I remember, when the fight was done, 
 When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd. 
 Fresli as a bridegroom: and his chin new reap'd, 
 Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest home; 
 He was perfumed like a milliner; 
 And 'twixthis linger and his thumb he held 
 A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 
 He gave his nose, and took't away again; — 
 "\\ he. therewith angry, when it next came there. 
 Took it in snuff: — and still he smiled, and talk'd; 
 And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
 He callM them — untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corpse 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 With many holiday and iady terms 
 He questioned me; among the rest demanded 
 M\ prisoners, on your majesty's behalf. 
 I then, all smarting, with my wounds bein^ cold. 
 
44 CRANMER. 
 
 To be sopester'd with a popinjay, 
 
 Out of my giief and my impatience, 
 
 Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; 
 
 He should, or he should not; — for he made me mad, 
 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
 
 And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, 
 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds, God save the mark ! 
 
 And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
 
 Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; 
 
 And that it was great pity, so it was, 
 
 That villanous salt-petre should be digg'd 
 
 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
 
 Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 
 
 So cowardly; and but for these vile guns, 
 
 He would himself have been a soldier. Shakspeare. 
 
 Courtiers. 
 
 Who wrap destruction up in gentle words, 
 And bows, and smiles more fatal than their swords: 
 Who stifle nature and subsist on art: 
 Who coin the face, and petrify the heart: 
 All real kindness for the show discard, 
 As marble polished and as marble hard: 
 Who do for gold what Christians do thro ? grace, 
 lt With open arms their enemies embrace:" 
 Who give a nod when broken hearts repine: 
 " The thinnest food on which a wretch can dine." 
 Or, if they serve you, serve you disinclined: 
 And, in their height of kindness, are unkind. Young. 
 
 Cranmer. His Prophecy. 
 
 This royal infant (heaven still move about her!) 
 Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
 Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 
 Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be 
 (But few now living can behold that goodness) 
 A pattern to all princes living with her, 
 And all that shall succeed: Sheba was never 
 More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue, 
 Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces, 
 
CRAZY. 45 
 
 That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
 
 With all the virtues that attend the good, 
 
 Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her, 
 
 Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: 
 
 She shall be lov'd, and fear'd: Her own shall bless her: 
 
 Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn. 
 
 And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows with 
 
 her; 
 In her days, every man shall eat in safety 
 Under his own vine, what he plants: and sing 
 The merry son°:s of peace to ah his neighbours: 
 God shall be truly known: and those about her 
 From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, 
 And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
 
 Shakspeare, 
 
 Crazy Kate. 
 
 There often wanders one, whom better days 
 Saw better clad, in cloak of satin, trimm'd 
 With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound. 
 A serving-maid was she, and fell in love 
 With one who left her, went to sea. and died. 
 Her fancy follow'd him, through foaming waves 
 To distant shores; and she would sit and weep 
 At what a sailor sutlers : fancy too, 
 Delusive most where warmest wishes are, 
 Would oft anticipate his glad return, 
 And dream of transports she was not to know, 
 She heard the doleful tidings of his death — 
 And never smii'd again! and now she roams 
 The dreary waste: there spends the livelong day. 
 And there, unless when charity forbids, 
 The livelong night. A tatterd apron hides, 
 Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown 
 More tatter'd still, and both but ill coneeal 
 A bosom heav'd with never-ceasing sighs. 
 She begs an idle pin of all she meets, 
 And hoards them in her sleeve: but needful food, 
 Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, 
 Tho' pinch'd with cold, asks never. — Kate is craz'd . 
 
 Ccwper. 
 
46 C UK ATE. 
 
 Critics. Few judge right. 
 
 'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill 
 Appear in writing, or in judging ill; 
 But, of the two, less dang'rous is th' offence 
 To tire our patience, than mislead our Sense. 
 Some few in that, but numbers err in this; 
 Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss. 
 A fool might once himself alone expose; 
 Now one in verse makes many more in prose. Pope, 
 
 Critics. Servile. 
 Some ne'er advance a judgment of their own, 
 But catch the spreading notions of the town; 
 They reason and conclude by precedent, 
 And own stale notions which they ne'er invent. 
 Some judge of authors' names, not works; and then 
 Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men. 
 Of all the servile herd, the worst is he, 
 That in proud dulness joins with quality: 
 A constant critic at the great man's board, 
 To fetch and carry nonsense for my lord: 
 What useful stuff this madrigal would be, 
 In some starv'd hackney sonnetteer or me ! 
 But let a lord once own the happy lines, 
 How the wit brightens ! how the style refines ! Pope. 
 
 Cromwell. Jige of, characterized. 
 When Cromwell fought for pow'r, and while he 
 reign'd 
 The proud protector of the pow'r he gained, 
 Religion harsh, intolerant, austere, 
 Parent of manners like herself severe, 
 Drew a rough copy of the Christian face, 
 Without the smile, the sweetness or the grace; 
 The dark and sullen humours of the time 
 Judg'd ev'ry effort of the muse a crime : 
 Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, 
 Was lumber in an age so void of taste. Coicper 
 
 Curate. Distress of a poor one. 
 Fity ! a man so good, so mild, so meek, 
 At such an age, should have his bread to seek; 
 
CURIOSITY. 4/ 
 
 And all those rude and fierce attacks to dread, 
 That are more harrowing than the want of bread. 
 Ah! who shall whisper to that misery peace! 
 And say that want and insolence shall cease? 
 
 "But why not publish?" — those who know too 
 well, 
 Dealers in Greek, are fearful 'twill not sell; 
 Then he himself — is timid, troubled, slow, 
 Nor likes his labours nor his griefs to show; 
 The hope of fame may in his heart have place, 
 But he has dread and horror of disgrace; 
 Nor has he that confiding, easy way, 
 That might his learning and himself display; 
 But to his work he from the world retreats, 
 And frets and glories o'er the favourite sheets. Crabbe. 
 
 Curiosity. Effects of. 
 Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown 
 Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active power 
 To brisker measures: witness the neglect 
 Of all familiar prospects, though beheld 
 With transport once; the fond attentive gaze 
 Of young astonishment; the sober zeal 
 Of age, commenting on prodigious things. 
 
 For this the daring youth 
 Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms. 
 In foreign climes to rove; the pensive sage, 
 Heedless of sleep or midnight's harmful damp. 
 Hangs o'er the sickly taper; and untir'd 
 The virgin follows, with enchanted step, 
 The mazes of some wild and wond'rous tale. 
 
 Hence, finally, by night 
 The village matron round the blazing hearth 
 Suspends the infant audience with her tales, 
 Breathing astonishment! of witching rhymes, 
 And evil spirits, of the death-bed call 
 Of him who robb d the widow, and devour'd 
 The orphan's portion; of unquiet souls 
 Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt 
 Of deeds in life conceal'd; of shapes that walk 
 
48 DEAD. 
 
 At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave 
 The torch of hell around the murderer's bed. 
 At every solemn pause, the crowd recoil, 
 Gazing each other speechless, and congeal'd 
 With shivering sighs; till, eager for the event, 
 Around the beldame all erect they hang, 
 Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd. 
 
 Jlikenside. 
 
 Curse. Pronounced on Adam. 
 
 On Adam last thus judgment he pronoune'd. 
 u Because thou hast hearken'd to the voice of thy wife, 
 And eaten of the tree, concerning which 
 I charg'd thee, saying, ' Thou shalt not eat thereof:' 
 Curs'd is the ground for thy sake; thou in sorrow 
 Shalt eat thereof ail the days of thy life; 
 Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth 
 Unbid; and thou shalt eat th' herb of the field. 
 In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, 
 Till thou return unto the ground; for thou 
 Out of the ground wast taken: know thy birth, 
 For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return." Milton, 
 
 Darkness. 
 
 Let Indians, and the gay, like Indians, fond 
 Of feather'd fopperies, the sun adore: 
 Darkness has more divinity for me; 
 It strikes thought inward, it drives back the soul 
 To settle on herself, our point supreme ! 
 There lies our theatre; there sits our judge. 
 Darkness the curtain drops o'er life's dull scene; 
 'Tis the kind hand of Providence stretch'd out 
 J Twixt man and vanity; 'tis reason's reign, 
 And virtue's too; these tutelary shades 
 Are man's asylum from the tainted throng. Young 
 
 Dfad. The mighty recalled. 
 What triumphs ! toils imperial ! arts divine ! 
 In wither'd laurels, glide before my sight ! 
 
DEATH. 49 
 
 What lengths of far-fam'd ages, billow 'd high, 
 
 With human agitation, roll along 
 
 In unsubstantial images of air! 
 
 The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, 
 
 Whisp'ring faint echoes of the world's applause, 
 
 With penitential aspect, as they pass, 
 
 All point at earth, and hiss at human pride. Young. 
 
 Death. Fancy adds to the Horrors of. 
 Why start at death? where is he? death arriv'd, 
 Is past: not come, or gone, he 's never here. 
 Ere hope, sensation fails, black boding man 
 Receives, not sutlers, death's tremendous blow. 
 The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave; 
 The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the worm: 
 These are the bugbears of a winter's eve, 
 The tenors of the living, not the dead. 
 Imagination's fool, and error's wretch, 
 Man makes a death which nature never made; 
 Then on the point of his own fancy falls; 
 And feels a thousand deaths, in fearing one. Young, 
 
 Death. Hamlet's Soliliquy on. 
 
 To be, or not to be, that is the question: — 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 And, by opposing, end them? — To die, — To sleep. 
 No more: — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wish'd. To die; — to sleep; — 
 To sleep? perchance to dream, — ay, there 's the rub, 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 Must give us pause: There 's the respect 
 That makes calamity of so long life : 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
 The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely , 
 
 E 
 
50 DEATH. 
 
 The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 
 With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear. 
 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life; 
 
 But that the dread of something after death, — 
 
 That undiscovered country, from whose bourne 
 
 No traveller returns, — puzzles the will, 
 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
 
 Than fly to others that we know not of! 
 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; 
 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 
 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 
 And lose the name of action. Shakspeart. 
 
 Death. Lurks in Pleasures. 
 Where is not Death? sure as night follows day, 
 Death treads in pleasure's footsteps round the world. 
 When pleasure treads the paths which reason shuns. 
 When, against reason riot shuts the door, 
 And gayety supplies the place of sense. 
 Then foremost at the banquet and the ball, 
 Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly die; 
 Nor ever fails the midnight bowl to crown. 
 Gayly carousing to his gay compeers, 
 Inly he laughs, to see them laugh at him, 
 As absent far: and when the revel burns, 
 When fear is banish'd, and triumphant thought, 
 Calling for all the joys beneath the moon, 
 Against him turns the key; and bid? him sup 
 With their progenitors — He drops his mask. Young 
 
 Death. Ruling Passion strong in. 
 
 A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate; 
 The doctor call'd, declares all help too late: 
 " Mercy!" cries Helluo, " mercy on my soul! 
 Is there no hope? — Alas then bring the jowl " 
 
DEATH. 51 
 
 :al crone, whom praying: priests attend, 
 Still strives to save the hallow'd tapers end, 
 Collects her breath as ebbing life retires. 
 For one purl more, and in that purl expires. 
 
 * ; Odious! in woollen! Would a saint provoke. 
 (Were the last words that poor Xarcissa spoke;) 
 No, let a charming chintz and Brussels' lace 
 Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face. 
 One would not, sure, be frightful when one 'sdead — 
 And — Betty — give this cheek a little red.'"' 
 
 The courtier smooth, who forty years had shirr d 
 An humble servant to all human kind, 
 Just bro't out this, when scarce his tongue could stir,, 
 *■' If — where I ? m going — I could serve you, Sir?" 
 
 " I give and I devise'' (old Euelio said, 
 And sigh'd) <; my lands and tenements to Xed.' ? 
 Your money, sir r — " My money, Sir, what all? 
 Why — if I must — (then wept") I give it Paul." 
 The manor, Sir? — •'•' The manor! hold,*' he cried, 
 ; Not that, — I cannot part with that" — and died. 
 
 And you, brave Cobham, to the latest breath, 
 Shall ieel your ruling passion strong in death; 
 Such in those moments, as in all the past, 
 " Oh save my country. Heaven!" shall be your last. 
 
 Pope 
 
 Death. The Caprice and universal Power of. 
 Like other tyrants, Death delights to smite, 
 What smitten most proclaims the pride of power, 
 And arbitrary nod His joy supreme, 
 To bid the wretch survive the fortunate; 
 The feeble wrap tlr athletic in his shroud; 
 And weeping fathers build their children's tombs. 
 
 Young* 
 
 Death. The Terrors of. 
 Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; 
 To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; 
 This sensible warm motion to become 
 
 A kneaded clod; and the ie.:g2ted spirit 
 
52 DESPONDENCY. 
 
 To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
 
 In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; 
 
 To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, 
 
 And blown with restless violence about 
 
 The pendant world; or to be worse than worst 
 
 Of those, that lawless and uncertain thoughts 
 
 Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible ! 
 
 The weariest and most loathed worldly life, 
 
 That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment 
 
 Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
 
 To what we fear of death. Shakspeare. 
 
 Delay. The Folly of. 
 Let 's take the instant by the forward top; 
 For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 
 The inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
 Steals ere we can effect them. Shakspeare. 
 
 Delicacy. False, 
 
 Ye well array'd ! ye lilies of our land ! 
 Ye lilies male! who neither toil nor spin; 
 Ye delicate ! who nothing can support, 
 Yourselves most insupportable! for whom 
 The winter rose must blow, and silky soft 
 Favonious breathe still softer, or be chid; 
 And other worlds send odours, sauce, and song, 
 And robes, and notions, fram'd in foreign looms! 
 O ye who deem one moment unamus'd, 
 A misery, say, dreamers of gay dreams! 
 How will you weather an eternal night. Young, 
 
 Despondency. 
 
 Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care, 
 A burden more than I can bear, 
 
 I sit me down and sigh, 
 O life! thou art a galling load, 
 A long, a rough, a weary road, 
 
 To wretches such as Ii 
 Dim backward as I cast my view. 
 
 What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
 
DIGNITY. Do 
 
 What sorrows yet may pierce me through, 
 Too justly I may fear. 
 
 Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
 Who, equal to the bustling strife, 
 
 No other view regard ! 
 Ev'n when the wished end 's denied, 
 Yet while the busy means are plied, 
 
 They bring their own reward ! 
 Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 
 
 Unfitted with an aim, 
 Meet ev'ry sad returning night, 
 And joyless morn the same; 
 You bustling, and justling, 
 
 Forget each grief and pain; 
 I listless, yet restless, 
 
 Find ev'ry prospect vain. Burns. 
 
 Dignity. Preserved by Distance. 
 Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
 So common-hackney'd in the eyes oi men, 
 So stale and cheap to vulgar company; 
 Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 
 Had still kept loyal to possession, 
 And left me in reputeless banishment, 
 A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 
 By being seldom seen, I could not stir, 
 But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at: 
 That men would tell their children, Triis is he; 
 Others would say, — Where? — which is Bolingbrokt) 
 And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 
 And dress'd myself in such humility, 
 That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 
 Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 
 Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
 Thus did I keep my person fresh and new; 
 My presence, like a robe pontifical, 
 Ne'er seen, but wonder-d at: and so my state, 
 Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast; 
 And won. by rareness, such solemnity. Shakspearc 
 e 2 
 
54 DISLIKE. 
 
 Dinners. State, tiresome. 
 But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call; 
 A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall: 
 A rich buffet well-colour'd serpents grace, 
 And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face; 
 Is this a dinner? this a genial room? 
 No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb! 
 A solemn sacrifice, perform'd in state; 
 You drink by measure, and to minutes eat. 
 So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear 
 Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there. 
 Between each act the trembling salvers ring, 
 From soup to sweet wine, and God bless the king. 
 In plenty starving, tantaliz'd in state, 
 And complaisantly help'd to all I hate, 
 Treated, caress'd, and tir'd, I take my leave, 
 Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve: 
 I curse such lavish cost, and little skill, 
 And swear no day was ever pass'd so ill! Pope. 
 
 Discontent. 
 
 Why discontent for ever harbour'd there ? 
 Incurable consumption of our peace! 
 Resolve me, why, the cottager, and king, 
 He whom sea-sever'd realms obey, and he 
 Who steals his whole dominion from the waste. 
 Repelling winter's blast, with mud and straw, 
 Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh, 
 In fate so distant, in complaint so near. Young. 
 
 Dislike. From Prejudice. 
 At first 
 I struck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
 Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: 
 Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
 Which wrap'd the line of every other favour; 
 Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n. 
 Extended or contracted all proportions 
 
DOEG. 00 
 
 To a most hideous object: Thence it came, 
 That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, 
 Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
 The dust that did offend it, Shakspeare. 
 
 Distinction. General desire of 
 
 If at his title T had dropt his quill, 
 
 T might have pass'd for a great genius still; 
 
 But T , alas! (excuse him if you can) 
 
 Is now a scribbler, who was once a man. 
 
 Imperious, some a classic fame demand* 
 For heaping up with a laborious hand 
 A wagon load of meanings for one word, 
 "While A's depos'd, and B with pomp restor'd. 
 
 Some for renown on scraps of learning doat, 
 And think they grow immortal as they quote. 
 To patchwork learmd quotations are allied; 
 Both strive to make our poverty our pride. 
 
 On glass how witty is a noble peer ! 
 Did ever diamond cost a man so dear? Young, 
 
 Doeg. Character of. 
 
 Doeg, though without knowing how or why, 
 Made still a blundering kind of melody; 
 Spurr'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and thin ; 
 Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in; 
 Free from all meaning, whether good or bad, 
 And, in one word, heroically mad: 
 He was too warm on picking-work to dwell; 
 But fag£otted his notions as they fell, 
 And, if they rhym'd and ratti'd, all was well; 
 Spiteful he is not, though he wrote a satire, 
 For still there goes some thinking to ill nature; 
 He needs no more than birds and beasts to think, 
 All his occasions are to eat and drink. 
 If he call rogue and rascal from a garret, 
 He means you no more mischief than a parrot; 
 The words for fiiend and foe alike were made: 
 To fetter them in verse, is all his trade. 
 
56 DREAM. 
 
 For almonds he '11 cry whore to his own mother; 
 
 And call young Absalom king David's brother. 
 
 Let him be gallows-free by my consent, 
 
 And nothing suffer since he nothing meant; 
 
 Hanging supposes human soul and reason; 
 
 This animal 's below committing treason. Dryden* 
 
 Dover Cliff. Description of. 
 Come on, Sir; here 's the place, — stand still. — How 
 fearful 
 And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! 
 The crows, and coughs, that wing the midway air. 
 Show scarce so gross as beetles: Half way down 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire: dreadful trade! 
 Methinks he seems no bigger than his head: 
 The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
 Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark, 
 Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy 
 That on the unnumberd idle pebbles chafes, 
 Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge 
 Cannot be heard so high: — I '11 look no more; 
 Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
 Topple down headlong. Shakspeare. 
 
 Dream. Clarences, 
 Methought, that I had broken from the Tower. 
 And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; 
 And in my company, my brother Glo'ster, 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 Upon the hatches; thence we look'd towards England 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster 
 That had befalPn us. As we pac'd along 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 Methought that Glo'ster stumbled; and, in falling. 
 Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 O Lord; methought what pain it was to drown! 
 What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! 
 
DREAM* 0* 
 
 Me thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; 
 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon; 
 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes 
 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 
 (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, 
 
 That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 
 And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by 
 
 And often did I strive 
 
 To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood 
 Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air: 
 Bat smotherd it within my panting bulk, 
 Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 
 
 My dream was lengthened after life; 
 
 O, then began the tempest to my soul ! 
 
 I passM, methought, the melancholy flood, 
 
 With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 
 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul 
 
 Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, 
 
 Whocry'd aloud, — \lhat scourge for perjury 
 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? 
 
 And so he vanish'd: Then came wand'ring by 
 
 A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
 
 Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud, — 
 
 Clarence is come,— false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, — - 
 
 That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury ; — 
 
 Sieze on him, furies, take him to your torments: 
 
 With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
 
 Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
 
 Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, 
 
 I tremblingly wak'd, and, for a season after, 
 
 Could not believe but that I was in hell; 
 
 Such terrible impression made my dream. Shakspeare. 
 
58 DREAMS. 
 
 While o'er my limbs sleep's soft dominion spread, 
 What though my soul fantastic measures trod 
 O'er fairy fields; or mourn'd along the gloom 
 Of pathless woods; or down the craggy steep 
 Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool; 
 Or scal'd the cliff, or danc'd on hollow winds, 
 With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain? 
 Her ceaseless flight, tho' devious, speaks her nature 
 Of subtler essence than the trodden clod; — 
 For human weal, heaven husbands all events, 
 Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. 
 
 Young. 
 
 Dream. The Soldier's. 
 Our bugles sang truce, for the night cloud had lower'd. 
 
 And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; 
 And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, 
 
 The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 
 When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
 
 By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain; 
 At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, 
 
 And thrice e'er the morning I dreamt it again. 
 Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, 
 
 Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track; 
 'Twas autumn — and sunshine arose on the way 
 
 To the home of my fathers, that welcom'd me back. 
 I flew to the pleasant fields, travers'd so oft 
 
 In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; 
 I heard my own mountain goats bleating aloft, 
 
 And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers 
 sung. 
 Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, 
 
 From my home and my weeping friends never to 
 part; 
 My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, 
 
 And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 
 Stay, stay with us — rest, thou art weary and worn; 
 
 And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay — ■ 
 But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, 
 And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 
 
 Campbel U 
 
DRINKING. 59 
 
 Dreams. Waking. 
 Our waking dreams are fatal: how I dreamt 
 Of things impossible ! (could sleep do more?) 
 Of joys perperual in perpetual change! 
 Of stable pleasures on the tossing wave ! 
 Eternal sunshine in the storms of life! 
 How richly were my noon-tide trances hung 
 With gorgeous tapestries of pictur'd joys! 
 Joy behind joy, in endless perspective! 
 Till at Death's toll, whose restless iron tongue 
 Calls daily for his millions at a meal: 
 Starting, I woke, and found myself undone! 
 Where now my frenzy's pompous furniture ! 
 The cobwebb'd cottage with its ragged wall 
 Of mould'ring mud, is royalty to me! 
 The spider's thread is cable to man's tie 
 On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze. Young. 
 
 Drinking. 
 
 Frequent and full, the dry divan 
 Close in firm circle, and set, ardent, in 
 For serious drinking. Nor evasion sly, 
 Nor sober shift, is to the puking wretch 
 Indulg'd apart; but earnest, brimming bowls 
 Lave every soul, the table floating round, 
 And pavement, faithless to the fuddled foot. 
 Thus as they swim in mutual swill, the talk, 
 Vociferous at once from twenty tongues, 
 Reels fast from theme to theme; from horses, hounds ; 
 To church or mistress, politics or ghost, 
 In endless mazes, intricate, perplex'd. 
 Meantime, with sudden interruption, loud, 
 Th' impatient catch bursts from the joyous heart; 
 That moment touch'd is every kindred soul; 
 And, opening in a full-mouth'd cry of joy, 
 The laugh, the slap, the jocund curse go round; 
 While, from their slumbers shook, the kennel'd hounds 
 Mix in the music of the day again. 
 As when the tempest, that has vex'd the deep 
 
60 DRINKING. 
 
 The dark night long, with fainter murmurs falls, 
 
 So gradual sinks their mirth. Their feeble tongues, 
 
 Unable to take up the cumbrous word, 
 
 Lie quite dissolv'd. Before their maudlin eyes, 
 
 Seen dim, and blue, the double tapers dance, 
 
 Like the sun wading through the misty sky. 
 
 Then, sliding soft, they drop. Confus'd above, 
 
 Glasses and bottles, pipes and gazetteers, 
 
 As if the table ev'n itself was drunk, 
 
 Lie a wet broken scene, and wide, below, 
 
 Is heap'd the social slaughter: where astride 
 
 The lubber Power in filthy triumph sits, 
 
 Slumbrous, inclining still from side to side, 
 
 And steeps them drench'd in potent sleep till morn 
 
 Perhaps some doctor, of tremendous paunch, 
 
 Awful and deep, a black abyss of drink, 
 
 Outlives them all; and from his buried flock 
 
 Retiring, full of rumination sad, 
 
 Laments the weakness of these latter times. Thomson. 
 
 D ringing Effects of. 
 Struck by the powerful charm, the gloom dissolves 
 In empty air; Elysium opens round. 
 A pleasing frenzy buoys the lightened soul, 
 And sanguine hopes dispel your fleeting care: 
 And what was difficult and what was dire, 
 Yields to your prowess and superior stars: 
 The happiest you of all that e'er were mad, 
 Or are, or shall be, could this folly last. 
 But soon your heaven is gone; a heavier gloom 
 Shuts o'er your head: and, as the thund'iing stream. 
 Swoln o'er its banks with sudden mountain rain, 
 Sinks from its tumult to a silent brook; 
 So, when the frantic raptures in your breast 
 Subside, you languish into mortal man; 
 You sleep, and waking find yourself undone. 
 For. prodigal of life, in one rash night 
 You lavish'd more than might support three days. 
 A heavy morning comes; your cares return 
 
DULL. 61 
 
 With tenfold rage. An anxious stomach well 
 
 May be endur'd; so may the throbbing heart: 
 
 But such a dim delirium, such a dream, 
 
 Involves you; such a dastardly despair 
 
 Unmans your soul, as madd'ning Pentheus felt 
 
 When, baited round Cithaeron's cruel sides, 
 
 He saw two suns, and double Thebes, ascend. 
 
 Add, that your means, your health, your parts decay: 
 
 Your friends avoid you; brutishly tranform'd, 
 
 They hardly know you, or, if one remains 
 
 To wishyou well, he wishes you in heaven. Armstrong. 
 
 Dull. Charity to their Vanity. 
 
 5 Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain, 
 And charitably let the dull be vain: 
 Your silence there is better than your spite; 
 For who can rail so long as they can write? 
 Still humming on, their drowsy course theykeep 5 
 And lash'd so long, like tops, are lash'd asleep. 
 False steps but help them to renew the race; 
 As, after stumbling, jades will mend their pace. 
 "What crowds of these, impenitently bold, 
 In sounds and jingling syllables grown old, 
 Still run on poets in a raging vein, 
 Ev'n to the dregs and squee zings of the brain; 
 Strain out the last dull droppings of their sense, 
 And rhyme with all the rage of impotence. Pope. 
 
 Dutt. Modest DiUy. 
 Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
 To greet me with premeditated welcomes: 
 Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
 Make periods in the midst of sentences, 
 Throttle their practised accent in their fears, 
 And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, 
 Noi paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet. 
 Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome; 
 And in the modesty of fearful duty 
 I read as much, as from the rattling tongue 
 Of saucy and audacious eloquence. Shafopeare* 
 
62 EGERIA. 
 
 Eagle. 
 
 High from the summit of a craggy cliff, 
 Hung o'er the deep, such as amazing frowns 
 On utmost Kilda's shore, whose lonely race 
 Resign the setting sun to Indian worlds, 
 The royal eagle draws his vigorous young, 
 Strong pounc'd, and ardent with paternal fire; 
 Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own, 
 He drives them from his fort, the towering seat. 
 For ages, of his empire; which, in peace, 
 TJnstain'd he holds, while many a league to sea 
 He wings his course, and preys in distant isles. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 Earth. Has been all alive. 
 
 What is the world itself? thy world? — a grave? 
 Where is the dust that has not been alive ? 
 The spade, the plough, disturb our ancestors, 
 From human mould we reap our daily bread: 
 The globe around earth's hollow surface shakes, 
 And is the ceiling of her sleeping sons: 
 O'er devastation we blind revels keep; 
 Whole buried towns support the dancer's heel. Young. 
 
 Education. 
 'Tie education forms the common mind; 
 Just as the twig is bent, the tree 's inclin'd. 
 Boastful and rough, your first son is a 'Squire, 
 The next a Tradesman, meek, and much a liar; 
 Tom struts a Soldier, open, bold, and brave, 
 Will sneaks a Scriv'ner, an exceeding knave: 
 Is he a churchman? then he 's fond of power: 
 A Quaker? sly: a Presbyterian? sour: 
 A smart Free-thinker? all things in an hour. Pope- 
 
 Egeria. 
 
 Egeria! sweet creation of some heart, 
 Which found no mortal resting place so fair 
 As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art, 
 Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air, 
 The nympholepsy of some fond despair, 
 
ENGLAND. 63 
 
 Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth; 
 Who found a more than common votary there 
 Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, 
 Thou wert a beautiful tho't, and softly bodied forth. 
 
 The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled 
 With thine Elysian water drops; the face 
 Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkl'd, 
 Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, 
 Whose green, wild margin now no more erase 
 Art's works; nor must the delicate waters sleep, 
 Piison'd in marble, bubbling from the base 
 Of the cleft statue, with a gantle leap 
 The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy 
 creep, 
 
 Fantastically tangled; the green hills 
 Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass 
 The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills 
 Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; 
 Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, 
 Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes 
 Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass; 
 The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, 
 Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems coloured by its 
 skies. 
 
 Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, 
 Egeria! thy all-heavenly bosom beating 
 For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover; 
 The purple midnight veil'd that mystic meeting 
 With her most starry canopy, and seating 
 Thyself by thine adorer, what befel? 
 This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting 
 Of an enamour'd goddess, and the cell 
 Haunted by holy love — the earliest oracle! Byron, 
 
 England. Climate of. 
 Lib'ral in all things else, yet Nature here 
 With stern severity deals out the year. 
 
64 ENGLAND. 
 
 Winter invades the spring and often pours 
 
 A chilling flood on summer's drooping flow'rs; 
 
 Unwelcome vapours quench autumnal beams, 
 
 Ungenial blasts attending curl the streams: 
 
 The peasants urge the harvest, ply the fork 
 
 With double toil, and shiver at their work; 
 
 Thus with a rigour for his good design'd, 
 
 She rears her fav'rite man of all mankind. 
 
 His form robust and of elastic tone, 
 
 Proportion'd well, half muscle and half bone, 
 
 Supplies with warm activity and force 
 
 A mind well-lodg'd and masculine of course. 
 
 Hence Liberty, sweet Liberty inspires 
 
 And keeps alive his fierce but noble fires. 
 
 Patient of constitutional control, 
 
 He bears it with meek manliness of soul: 
 
 But, if Authority grow wanton, wo 
 
 To him that treads upon his free-born toe. Cowper. 
 
 England. Freedom makes her happy. 
 
 Thee I account still happy, and the chief 
 Among the nations, seeing thou art; free, 
 My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude, 
 Replete with vapours, and disposes much 
 All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine: 
 Thine unadult'rate manners are less soft 
 And plausible than social life requires, 
 And thou hast need of discipline and art, 
 To give thee what politer France recieves 
 From nature's bounty — that humane address 
 And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 
 In converse, either starv'd by cold reserve, 
 Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl. 
 Yet being free I love thee. Cowper. 
 
 England. Love of. 
 England, with all thy faults, I love the still — 
 My country! and, while yet a nook is left, 
 Where English minds and manners may be found, 
 Shall be constraint to love thee. Though thy clime 
 
ENGLISH. 65 
 
 Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd 
 With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, 
 I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, 
 And fields without a rlow'r, for warmer France 
 With all her vines: nor for Ausonia's groves 
 Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bow'rs. 
 To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
 Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire 
 Upon thy foes, was never meant my task; 
 But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake 
 Thy joys and sorrows with as true a heart 
 As any thund'rer there. And I can feel 
 Thy follies too: and with a just disdain 
 Frown at effeminates, whose very looks 
 Reflect dishonour on the land I love. 
 How, in the name of soldiership and sense, 
 Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth 
 And tender as a girl, all essenc'd o'er 
 With odours, and as profligate as sweet; 
 Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, 
 And love when they should fight: when such as these 
 Presume to lay their hands upon the ark 
 Of her magnificent and awful cause? 
 Time was when it was praise and boast enough 
 In ev'ry clime, and travel where we might, 
 That we were born her children. Praise enough 
 To fill th' ambition of a private man, 
 That Chatham's language was his mother tongue, 
 And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. 
 
 Coicper 
 
 English. Character of. 
 
 Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state. 
 With daring aims irregularly great: 
 Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, 
 I see the lords of human kind pass by: 
 Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, 
 By forms unfashion'd fresh from nature's hand; 
 f 2 
 
66 ETERNITY. 
 
 Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, 
 
 True to imagin'd right, above control: 
 
 While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, 
 
 And learns to venerate himself as man. 
 
 Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here. 
 Thine are those charms, that dazzle and endear; 
 Too blest indeed were such without alloy, 
 But foster'd e'en by Freedom ills annoy. 
 That independence Britons prize too high, 
 Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie; 
 The self-dependent lordlings stand alone; 
 All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown; 
 Here by the bonds of Nature feebly held, 
 Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd* 
 Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, 
 Repress'd ambition struggles round her shore; 
 Till, over-wrought, the general system feels 
 Its motions stop, or frenzy fire the wheels. Goldsmith. 
 
 Entry. Public one described. 
 Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, — 
 Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, 
 Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — 
 With slow but stately pace, kept on his course, 
 While all tongues cried — God save thee Bolingbroke! 
 You would have thought the very windows spake, 
 So many greedy looks of young and old 
 Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
 Upon his visage: and that all the walls, 
 With painted imag'ry, had said at once, — 
 Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! 
 Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 
 Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
 Bespake them thus, — / thank you, countrymen. 
 And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Shakspeare. 
 
 Eternity. 
 
 And is it in the flight of threescore years, 
 To push eternity from human thought, 
 And smother souls immortal in the dust ! 
 
EVE. 67 
 
 A soul immortal spending all her fires, 
 
 "Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, 
 
 Thrown into tumult, rapturd, or alarm'd, 
 
 At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, 
 
 Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, 
 
 To waft a feather or to drown a fly. Young, 
 
 Eye. Form of, described. 
 
 The rib he form'd and fashion J d with his hands; 
 Under his forming hands a creature grew, 
 Manlike, but different sex, so lovely fair, 
 That what seem'd fair in all the world, seem'd now 
 Mean, or in her summ'd up, in her contain ! d, 
 And in her looks, which from that time infus'd 
 Sweetness into my heart, unfelt before, 
 And into all things from her air inspir'd 
 
 The spirit of love and amorous delight ■ 
 
 On she came, 
 Led by her heav'nly Maker, though unseen, 
 And guided by his voice, nor uninform'd 
 Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites; 
 Grace was in all her steps, Heav'n in her eye, 
 In every gesture dignity and love. Millon, 
 
 Eve. Impression made &t/. 
 
 Yet when I approach 
 Her loveliness, so absolute she seems, 
 And in herself complete, so well to know 
 Her own, that what she wills to do or say 
 Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best; 
 All higher knowledge in her presence falls 
 Degraded, wisdom in discourse with her 
 Loses discounrnanc'd, and like folly shows; 
 Authority and reason on her wait, 
 As one intended first, not after made 
 Occasionally; and, to consummate all, 
 Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat 
 Build in her lov'liest, and create an awe 
 About her, as a guard angelic plac'd. Miltov 
 
68 EVENING. 
 
 Eve. Speech of, to Jldam. 
 
 My Author and disposer, what thou bid'st 
 Unargued I obey: so God ordains; 
 God is thy law, thou mine; to know no more 
 Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise. 
 With thee conversing I forget all time; 
 All seasons and their change, all please alike, 
 Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, 
 With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, 
 When first on this delightful land he spreads 
 His orient beams, on herb, tree, fiuit, and flower, 
 Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth 
 After soft show'rs; and sweet the coming on 
 Of grateful evening mild: then silent night, 
 With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, 
 And these the gems of Heav'n, her starry train; 
 But neither breath of morn, when she ascends 
 With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun 
 On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, 
 Glist'ring with dew; nor fragrance after showers; 
 Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night 
 With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, 
 Or glitt'ring starlight, without thee is sweet. Milton* 
 
 Evening. 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 
 
 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight, 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 
 Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; 
 
 Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r, 
 The moping owl does to the Moon complain 
 
 Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r, 
 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign. Gray, 
 
EXERTION, 69 
 
 Evening. 
 
 Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
 Had in her sober livery all things clad; 
 Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, 
 They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, 
 Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; 
 She all night long her amorous descant sung; 
 Silence was pleas'd; now glow'd the firmament 
 With livid sapphires; Hesperus, that led 
 The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, 
 Rising in clouded majesty, at length 
 Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light, 
 And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. iMiltcn. 
 
 Example. Power cf. 
 
 Present example gets within our guard, 
 And acts with double force, by few repell'd. 
 Ambition fires ambition; love of gain 
 Strikes like a pestilence from breast to breast; 
 Riot, pride, perfidy, blue vapours breathe; 
 And inhumanity is caught from man; 
 From smiling man. A slight, a single glance, 
 And shot at random, often has brought home 
 A sudden fever to the throbbing heart, 
 Of envy, rancour, or impure desire. Young. 
 
 Excess. Effects of. 
 
 As surfeit is the father of much fast, 
 So every scope by the immoderate use 
 Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, 
 (Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,) 
 A thirsty evil; and when we drink, we die. Shakspeare. 
 
 ExfcRTic-N. Advantages of. 
 The man who consecrates his hours 
 By vigorous effort, and an honest aim, 
 At once he draws the sting of life and death: 
 He walks with nature; and her paths are peace. 
 
 Young. 
 
70 EXTREMES. 
 
 Expectation. More than Enjoyment* 
 
 Who riseth from a feast, 
 With that keen appetite that he sits down? 
 Where is the horse that doth untread again 
 His tedious measures with the unbated fire 
 That he did pace them first? All things that are, 
 Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
 How like a younker, or a prodigal, 
 The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
 Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! 
 How like the prodigal doth she return, 
 With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails, 
 Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! 
 
 Shakspean* 
 
 Expedition. 
 
 Come, — I have learn'd, that fearful commenting 
 Is leaden servitor to dull delay; 
 Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary: 
 Then fiery expedition be my wing, 
 Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! Shakspeare, 
 
 Expression. True and False- 
 Words are like leaves; and, where they most 
 abound, 
 Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. 
 False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, 
 Its gaudy colours spreads on ev'ry place; 
 The face of Nature we no more survey; 
 All glares alike, without distinction gay: 
 But true expression, like th' unchanging sun, 
 Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon; 
 It gilds all objects, but it alters none. 
 Expression is the dress of thought, and still 
 Appears more decent as more suitable. Pope, 
 
 Extremes. In judging to be avoided. 
 
 Avoid extremes, and shun the fault of such 
 Who still are pleas'd too little or too much. 
 At ev'ry trifle scorn to take offence; 
 That always shows great pride, or little sense: 
 
FAIR. 71 
 
 Those heads, as stomachs, are not sure the best, 
 
 Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest. 
 
 Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move; 
 
 For fools admire, but men of sense approve: 
 
 As things seem large which we through mists descry, 
 
 Dulness is ever apt to magnify. Pope, 
 
 Faith. Limits of. 
 
 Faith is not built on disquisitions vain; 
 The things we must believe are few and plain. 
 But since men will believe more than they need. 
 And ev'ry man will make himself a creed, 
 In doubtful questions ''tis the safest way 
 To learn what unsuspected ancients say: 
 For 'tis not likely we should higher soar 
 In search of heaven than all the church before. 
 'Tis some relief, that points not clearly known 
 "Without much hazard may be let alone: 
 And. after hearing what our church can say, 
 If still our reason runs another way. 
 That private reason 'tis more just to curb, 
 Than by disputes the public peace disturb; 
 For points obscure are of small use to learn, 
 But common quiet is mankind's concern. DrytUn 
 
 Faith. 
 For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight; 
 His can't be wrong whose life is in the right: 
 
 In faith and hope the world will disagree, 
 But all mankind's concern is charity: 
 All must be false that thwart this one great end; 
 And all of God that bless mankind, or mend. 
 Man, like the gen'rons vine, supported lives! 
 The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives 
 
 Pope 
 
 Fair. Disasters of. 
 
 This day black omens threat the brightest fair, 
 That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care. 
 
79. FAIRIES. 
 
 Some dire disaster, or by force or slight, 
 But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night; 
 Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law, 
 Or some frail china jar receive a flaw; 
 Or stain her honour, or her new brocade; 
 Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade; 
 Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball, 
 Or whether heaven has doom'd that Shock must fall. 
 
 Pope, 
 
 Fairies. Effects of their Jealousy, 
 
 These are the forgeries of jealousy: 
 And never, since the middle summer's spring, 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or meed, 
 By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, 
 Or on the beachy margent of the sea, 
 To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
 But with thy brawls thou hast disturb' d our sport. 
 Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 
 As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
 Contagious fogs, which falling in the land, 
 Have every pelting river made so proud, 
 That they have overborne their continents; 
 The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, 
 The ploughman lost his sweat; and the green corn 
 Hath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard; 
 The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
 And crows are fatted with the murrain flock; 
 The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud ; 
 And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, 
 For lack of tread, are undistinguishable; 
 The human mortals want their winter here; 
 No night is now with hymn or carol bless'd: — 
 Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
 Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
 That rheumatic diseases do abound: 
 And thorough this distemperature, we see 
 The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; 
 
FATE. , & 
 
 And on old Hyem's chin, and icy cioWn, 
 An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 Is, as in mockery, set: The spring, the summer, 
 The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
 Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world, 
 By their increase, now knows not which is which. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Fame. Difficulty of attaining. 
 
 Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb 
 The steep where fame's proud temple shines afar, 
 Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime 
 Has felt the influence of malignant star, 
 And waged with fortune an eternal war; 
 Check'd by the scoff of pride, by envy's frown, 
 And poverty's unconquerable bar, 
 In life's low vale remote has pin'd alone, 
 Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown. 
 
 Beattie. 
 
 Fame. 
 What 's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath; 
 A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death. 
 Just what you hear, you have, and what's unknown 
 The same (my Lord) if Tully's, or your own. 
 All that we feel of it begins and ends 
 In the small circle of our foes or friends; 
 To all beside as much an empty shade 
 An Eugene living, or a Caesar dead; 
 Alike or when, or where, they shone or shine, 
 Or on the Rubicon or on the Rhine. 
 A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod; 
 An honest man ? s the noblest work of God. Pope. 
 
 Fate. Hid from all. 
 Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, 
 All but the page describ'd, their present state; 
 From brutes what men, from men what spirits know; 
 Or who could suffer being here below? 
 G 
 
74 FELICITY. 
 
 The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, 
 
 Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? 
 
 Pleased to the last, he crops the flow'ry food, 
 
 And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood. 
 
 Oh blindness to the future! kindly given, 
 
 That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heaven; 
 
 Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, 
 
 A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, 
 
 Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd; 
 
 And now a bubble burst, and now a world. Pope- 
 
 Fate. Power of. 
 Success, the mark no mortal wit, 
 Or surest hand, can always hit: 
 For whatsoe'er we perpetrate, 
 We do but row, we're steer'd by fate, 
 Which in success oft disinherits, 
 For spurious causes, noblest merits. 
 Great actions are not always true sons 
 Of great and mighty resolutions; 
 Nor do the bold'st attempts bring forth 
 Events still equal to their worth: 
 But sometimes fail, and in their stead, 
 Fortune and cowardice succeed. Butler, 
 
 Fears. Jl woman 9 s. 
 Thou shalt be punish'd thus for frighting me, 
 For I am sick, and capable of fears; 
 Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears; 
 A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; 
 A woman, naturally born to fears; 
 And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest, 
 With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, 
 But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
 
 Shakspeare* 
 
 Felicity. To be found under every government 
 
 Vain, very vain, my weary search to find 
 
 That bliss which only centres in the mind! 
 
 Ho^~ small, of all that human hearts endure, 
 That part which laws or kings can cause or cure- 
 
FOOL. 75 
 
 Still to ourselves in everyplace consign'd, 
 
 Our own felicity, we make or find: 
 
 With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, 
 
 Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 
 
 The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, 
 
 Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel, 
 
 To men remote from pow'r but rarely known, 
 
 Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Females. Cautions to Young. 
 For Hamlet and the trifling of his favour, 
 Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood: 
 A violet in the youth of primy nature, 
 Forward, not premanent, — sweet, not lasting, 
 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute: 
 
 Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; 
 
 And keep you in the rear of your affection 
 
 Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
 
 The chariest maid is prodigal enough, 
 
 If she unmask her beauty to the moon: 
 
 Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious stroke :s 
 
 The canker galls the infants of the spring, 
 
 Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd; 
 
 And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
 
 Contagious blastments are most imminent. Shakspeare. 
 
 Folly. Danger of Disturbing. 
 Undisturb'd by folly, and appris'd 
 How great the danger of disturbing her, 
 To muse in silence, or, at least, confine 
 Remarks, that gall so many, to the few 
 My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal'd 
 Is oftimes proof of wisdom, when the fault 
 Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. Coioper. 
 
 Fool. His liberty of Speech. 
 I must have liberty 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
 
76 FORTUNE-TELLER. 
 
 To blow on whom I please; for so fools have: 
 
 And they that are most galled with my folly, 
 
 They most must laugh: And why, Sir, must they so: 
 
 The why is plain as way to parish church: 
 
 He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 
 
 Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 
 
 Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not, 
 
 The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 
 
 Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
 
 Shakspeare, 
 
 Fool. His moralizing on Time. 
 
 " Good-morrow, fool," quoth I: " No, sir," quoth 
 he, 
 " Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune;" 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke, 
 And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
 Says, very wisely, " It is ten o'clock; 
 Thus may we see," quoth he, " how the world wags: 
 " Tis but an hour ago since it was nine; 
 And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven; 
 And so, from hour to hour, we ripe, and ripe, 
 And then, from hour to hour, we rot, and rot, 
 And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear 
 They motley foci thus moral on the time, 
 My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 
 That fools should be so deep contemplative 
 And I did laugh, sans intermission, 
 An hour by his dial — O noble fool ! 
 A worthy fool ! Motley 's the only wear. Shakspeare. 
 
 Fortune. Forms our judgments. 
 I see men's judgments are 
 A parcel of their fortunes: and things outward 
 Do draw the inward quality after them, 
 To suffer all alike. Shakspeare, 
 
 Fortune-teller. Description of one. 
 A hungry lean-fac'd villain, 
 A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 
 
FRANCE. 77 
 
 A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune teller; 
 
 A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp looking wretch, 
 
 A living dead man: this pernicious slave, 
 
 Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer; 
 
 And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, 
 
 And with no face, as 'twere outfacing me, 
 
 Cries out, I was possess'd. Shalcspeare 
 
 Frailties. Happy ones. 
 But heaven's great view is one, and that the whole: 
 That counterworks each folly and caprice; 
 That disappoints th' effect of ev'ry vice; 
 That, happy frailties to all ranks applied — 
 Shame to the virgin, to the matron pride, 
 Fear to the statesman, rashness to the chief, 
 To kings presumption, and to crowds belief; 
 That virtue's ends from vanity can raise, 
 "Which seeks no int'rest, no reward but praise; 
 And builds on wants, and on defects of mind, 
 The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind. Pope* 
 
 Frailty. All exposed to. 
 Let but your honor know, 
 (Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,) 
 That, in the working of your own affections, 
 Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing, 
 Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
 Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose, 
 Whether you had not sometime in your life 
 Err'd in this point which now you censure him, 
 And pull'd the law upon you. Shak'peare, 
 
 France. Character of. 
 Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
 Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please; 
 How often have I led thy sportive choir, 
 With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire! 
 Where shading elms along the margin grew, 
 And freshen'd from the wave the zephyr flew: 
 g2 
 
78 FRENCHMAN. 
 
 And haply, though my harsh touch, falt'ring still, 
 Butmock'd all tune, and marrd the dancer's skill: 
 Yet would the village praise my wond'rous pow'r, 
 And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide hour; 
 Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days 
 Have led their children through the mirthful maze, 
 And the gray grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, 
 Has frisk 'd beneath the burden of threescore. 
 
 So bright a life these thoughtless realms display; 
 Thus idly busy rolls their world away; 
 Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, 
 For honour forms the social temper here. 
 Honour, that praise which real merit gains, 
 Or ev'n imaginary worth obtains, 
 Here passes current; paid from hand to hand 
 It shifts in splendid traffic round the land; 
 From courts to camps, to cottages it strays, 
 And all are taught an avarice of praise; 
 They please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem, 
 'Till, seeming bless'd, they grow to what they seem. 
 
 But while this softer art their bliss supplies, 
 It gives their follies also room to rise; 
 For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, 
 Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; 
 And the weak soul, within itself unblest, 
 Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. 
 Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, 
 Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; 
 Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 
 And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace; 
 Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, 
 To boast one splendid banquet once a-year; 
 The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, 
 Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Frenchman. Character of. 
 Born in a climate softer far than ours, 
 Nor form'd, like us, with such Herculean pow'rs, 
 The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, 
 Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, 
 
FRIBBLE. 79 
 
 Is always happy, reign whoever may, 
 
 And laughs the sense of mis'ry far away. 
 
 He drinks his simple bev'rage with a gust; 
 
 And, feasting on an onion and a crust; 
 
 We never feel th 1 alacrity and joy, 
 
 With which he shouts and carols Vive le Roy, 
 
 FilPd with as much true merriment and glee, 
 
 As if he heard his king say — slave, be free. Cowper. 
 
 Fribble. Critical one, described. 
 
 With that low cunning, which in fools supplies, 
 And amply too, the place of being wise, 
 Which Nature, kind, indulgent parent, gave 
 To qualify the blockhead for a knave; 
 With that .smooth falsehood, whose appearance 
 
 charms, 
 And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms, 
 Which to the lowest depths of guile descends, 
 By vilest means pursues the vilest ends, 
 Wears Friendship's mask for purposes of spite, 
 Fawns in the day, and butchers in the night; 
 With that malignant envy, which turns pale, 
 And sickens, even if a friend prevail, 
 W^hich merit and success pursues with hate, 
 And damns the worth it cannot imitate; 
 With the cold caution of a coward's spleen, 
 Which fears not guilt, but always seeks a screen. 
 
 A motley figure of the fribble tribe, 
 
 Which heart can scarce conceive, or pen describe, 
 Came simpering on; to ascertain whose sex 
 Twelve sage impannell'd matrons would perplex. 
 Nor male, nor female; neither, and yet both; 
 Of neuter gender, though of Irish grow T th; 
 A six-foot suckling, mincing in its gait; 
 Affected, peevish, prim, and delicate; 
 Fearful it seem'd, though of athletic make, 
 Lest brutal breezes should too roughly shake 
 Its tender form, and savage motion spread, 
 O'er its pale cheeks, the horrid manly red. 
 
 Much did it talk, in its own pretty phrase, 
 Of genius and of taste 3 of play'rs and plays; 
 
80 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Much too of writings, which itself had wrote, 
 
 Of special merit, though of little note, 
 
 For fate, in a strange humour, had decreed 
 
 That what it wrote, none but itself should read; 
 
 Much too it ehatter'd of dramatic laws, 
 
 Misjudging critics, and misplaced applause; 
 
 Then, with a self-complacent jutting air, 
 
 It smil'd, it smirk'd, it wriggled to the chair. Pope. 
 
 Friend. A convenient one. 
 He chooses company, but not the squire's, 
 "Whose wit is rudeness, whose good-breeding tires; 
 Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come, 
 Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home; 
 Nor can he much affect the neighb'ring peer, 
 Whose toe of emulation treads too near; 
 But wisely seeks a more convenient fiiend, 
 With whom, dismissing forms, he may unbend! 
 A man, whom marks of condescending grace 
 Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place; 
 Who comes when call'd, and at a word withdraws. 
 Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause; 
 Some plain mechanic, who, without pretence 
 To birth or wit, not gives nor takes offence; 
 On whom he rests well pleas'd his weary pow'rs 
 And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. Cowper 
 
 Friendship. Female, in their early days. 
 Is all the counsel that we too have shar'd, 
 The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 When we have chid the hasty footed time 
 For parting us, — O, and is all forgot? 
 All school-day's friendship, childhood innocence? 
 We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 
 Have with our needles created both one flower, 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key; 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, 
 Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
 like to a double cherry, seeming parted. Shakspeare* 
 
FUTURITY. 81 
 
 Friendship. School Friendship. 
 Besides, school-friendships are not always found. 
 Though fail in promise, permanent and sound; 
 The most disint'rested and virtuous minds, 
 In early years connected, time unbinds; 
 New situations sive a dirPrent cast 
 Of habit, inclination, temper, taste; 
 And he, that seem'd our counterpart at first, 
 Soon shows the strong similitude reversM. 
 Young heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm, 
 And make mistakes for manhood to reform. 
 Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown, 
 Whose scent and hues are rather guess'" d than known; 
 Each dreams that each is just what he appears, 
 But learns his error in maturer year?, 
 When disposition, like a sail unfurl'd, 
 Shows all its rents and patches to the world. Cowper. 
 
 Friendship. Uncertainty of. 
 
 O, world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast 
 sworn, 
 Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
 Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, 
 Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love 
 Unseparable, shall within this hour, 
 On a dissension of a doit, break out 
 To bitterest enmity: So fellest foes, 
 Whose passions and whose plots have broke their 
 
 sleep 
 To take the one the other, by some chance, 
 Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, 
 And interjom their issues. Skakspeare. 
 
 Futurity. 
 
 Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son! 
 "All that we know is, nothing can be known " 
 Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun: 
 Each has his pang, but feeble sufferers groan 
 With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. 
 Pursue what chance or fate proclaimeth best: 
 Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron: 
 
82 GAY. 
 
 There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, 
 But silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest 
 
 Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be 
 A land of souls beyond that sable shore, 
 To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee 
 And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore; 
 How sweet it were in concert to adore 
 With those who made our mortal labours light! 
 To hear each voice we feai'd to hear no more! 
 Behold each mighty shade revealed to sight, 
 The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the 
 right ! Byron. 
 
 Gabriel. Decries Satan. 
 
 O friends, I hear the tread of nimble feet 
 Hasting this way, and now by glimpse discern 
 Ithuriel and Zephon through the shade, 
 And with them comes a third of regal port, 
 But faded splendour wan; who, by his gait 
 And fierce demeanour, seems the prince of Hell, 
 Not likely to part hence without contest; 
 Stand firm, for in his look defiance low'rs. Milton. 
 
 Gay. Who rightly called. 
 "Whom call we gay? That honour has been long 
 The boast of mere pretenders to the name. 
 The innocent are gay — the lark is gay, 
 That dries his feathers, saturate with dew, 
 Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams 
 Of dayspring overshoot his humble nest. 
 The peasant too, a witness of his song, 
 Himself a songster, is as gay as he. 
 But save me from the gayety of those, 
 Whose headachs nail them to a noon-day bed; 
 And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes 
 Flash desperation, and betray their pangs 
 For property stripp'd off by cruel chance; 
 From gayety that fills the bones with pain, 
 The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with wo- 
 
 Cowper. 
 
GENIUS. 83 
 
 Gehexno. Character of. 
 
 Gehenno leaves the realm to Cremes' skill, 
 And boldly claims a province higher still. 
 To raise a name, th' ambitious boy has got 
 At once a bible and a shoulder-knot; 
 Deep in the secret he looks through the whole 
 And pities the dull rogue that saves his soul; 
 To talk with rev'rence you must take good heed. 
 Nor shock his tender reason with the Creed. 
 Howe'er, well-bred, in public he complies, 
 Obliging friends alone with blasphemies. Young. 
 
 Genius. Repressed by Penury, 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire: 
 Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
 
 Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. 
 
 But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll. 
 
 Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, 
 And froze the genial current of the soul. 
 
 Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 
 The daik unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; 
 
 Full many a rlow'r is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
 
 Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
 
 The little tyrant off his fields withstood: 
 Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest: 
 Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 
 
 Gray. 
 Gexius, Without heart, 
 
 Genius and art, ambition's boasted wings. 
 Our boast but ill deserve. A feeble aid! 
 Heart-merit wanting, mount we ne'er so high, 
 Our height is but the gibbet of our name. Foimg. 
 
 Ghost. Hamlet's address to his Father's. 
 Angels and ministers of grace defend us! — 
 Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, 
 
84 GLADIATOR. 
 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
 Be thy intents wicked or charitable, 
 Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, 
 That I will speak to thee; I '11 call thee Hamlet, 
 Kins;, father, royal Dane: O, answer me; 
 Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell, 
 "Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, 
 Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre, 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, 
 Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, 
 To cast thee up again! What may this mean, 
 That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel 
 Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
 Making night hideous; and we fools of nature. 
 So horridly to shake our disposition, 
 With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls. 
 
 Shaksptare. 
 
 Ghost. What it might tempt to. 
 What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord. 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
 That beetles o'er his base into the sear 
 And there assume some other horrible form, 
 Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason. 
 And draw you into madness? think of it: 
 The very place puts toys of desperation, 
 Without more motive, into every brain, 
 That looks so many fathoms to the sea, 
 And hears it roar beneath. Shakspeare. 
 
 Gladiator. The dying. 
 
 I see before me the gladiator lie; 
 He leans upon his hand, — his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
 And his droop'd head sinks gradually low; — 
 And through his side the last drops ebbing slow 
 From the red gash, fall heavy one by one, 
 Like the first of a thunder-shower, and now 
 The arena swims around him: — he is gone, 
 Ere ceas'd th' inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch 
 who won. 
 
 ! 
 
GRAVE. 
 
 He heard it. but he heeded not — his eyes 
 Were with his heart, and that was far away: 
 He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize. 
 But where his rude hut by the Danube lay; 
 There were his young barbarians all at play, 
 The t was their Daeian mother — he their sire, 
 Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — 
 All this rush'd with his blood. — Snail he expire! 
 And unaveng'd ? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire ! 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Golden Age. Ji pott's dream. 
 
 Would I had fall'n upon those happier days, 
 That poets celebrate; those golden times, 
 And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings, 
 And Sydney, warbler of poetic prose. — 
 Vain wish! those days were never: airy dreams 
 Sat for the picture; and the. poet's hand, 
 Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
 Impos'd a £ay delirium foi a truth, 
 Grant it: I still must envy them an age, 
 That favcur'd such a dream: in days like these 
 Impossible, when Virtue is so scarce, 
 That to suppose a scene where she presides, 
 Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief. Com 
 
 Grave. 
 
 Dull grave ! thou spoiPst the dance of youthful blood, 
 Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth, 
 And ev'ry smirking feature from the face: 
 Branding our laughter with the name of madness. 
 Where are the jesters now? the man of health 
 Complexionally pleasant? where the droll? 
 Whose ev'ry lock and gesture was a joke 
 To clapping theatres and shouting crowds, 
 And made ev'n thiek-lipp'd musing Melancholy 
 To gather up her face into a sm 
 Before she was aware? Ah! sullen now, 
 And dumb as the green turf that covers them. Young. 
 H 
 
86 GRAVITY. 
 
 Grave. 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 The short and simple annals of the poor. 
 
 The boast o heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
 
 Await, alike, the inevitable hour; 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 
 
 Gan Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 
 
 Or flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of death? Gray, 
 
 Grave. Of the renowned. 
 
 When, to the grave, we follow the renown'd 
 For valour, virtue, science, all we love, 
 And all we praise; for worth, whose noontide beam 
 Mends our ideas of ethereal pow'rs; 
 Dream we, that lustre of the moral world 
 Goes out in stench, and rottenness the close? 
 Why was he wise to know, and warm to praise, 
 And strenuous to transcribe, in human life, 
 The mind almighty? could it be that fate, 
 Just when the lineaments began to shine, 
 Should snatch the draught, and blot it out for ever? 
 
 Young 
 
 Gravity. Effected. 
 There are a sort of men whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond; 
 And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
 With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; 
 As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, 
 And when I ope my lips let no dog bark! 
 ? my Antonio, I do know of these, 
 
 i! 
 
GREECE. 87 
 
 That therefore only are reputed wise, 
 
 For saying nothing. Shakspeare. 
 
 Greatness. Subject to Censure. 
 O place and greatness, millions of false eyes 
 Are stuck upon thee! volumes of report 
 Run with those false and most contrarious guests 
 Upon thy doings ! thousand 'scapes of wit 
 Make thee the father of their idle dream, 
 x'ind rack thee in their fancies. Shakspeare 
 
 Greece. Clime of. 
 
 Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 
 
 Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime. 
 Where the rage of the vulture — the love of the tur- 
 tle— 
 Now melt into sorrow — now madden to crime? — 
 Know ye the land of the cedar and vine ? 
 Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine, 
 Where the light wings of zephyr, oppress'd with per- 
 fume 
 Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in their bloom; 
 Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 
 And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; 
 Where the tints of the earth and the hues of the sky, 
 In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, 
 And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye; 
 Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, 
 And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? — 
 'Tis the clime of the East — 'tis the land of the Sun — 
 Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? 
 Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell 
 Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which 
 they tell. Byron. 
 
 Greece. Compared. 
 
 He who hath bent him o'er the dead 
 Ere the first day of death is fled, 
 The first dark day of nothingness, 
 The last of danger and distress, 
 (Before Decay's effacing fingers 
 
88 HAMLET, 
 
 Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) 
 
 And maik'd the mild angelic air, 
 
 The rapture of repose that's there, 
 
 The fix'd yet tender traits that streak 
 
 The languor of the placid cheek, 
 
 And,— but for that sad shrouded eye, 
 
 That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, 
 And but for that chili changeless brow, 
 
 Whose touch thrills with mortality, 
 
 And curdles to the gazer's heart, 
 
 As if to him it could impart 
 
 The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; 
 
 Yes, but for these and these alone, 
 
 Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, 
 
 He still might doubt the tyrant's power; 
 
 So fair, so calm 5 so softly seaPd, 
 
 The first, last look by death reveal'd! 
 
 Such is the aspect of this shore; 
 
 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! 
 
 So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
 
 We start, for soul is wanting there. 
 
 Her 's is the loveliness in death, 
 
 That parts not quite with parting breath; 
 
 But beauty with that fearful bloom, 
 
 That hue which haunts it to the tomb, 
 
 Expression's last receding ray, 
 
 A gilded halo hovering round decay, 
 
 The farewell beam of feeling past away! 
 
 Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, 
 
 Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish' d- earth. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Hamlet. CkiLrchyard of the. 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
 
 The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, 
 
HAPPINESS. 89 
 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care; 
 
 Nor children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Gray. 
 
 Happiness. A sad sight. 
 How sad a sight is human happiness 
 To those whose thought can pierce beyond an hour! 
 
 thou ! whate'er thou art, whose heart exults ! 
 Wouldst thou I should congratulate thy fate? 
 
 1 know thou wouldst: thy pride demands it from me; 
 Let thy pride pardon what thy nature needs, 
 
 The salutary censure of a friend; ' 
 
 Thou happy wretch; by blindness art thou blest; 
 
 By doatage dandled to perpetual smiles. Young. 
 
 Happiness. Domestic. 
 Domestic happiness, thou only bliss 
 Of Paradise, that hast surviv'd the fail; 
 Though few, now taste thee unimpair'd and pure, 
 Or tasting, long enjoy thee! too infirm, 
 Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets 
 Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect 
 Or temper sheds into thy chrystal cup; 
 Thou art the nurse of virtue, in thine arms 
 She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, 
 Heav'n-born, and destin'd to the skies again. 
 Thou art not known where Pleasure is ador'd, 
 That reeling goddess with the zoneiess waist 
 And wand'ring eyes, still leaning on the arm 
 Of novelty, her fickle, frail support; 
 For thou art meek and constant, hating. change, 
 And finding in the calm of truth-tried love 
 Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. 
 Forsaking thee what shipwreck have we made 
 Of honous, dignity, and fair renown ! Coivper. 
 
 h 2 
 
90 HARVEST. 
 
 Happiness. 
 
 Vers'd in the woes and vanities of life, 
 He pitied man: and much he pitied those 
 Whom falsely-smiling fate has curs'd with means 
 To dissipate their days in quest of joy. 
 Our aim is happiness: 'tis yours, 'tis mine, 
 He said; 'tis the pursuit of all that live: 
 Yet few attain it, if 'twas e'er attain'd. 
 But they the widest wander from the mark, 
 Who through the flow'ry paths of saunt'ring joy 
 Seek this coy goddess; that from stage to stage 
 Invites us still, but shifts as we pursue. 
 For, not to name the pains that pleasure brings 
 To counterpoise itself, relentless fate 
 Forbids that we through gay voluptuous wilds 
 Should ever roam; and were the fates more kind, 
 Our narrow luxuries would soon be stale. 
 Were these exhaustless, Nature would grow sick; 
 And cloy'd with pleasure, squeamishly complain 
 That all was vanity, and life a dream. 
 Let nature rest: be busy for yourself, 
 And for your friend; be busy ev'n in vain, 
 Rather than tease her sated appetites. 
 Who never fasts, no banquet e'er enjoys; 
 Who never toils or watches, never sleeps. Armstrong, 
 
 Hrryest. Gathered in. 
 How clear the cloudless sky ! how deeply ting'd 
 With a peculiar blue! th' ethereal arch 
 How swell'd immense ! amid whose azure thron'd 
 The radiant sun how gay! how calm below 
 The gilded earth! the harvest treasures all 
 Now gather'd in, beyond the rage of storms, 
 Sure to the swain; the circling fence shut up: 
 And instant winter's utmost rage defied. 
 While, loose to festive joy, the country round 
 Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth, 
 Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-strung youth* 
 By the quick sense of music taught alone, 
 Leaps wildly graceful in the lively dance. 
 
KELL. 91 
 
 Her every charm abroad, the village-toast. 
 Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich, 
 Darts not unmeaning looks; and, where her ej*e 
 Points an approving smile, with double force 
 The cudgel rattles and the wrestler twines, 
 Ajre too s-hines out; and, garrulous, recounts 
 The teats of youth. Thus they rejoice; nor think 
 That, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toil 
 Begins again the never-ceasing round. Tiioinson. 
 
 Hearse. 
 But see! the well plom'd hearse comes nodding on a 
 Stately and slow: and properly attended 
 By the whole sable tribe, that painful watch 
 The sici man's door, and live upon the dead, 
 Ey letting out their persons by the hour 
 To mimic sorrow when the heart's not sad! 
 How rich the t lappings, now they're all unfurl'd 
 And glitt'ring in the snn! triumphant entries 
 Of conquerors, and coronation pomps, 
 
 In glory scarce exceed. 
 
 Ye undertakers! tell us, 
 'Midst all the gorgeous figures you exhibit, 
 Why is the principle eonceal'd, for which 
 You make this mighty stir: 'Tis wisely done: 
 What would offend the eye in a good picture, 
 The painter casts discreetly into shades. Blair, 
 
 Hell. Span's dddress to. 
 
 Farewell, happy fields, 
 Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors, hail, 
 Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell, 
 "Receive thy new possessor; one who brings 
 A mind not to be chang'd by place or time. 
 The mind is its own place, and in itself 
 Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of Heav'n. 
 What matter where, if I be still the same, 
 And what I should be, all but less than he 
 Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least 
 
92 HEROES. 
 
 We shall be free; th* Almighty hath not built 
 Here for his envy; will not drive us hence: 
 Here we may reign secure; and in my choice 
 To reign is worth ambition, though in hell; 
 Better to reign in hell, than serve in Heaven. 
 
 Milton* 
 
 Henry V. His Character. 
 He is gracious, if he be observ'd; 
 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
 Open as day for melting charity: 
 Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he ? s flint; 
 As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
 As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
 His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd: 
 Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 
 When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth: 
 But, being moody, give him line and scope; 
 Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, 
 Confound themselves with working. Shakspeare, 
 
 Heroes. True and False. 
 
 Let laurels, drench'd in pure Pernassian dews^ 
 Reward his mem'ry, dear to ev'ry muse, 
 Who, with a courage of unshaken root, 
 In honour's field advancing his firm foot, 
 Plants it upon the line that justice draws, 
 And will prevail or perish in her cause. 
 'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes 
 His portion in the good that Heav'n bestows. 
 And when recording history displays 
 Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days; 
 Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, 
 Where duty plac'd them, at their country's side: 
 The man that is not mov'd with what he reads, 
 That takes not fire at their heroic deeds, 
 Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, 
 Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. 
 
 But let eternal infamy pursue 
 The wretch, to nought but his ambition true; 
 
HOME. 93 
 
 Who, for the sake of filling with one blast 
 
 The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste. 
 
 Think yourself station'd on a tow'ring rock, 
 
 To see a people scatterd like a flock, 
 
 Some royal mastiff panting at their heels, 
 
 With all the savage thirst a tiger feels; 
 
 Then view him self-proclaim'" d in a gazette, 
 
 Chief monster that has plagu'd the nations yet. Coicper. 
 
 Hilario. Character of. 
 
 By your example would Hilario mend, 
 How would it grace the talents of my friend, 
 Who, with the charms of his own genius smit, 
 Conceives all virtues are compris'd in wit! 
 But time his fervent petulance may cool; 
 For, though he is a wit, he is no fool. 
 In time he '11 learn to use, not waste, his sense j 
 Nor make a frailty of an excellence. 
 Hi* brisk attack on blockheads we should prize, 
 Were not his jest as flippant with the wise. 
 He spares nor friend nor foe: but calls to mind, 
 Like dooms-day, all the faults of all mankind. Young* 
 
 Hippolitus. Character of. 
 Say, dear Hippolitus (whose drink is ale, 
 Whose erudition is a Christmas tale, 
 Whose mistress is saluted with a smack, 
 And friend received with thumps upon the back,) 
 When thy sleek gelding nimbly leaps the mound, 
 And Ringwood opens on the tainted ground, 
 Is that thy praise? Let Ringwood's fame alone, 
 Just Ringwood leaves each animal his own; 
 Nor envies when a gypsy you commit, 
 And shake the clumsy bench with country wit; 
 When you the dullest of dull things have said, 
 And then ask pardon for the jest you made, viikenside. 
 
 Home. Regard for. 
 In all my wand'rings round this world of care, 
 In all my grief, and God has given my share— 
 
94 HONESTY. 
 
 I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 
 Amidst these humble bow'rs to lay me down; 
 To husband out life's taper at the close, 
 And keep the flame from wasting my repose: 
 I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, 
 Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, 
 Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
 And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; 
 And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, 
 Pants to the place from whence at first he flew, 
 I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
 Here to return, and die at home at last. 
 
 O blest retirement, fiiend to life's decline, 
 Retreat from care, that never must be mine! 
 How blest is he, who crowns, in shades like these, 
 A youth of labour with an age of ease; 
 Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
 And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! Goldsmith* 
 
 Honesty. A knave's dispraise of. 
 We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
 Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
 Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 
 That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, 
 Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, 
 For nought but provender: and, when he 's old, cash- 
 
 ier'd: 
 Whip me such honest knaves : Others there are, 
 Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, 
 Kept yet their hearts attending on themselves; 
 And, throwing but shows of service on their lords, 
 Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd 
 
 their coats, 
 Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; 
 And such a one do I profess myself. 
 For, Sir, 
 
 It is as sure as your are Roderigo, 
 Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: 
 In following him, I follow but myself; 
 Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, 
 But seeming so 3 for my peculiar end; 
 
HONOUR. 95 
 
 For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
 
 The native act and figure of my heart 
 
 In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
 
 But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
 
 For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. Shakspeare. 
 
 Honour. The word often abused. 
 
 Honours best thrive, 
 When rather from our acts we them derive 
 Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave, 
 Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave, 
 A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb, 
 Where dust and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb 
 Of honour'd bones indeed. Shakspeare, 
 
 Honour. Must be Active. 
 Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
 Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
 A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: 
 Those scraps are good deeds past: which are devour d 
 As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
 As done: Perseverance, dear my lord, 
 Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang 
 Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail 
 In monumental mockery. Take the instant way, 
 For honour travels in a strait so narrow, 
 Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path: 
 For emulation hath a thousand sons, 
 That one by one pursue: If you give way, 
 Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 
 Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, 
 And leave you hindmost. Shakspeare. 
 
 Honour. True, from ichat. 
 
 Honour and shame from no condition rise; 
 Act well your part, there all the honour lies. 
 Fortune in men has some small difFrence made: 
 One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; 
 The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd. 
 
96 hop*e. 
 
 The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd, 
 
 " What differ more," you cry, " than crown and 
 
 cowl?" 
 I'll tell you, friend; a wise man and a fool; 
 You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, 
 Or, oobler-like, the parson will be drunk: 
 Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; 
 The rest is all but leather or prunella. Pope. 
 
 Hope. Blessings of 
 
 Hope humbly then with trembling pinions soar; 
 Wait the great teacher death, and God adore: 
 What future bliss he gives not thee to know; 
 But gives that hope to be thy blessing now; 
 Hope springs eternal in the human breast: 
 Man never Is, but always To be blest. 
 The soul uneasy, and confin'd from home, 
 Rests and expatiates on a life to come. Pope- 
 
 Hope. Deceitful, how recalled. 
 
 Oh! vainly wise, the moral muse hath sung 
 That suasive hope hath but a syren tongue! 
 True; she may sport with life's untutor'd day, 
 Nor heed the solace of its last decay, 
 The guileless heart her happy mansion spurn, 
 And part, like Ajut — never to return! 
 But yet, methinks, when wisdom shall assuage 
 The grief and passions of our greener age, 
 Though dull the close of life, and far away 
 Each flower that hail'd the dawning of the day; 
 Yet o'er her lowly hopes, that once were dear, 
 The time-taught spirit, pensive, nor severe, 
 With milder griefs her aged eye shall fill, 
 And weep their falsehood, though she love them still, 
 
 Cambell. 
 Hope. Effects of the Sceptical Philosophy on. 
 Oh! lives there, Heaven! beneath thy dread ex* 
 panse, 
 One hopeless, dark, idolater of chance, 
 Content to feed, with pleasure unrefin'd, 
 The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind; 
 
HOPE. 97 
 
 Who, mouldering earthward, reft of every trust, 
 
 In joyless union, wedded to the dust, 
 
 Could all his parting energy dismiss. 
 
 And call this barren world sufficient bliss? — 
 
 There lives, alas! of heaven-directed mien, 
 
 Of cultur'd soul, and sapient eye serene, 
 
 Who hail thee, man! the pilgrim of a day, 
 
 Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay, 
 
 Frail as the leaf in autumn's yellow bower, 
 
 Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower: 
 
 A friendless slave, a child without a sire, 
 
 Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, 
 
 Light to the grave his chance-created form, 
 
 As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm; 
 
 And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, 
 
 To night and silence sink for evermore! Campbell, 
 
 Hope. The influence of at the close of Life. 
 
 Unfading hope! when life's last embers burn, 
 When soul to soul, and dust to dust return! 
 Heav'n to thy charge resigns the awful hour! 
 Oh; then, thy kindgom comes! immortal Power! 
 What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly 
 The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! 
 Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
 The morning dream of life's eternal day — 
 Then, then, the triumph and the trance begins! 
 And all the phcenix spirit burns within! 
 
 Oh deep-enchanting prelude to repose, 
 The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes! 
 Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh, 
 It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 
 Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun; 
 Where Time's far wandering tide has never run, 
 From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, 
 A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 
 'Tis heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, 
 Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! 
 
98 HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 While Nature hears with terror-mingled trust, 
 The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust; 
 And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 
 The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God, 
 With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, 
 And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss! 
 Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume 
 The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb; 
 Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll 
 Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul ! 
 Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay, 
 Chased on his night-steed by the star of day i 
 The strife is o'er ! — the pangs of nature close, 
 And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. 
 Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, 
 The noon of heav'n, undazzled by the blaze, 
 On heav'nly winds that waft her to the sky, 
 Float the sweet tones of star -born melody; 
 Wild as the hallow'd anthem sent to hail 
 Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, 
 When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still 
 Watch'd on the holy tow'rs of Zion hill. Campbell. 
 
 Human life. 
 Ask what is human life — the sage replies. 
 With disappointment low'ring in his eyes, 
 A painful passage o'er a restless flood, 
 A vain pursuit of fugitive false good, 
 A scene of fancied bliss and heart-felt care, 
 Closing at last in darkness and despair; 
 The poor, inur'd to drudgery and distress, 
 Act without aim, think little, and feel less, 
 And nowhere, but in feign'd Arcadian scenes, 
 Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means 
 Riches are pass'd away from hand to hind, 
 As fortune, vice, or folly, may command; 
 As in a dance the pair that take the lead 
 Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed. 
 So shifting and so various is the plan, 
 By which Heav'n rules the mixed .affairs of man: 
 
IDLE. 99 
 
 Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd, 
 
 The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud; 
 
 Bus'ness is labour, and man's weakness such, 
 
 Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much, 
 
 The very sense of it foregoes its use, 
 
 By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse. 
 
 Youth lost in dissipation we deplore, 
 
 Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore; 
 
 Our years, a fruitless race without a prize, 
 
 Too many, yet too few to make us wise. Ccwper. 
 
 Hypocrisy. 
 
 For neither man nor angel can discern 
 Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks 
 Invisible, except to God alone, 
 By his permissive will, through heaven and earth; 
 And oft, though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps 
 At wisdom's gate, and to simplicity 
 Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill 
 Where no ill seems. Milton* 
 
 Hypocrisy. Of Jngelo described. 
 This outward sainted deputy, — 
 Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
 Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew, 
 As falcon doth the fowl, — is yet a devil; 
 His filth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell. Shakspeare. 
 
 Idle. Who falsely called, by the World. 
 How various his enjoyments, whom the world 
 Calls idle; and who justly in return 
 Esteems that busy world an idler too ! 
 Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen. 
 Delightful industry enjoy 'd at home, 
 And nature in her cultivated trim 
 Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad — 
 Can he want occupation, who has these? 
 Will he be idle, who has much t' enjoy? — — 
 He, that attends to his interior self, 
 
100 INDIAN. 
 
 That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind 
 
 That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks 
 
 A social, not a dissipated life, 
 
 Has business; feels himself engaged t' achieve 
 
 No unimportant, though a silent task 
 
 A life all turbulence and noise may seem 
 
 To him that leads it wise, and to be prais'd; 
 
 But wisdom is a pearl with most success 
 
 Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies. 
 
 He that is ever occupied in storms, 
 
 Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, 
 
 Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. Coicper. 
 
 Imagination. The power of. 
 
 The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
 Are of imagination all compact: 
 One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; 
 That is the madman: the lover, all as frantic, 
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Esypt: 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to hea- 
 ven; 
 And, as imagination bodies forth 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation, and a name. Sliakspeave. 
 
 Inconsistency. Of Man. 
 Ah! how unjust to nature, and himself, 
 Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man! 
 Like children babbling nonsense in their sports 
 We censure nature for a span too short; 
 That span too short, we tax as tedious too; 
 Torture invention, all expedients tire, 
 To lash the ling'ring moments into speed; 
 And whirl us (happy riddance) from ourselves. 
 
 Young. 
 
 Indian. Heaven of. 
 Lo! the poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind 
 Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind; 
 
INDOLENCE. 101 
 
 His soul proud science never taught to stray 
 Far as the solar walk, or milky way; 
 Yet simple nature to his hope has given, 
 Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heaven: 
 Some safer world in depth of woods embiac'd, 
 Some happier island in the wat'ry waste; 
 Where slaves once more their native land behold, 
 No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. 
 
 Pope, 
 
 Indolence. Castle of. 
 
 O mortal man, who livest here by toil, 
 Do not complain of this thy hard estate: 
 That, like an emmet, thou must ever moil, 
 Is a sad sentence of an ancient date; 
 And, certes, there is for it reason great; 
 For, tho 5 sometimes it makes thee weep and wail. 
 And curse thy star, and early drudge and late; 
 Withouten that would come an heavier bale, 
 Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale. 
 
 In lowly dale, fast by a river's side, 
 
 With woody hill, o'er hill encompass'd round, 
 
 A most enchanting wizard did abide, 
 
 Than whom a fiend more fell is nowhere found. 
 
 It was, I ween, a lovely spot cf ground: 
 
 And there a season atween June and May, 
 
 Half prankt with spring, with summer half im- 
 
 brown'd, 
 A listless climate made, where, sooth to say, 
 No living wight could work, ne cared even for play, 
 
 Was nought around but images of rest: 
 Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between, 
 And flow'ry beds that slumb'rous influence kest, 
 From poppies breath'd; and beds of pleasant green. 
 Where never yet was creeping creatute seen. 
 Meantime unnumber'd glitt'ring streamlets play'd, 
 And hurled every where their waters sheen; 
 That, as they bicker'd through the sunny glade, 
 Tho' restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made. 
 i 2 
 
102 INDOLENCE. 
 
 Join'd to the prattle of the purling rills 
 Were heard the lowing herds along the vale, 
 And flocks loud-bleating from the distant hills, 
 And vacant shepherds piping in the dale; 
 And now and then sweet Philomel would wail, 
 Or stock-doves 'plain amid the forest deep, 
 That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale; 
 And still a coil the grasshopper did keep: 
 Yet all these sounds yblent inclined all to sleep. 
 
 Full in the passage of the vale above, 
 
 A sable, silent, solemn forest stood; 
 
 Where nought but shadowy forms were seen to 
 
 move: 
 As Idleness fancied in her dreaming mood: 
 And up the hills on either side a wood 
 Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro, 
 Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood; 
 And where this valley winded out below, 
 The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, 
 
 to flow. 
 
 A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, 
 Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; 
 And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 
 For ever flushing round a summer sky; 
 There eke the soft delights that witchingly 
 Instil a wonton sweetness through the breast 
 And calm the pleasures, always hover d nigh, 
 But whate'er smack'd of noyance or unrest, 
 "Was far, far off expell'd from this delicious nest. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 Indolence. Wizard's Invitation to. 
 
 Behold! ye pilgrims of this earth, behold! 
 See all but man, with unearned pleasure gay: 
 See her bright robes the butterfly unfold; 
 Broke from her wintry tomb in prime of May ! 
 What youthful bride can equal her array? 
 WTio can with her for easy pleasure vie? 
 From mead to mead with gentle wing to stray, 
 
INDOLENCE. 103 
 
 From rlow ? r to flow'r on balmy gales to fly. 
 Is all she hath to do beneath the radiant sky. 
 
 Behold the merry minstrels of the morn, 
 The swarming songsters of the careless grove, 
 Ten thousand throats ! that from the flowering thorn 
 Hymn their good God, and carol sweet of love, 
 Such grateful kindly raptures them emove: 
 They neither plough nor sow; ne, fit for flail, 
 E'er to the barn the nodding sheaves they drove; 
 Yet theirs each harvest dancing in the gale, 
 Whatever crowns the hill, or smiles along the vale. 
 
 Outcast of nature, man! the wretched thrall 
 Of bitter-dropping sweat, of sweltry pain, 
 Of cares that eat away thy heart with gall, 
 And of the vices, an inhuman train. 
 That all proceed from savage thirst of gain: 
 For when hard hearted interest first began 
 To poison earth, Astraea left the plain; 
 Guile, violence, and murder, seiz'd on man, 
 And, for soft milky streams, with blood the rivers ran. 
 
 Come ye, who still the cumbrous load of life 
 Push hard up hill: but at the farthest steep 
 Tou trust to gain, and put an end to strife, 
 Down thunders back the stone with mighty sweep, 
 And hurls your labours to the valley deep: 
 For ever vain; come, and withouten fee 
 I in oblivion will your sorrows steep, 
 Your cares, your toils: will steep you in a sea 
 Of full delight, O come, ye weary wights to me! 
 
 With me you need not rise at early dawn, 
 To pass the joyless day in various sounds; 
 Or, louting low, on upstart fortune fawn, 
 And sell fair honour for some paltry pounds; 
 Or through the city take your dirty lounds, 
 To cheat, and dun, and lie, and visit pay, 
 Now flattering base, now giving secret wounds: 
 Or prowl in courts of law for human prey, 
 In venal senate thieve, or rob, on broad highway. 
 
104 INDOLENCE. 
 
 No cocks with me to rustic labour call, 
 From village on to village sounding clear; 
 To tardy swains no shrill-voic'd matrons squalJ, 
 No dogs, no babes, no wives, to stun your ear; 
 No hammer's thump, no horrid blacksmith fear, 
 No noisy tradesmen your sweet slumbers start, 
 With sounds that are a mirery to hear: 
 But all is calm, as would delight the heart 
 Of Sybarite of old, all nature and all art. 
 
 Here nought but candour reigns, indulgent ease, 
 Good-natur'd lounging, saunt'r'ng up and down. 
 They who are pleas'd themselves must always 
 
 please; 
 On other's ways they never squint a frown, 
 Nor heed what haps in hamlet or in town. 
 Thiis, from the source of tender indolence, 
 With milky blood the heart is overflown, 
 Is sooth'd and sweeten'd by the social sense: 
 For interest, envy, pride, and strife are banish'd hence. 
 
 What, what is virtue, but repose of mind? 
 A pure ethereal calm, that knows no storm; 
 Above the reach of wild ambition's wind, 
 Above those passions that this world deform, 
 And torture man, a proud malignant worm! 
 But here instead, soft gales of passion play, 
 And gently stir the heart, thereby to form 
 A quicker sense of joy; as breezes stray 
 Across th' enliven'd skies, and make them still more 
 
 gay- 
 
 The best of men have ever lov'd repose; 
 They hate to mingle in the filthy fray; 
 Where the soul sours, and gradual rancour growg, 
 Embitter'd more from peevish day to day. 
 Even those whom fame has lent her fairest ray. 
 The most renown'd of worthy wights of yore, 
 From a base world at last have stolen away. 
 So, Scipio, to the soft Cumsean shore 
 Retiring, tasted joys he never knew before. 
 
INSTINCT. 
 
 105 
 
 But if a little exercise you choose, 
 ♦Some zest for ease, 'tis not forbidden here, 
 Amid the groves you may indulge the muse; 
 Or tend the blooms, and deck the vernal year; 
 Or softly stealing, with your watery gear, 
 Along the brooks, the crimson-spotted fry 
 You may delude: the whilst amus'd you hear 
 Now the hoarse stream, and now the zephyr's sigh. 
 Attuned to the birds and woodland melody, 
 
 O grievous folly! to heap up estate, 
 Losing the days you see beneath the sun; 
 When, sudden, comes blind unrelenting fate, 
 And gives the untasted portion you have won 
 With ruthless toil, and many a wretch undone, 
 To those who mock you gone to Pluto's reign, 
 There with sad ghosts to pine, and shadows dun; 
 But sure it is of vanities most vain, 
 To toil for what you here untoiling may obtain. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 Indolence. Youthful. 
 
 We were, fair queen, 
 Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, 
 But such a day to-morrow was to-day, 
 And to be boy eternal. 
 
 We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' the sun, 
 And bleat the one at the other: what we chang'd, 
 Was innocence for innocence; we know not 
 The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd 
 That any did: Had we pursued that life, 
 And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 
 With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heav'n 
 Boldly, JVol Guiitv: the imposition clear'd, 
 Hereditary ours. Shakspeare. 
 
 Instinct. 
 Say, where full Instinct is th' unerring guide, 
 What pope or council can they need beside: 
 Reason, however able, cool at best, 
 Cares not for service, or but serves when prest; 
 
106 ITALY. 
 
 Stays till we call, and then not often near; 
 But honest Instinct comes a volunteer; 
 Sure never to o'ershoot, but just to hit; 
 
 While still too wide or short is human Wit. ■ 
 
 And Reason raise o'er Instinct as you can, 
 
 In this 'tis God directs, in that 'tis man. Pope, 
 
 Irresolution - . 
 
 What is a man, 
 If his chief good, and market of his time, 
 Be but to sleep, and feed? a beast, no more. 
 Sure, He that made us with such large discourse. 
 Looking before, and after, gave us not 
 That capability and godlike reason 
 To fust in us unus'd. — Now whether it be 
 Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 
 Of thinking too precisely on the event, — 
 A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wis- 
 dom, 
 And, ever, three parts, coward — I do not know 
 Why yet I live to say, This thing 's to do. Shakspeare. 
 
 Italy Character of. 
 But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, 
 And sensual bliss, is all the nation knows. 
 In florid beauty groves and fields appear, 
 Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. 
 Contrasted faults through all his manners reign: 
 Tho' poor, luxurious; tho' submissive, vain; 
 Tho' grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; 
 And e'en in penance planning sins anew. 
 All evils here contaminate the mind, 
 That opulence departed leaves behind. 
 Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd. 
 The pasteboard triumph, and the cavalcade; 
 Processions form'd for piety and love, 
 A mistress or a saint in ev'ry grove. 
 By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd, 
 The sports of children satisfy the child: 
 Each nobler aim, repress'd by long control, 
 Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; 
 
ITALY. 107 
 
 While low delights, succeeding fast behind, 
 
 In happier meanness occupy the mind: 
 
 As in those domes where Caesars once bore sway, 
 
 Defac'd by time, and tott-ring in decay, 
 
 There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, 
 
 The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed; 
 
 And, wondering man rould want the larger pile, 
 
 JExults, and owns his cottage with a smile. Goldsmith. 
 
 IlALIANT SUMMER EVE. 
 
 The moon is up, and yet it is not night; — 
 Sunset divides the sky with her: — a sea 
 Of glory streams along the Alpine height 
 Of blue Friuli's mountains: heaven is free 
 From clouds, but of all colours seems to be 
 Melted to one vast Iris of the west, 
 Where the day joins the past eternity; 
 "While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest, 
 Floats through the azure air — an island of the blest ! 
 
 A single star is at her side, and reigns 
 With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still 
 Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains 
 RollM o'er the peak of the far Rhaetian hill, 
 As Day and Night contending were, until 
 Nature reclainfd her order: — gently flows 
 The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil 
 The odorous purple of a new born rose, 
 Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it 
 glows. 
 
 Fiird with the face of heaven, which, from afar, 
 Comes down upon the waters, all its hues, 
 From the rich sunset to the rising star, 
 Their magical variety diffuse. 
 And now they change; a paler shadow strews 
 Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day 
 Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues 
 With a new colour as it gasps away, 
 The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone—and all is gray, 
 
 Butch, 
 
108 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 Jealousy. 
 Trifles, light as air, 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong 
 As proofs of holy writ. Shakspeare. 
 
 Jester. 
 
 This fellow 's wise enough to play the fool; 
 And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit: 
 He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
 The quality of persons, and the time; 
 And, like the haggard, check at every feather 
 That comes before his eye This is a practice, 
 As full of labour as a wise man's art; 
 For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; 
 But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Jesting. Hmo begot. 
 Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, 
 Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, 
 Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: 
 A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
 Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
 Of him that makes it. Shakspeare. 
 
 Joys. Departed. 
 
 Thought, busy thought! too busy for my peace, 
 Through the dark postern of time long elasp'd 
 Led softly, by the stillness of the night, 
 Strays, wretched rover! o'er the pleasing past, 
 In quest of wretchedness, perversely strays; 
 And finds all desert now; and meets the ghosts 
 
 Of my departed joys, a numerous train. 
 
 I tremble at the blessings once so dear; 
 
 And ev'ry pleasure pains me to the heart. Yovmg- 
 
 Knowledge. Best kind of. 
 Taught to live 
 The easiest way, nor with perplexing thoughts 
 To interrupt the sweet of life, from which 
 
KNOWLEDGE. 109 
 
 God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares_, 
 
 And noi molest us, unless we ourselves 
 
 Seek them with wand'ring thoughts and notions vain. 
 
 But apt the mind or fancy is to rove 
 
 Unchecked, and of her roving is no end; 
 
 Till warn'd, or by experience taught, she learn 
 
 That not to know at large of things remote 
 
 From use, obscure, and subtle, but to know 
 
 That which before us lies in daily life, 
 
 Is the prime wisdom: what is more, is fume, 
 
 Or emptiness, or fond impertinence. 
 
 And renders us in things that most concern, 
 
 Unpractis'd, unprepared, and still to seek, Milton. 
 
 Knowledge. Contrasted with Wisdom. 
 
 Meditation here 
 May think down hours to moments, Here the heart 
 May give a useful lesson to the hear?, 
 And Learning wiser grew without his books. 
 Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, 
 Have oitimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells 
 In heads replete of other men; 
 
 Wisdom in minds attentive to their own, 
 knowledge a rude unprofitable mass, 
 The mere materials with which Wisdom builds, 
 
 smoothed, and squar'i [ to its place. 
 
 Does but encumber whom it seems t' enrich. 
 Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much; 
 Wisdom is humble that lie knows no more, 
 Books are not seldom talismans and -pells, 
 By which the magic art of shrewder wits 
 Holds an unthinking multitude enthrall'd. 
 Some to the fascination oi a name 
 
 ■ Surrender judgment, hoodwinked. Some the style 
 Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds 
 Of error lead? them, by a tune entranced. 
 
 > While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear 
 
 'The insupportable fatigue of thought, 
 
110 LADIES. 
 
 And swallowing therefore without pause or choice 
 The total grist unsifted, husks and all. Cowper. 
 
 Ladies. 
 
 Ladies, like variegated tulips, show, 
 *Tis to their changes half their charms we owe; 
 Fine by defect, and delicately weak, 
 Their happy spots their nice admirer take. Popt, 
 
 Lady of the Lake. Description of. 
 Never did Grecian chizzel trace 
 A nymph, a naiad, or a grace, 
 Of finer form, or lovelier face! — 
 What, though the sun, with ardent frown, 
 Had slightly ting'd her cheek with brown; 
 The sportive toil, which, short and light, 
 Had dy'd her glowing hue so bright, 
 Serv'd, too, in hastier swell, to show 
 Short glimpses of a breast of snow. 
 What, though no rule of courtly grace 
 To measur'd mood had train'd her pace; 
 A foot more light, a step more true, 
 Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the dew; 
 E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head, 
 Elastic from her airy tread. 
 What, though upon her speech there hung 
 The accents of the mountain tongue; 
 Those silver sounds, so soft, so clear, 
 The list'ner held his breath to hear. 
 A chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid; 
 Her satin snood, her silken plaid, 
 Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd. 
 And seldom was a snood amid 
 Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 
 Whose glossy black to shame might bring 
 The plumage of the raven's wing; 
 And seldom o'er a breast so fair 
 Mantled a plaid with modest care; 
 And never brooch the folds combin'd 
 Above a heart more good and kind. 
 
LAUGHTER. Ill 
 
 Her kindness and her worth to spy, 
 
 You need but gaze on Ellen's eye; 
 
 Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, 
 
 Gives back the banks in shapes more true, 
 
 Than every free-born glance confess'd 
 
 The guileless movements of her breast; 
 
 Whether joy danc'd in her dark eye, 
 
 Or wo or pityclaim'd a sigh, 
 
 Or filial love was glowing there, 
 
 Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer, 
 
 Or tale of injury called forth 
 
 The indignant spirit of the .north. 
 
 One only passion, unreveal'd, 
 
 With maiden pride the maid conceal'd, 
 
 Yet not less purely felt the flame; 
 
 O need I tell that passion's name. Scott. 
 
 Ladf. Languid one. 
 The languid lady next appears in state, 
 Who was not born to carry her own weight; 
 She lolls, reels, staggers, till some foreign aid 
 To her own stature lifts the feeble maid. 
 Then, if OFdain'd to so severe a doom, 
 She by just stages journey's round the room; 
 But, knowing her own weakness, she despairs 
 To scale the Alps — that is, ascend the stairs. 
 My fan, let others say who laugh at toil; 
 Fan! hood! glove! scarf! is her laconic style. 
 And that is spoke with such a dying fall, 
 
 That Bett}- rather sees than hears the call: 
 
 Let the robust and the gigantic carve; 
 
 Life is not worth so much, she'd rather starve: 
 
 But chew she must, herself, ah cruel fate! 
 
 That Rosalinda can't by proxy eat. Young. 
 
 Laughter. 
 
 Loud mirth, mad laughter! wretched comforters, 
 Physicians! more than half of thy disease, 
 
112 LAVINIA. 
 
 Laughter, though never censur'd yet as sin, 
 
 Is half-immoral. Is it much induig'd? 
 
 By venting spleen, or dissipating thought, 
 
 It shows a ^corner, or it makes a fool; 
 
 And sins, as hurting others, or ourselves. Ycung, 
 
 Lavinia. Character of. 
 
 The lovely young Lavinia once had friends; 
 And fortune smii'd, deceitful, on her birth. 
 For, in her helpless years depriv'd of all, 
 Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven, 
 She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old, 
 And poor, liv'd in a cottage, far retir'd 
 Among the windings of a woody vale; 
 By solitude and deep surrounding shades, 
 But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd. 
 Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn 
 Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet 
 From giddy passion and low-minded pride: 
 Almost on Nature's common bounty fed; 
 Like the gay birds that sung them to repose, 
 Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. 
 Her form was fresher than the morning rose, 
 When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and pure, 
 As is the lily, or the mountain-snow. 
 The modest virtues mingled in her eyes, 
 Still on the ground dejected, darting all 
 Their humid beams into the blooming flowers: 
 Or when the mournful tale her mother told, 
 Of what her faithless fortune promis'd once, 
 Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star 
 Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace 
 Sat fair proportioned on her polish'd limbs, 
 Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, 
 Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness 
 Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, 
 But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most. Thomson* 
 
LEARNING. 113 
 
 Lavinia. Character of. 
 
 Lavinia is polite; but not profane; 
 To church as constant as to Drury-Lane, 
 She decently in form pays heav'n its due; 
 And makes a civil visit to her pew. 
 Her lifted fan, to give a solemn air, 
 Conceals her face, which passes for a pray'r: 
 Curt'sies to curtesies then with grace succeed; 
 Not one the fair omits, but at the creed. 
 Or, if she joins the service, 'tis to speak; 
 Through dreadful silence the pent heart might'break; 
 Untaught to bear it, women talk away 
 To God himself, and fondly think they pray. 
 But sweet the accent, and their air reiin'd; 
 For they're before their Maker — and mankind: 
 When ladies once are proud of praying well, 
 Satan himself will toll the parish bell. Young, 
 
 Learning. Frauds of. 
 
 Learning, that cobweb of the brain 
 Profane, erroneous, and vain; 
 A trade of knowledge as replete, 
 As others are with fraud and cheat; 
 An art t' encumber gifts and wit, 
 And render both for nothing fit; 
 Makes light inactive, dull and troubled, 
 Like little David in Saul's doublet; 
 A cheat that scholars put upon 
 Other men's reason and their own; 
 A sort of error, to ensconce 
 Absurdity and ignorance, 
 That renders all the avenues 
 To truth impervious and abstruse, 
 By making plain things, in debate, 
 By art perplext and intricate: 
 For nothing goes for sense or light, 
 That will not with old rules jump rignt; 
 k2 
 
114 LEARNING, 
 
 As if rules were not in the schools 
 
 Derived from truth, but truth from rules. Butler. 
 
 Learning. Hudibras, his. 
 We grant, although he had much wit, 
 H' was very shy of using it, 
 As being loth to wear it out, 
 And therefore bore it not about: 
 Unless on holidays or so, 
 As men their best apparel do. 
 Beside 'tis known he could speak Greek 
 As naturally as pigs do squeak; 
 That Latin was no more difficile, 
 Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle: 
 Being rich in both, he never scanted 
 His bounty unto such as wanted; 
 But much of either would afford 
 To many that had not one word. 
 For Hebrew roots, although they're found 
 To flourish most in barren ground, 
 He had such plenty as sufric'd 
 To make some think him circumcis'd. Butler. 
 
 Learning. Often opposed to Wisdom. 
 But you are learn'd; in volumes deep you sit; 
 In wisdom shallow: pompous ignorance! 
 Learn well to know how much need not be known; 
 And what that knowledge, which impairs your sense. 
 Our needful knowledge, like our needful food, 
 Unhedg'd, lies open in life's common field; 
 And bids all welcome to the vital feast. 
 You scorn what lies before you in the page 
 Of nature and experience, moral truth; 
 And dive in science for distinguish'd names, 
 Sinking in virtue, as you rise in fame. 
 Your learning, like the lunar beam, affords 
 Light, but not heat; it leaves you undevout. Young. 
 
LIFE. 115 
 
 Leisure. *Vo£ easily managed. 
 Tlfl easy to resign a toilsome place. 
 But not to manage leisure with a grace; 
 Absence of occupation is not rest, 
 A mind quite vacant is a mind distress ? d. 
 The verran steed, excus'd his task at length, 
 In kind compassion of his failing strength, 
 And turn'd into the park or mead to graze, 
 Exempt from future service all his days, 
 There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind, 
 Ranges at liberty, and snutis the wind: 
 But when his lord would quit the busy road, 
 To taste a joy like that he had bestow'd, 
 He proves, less happy than his favour'd brute, 
 A life of ease a difficult pursuit, Coicper 
 
 Life. Its fleeting Mature. 
 Life's little stage is a small eminence. 
 Inch high the grave above; that home of man, 
 Where dwells the multitude: we gaze around, 
 We read their monuments: we sigh: and while 
 "VVe agh, we sink: and are what we deplord; 
 Lamenting, or lamented, all our lot! Young. 
 
 Life, A recline one. 
 The!-e;c r e, fair Hernia, question your desires, 
 Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
 Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
 You can endure the livery of a nun: 
 For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
 To live a barren sister all your life, 
 Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon, 
 Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood. 
 To undergo such maiden pilgrimage: 
 But earthliei happy is the rose distill'd, 
 
 that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, 
 Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness, 
 
 Sh a 
 
116 LIFE. 
 
 Life. Miseries of. 
 
 Ah! little think the gay licentious proud, 
 Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround; 
 They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, 
 And wanton, often cruel, riot waste; 
 Ah! little think they, while they dance along, 
 How many feel, this very moment, death, 
 And all the sad variety of pain. 
 How many sink in the devouring flood, 
 Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, 
 By shameful variance betwixt man and man. 
 How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms; 
 Shut from the common air, and common use 
 Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup 
 Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 
 Of misery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds, 
 How many shrink into the sordid hut 
 Of cheerless poverty. How many shake 
 With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, 
 Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse; 
 Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, 
 They furnish matter for the tragic muse; 
 Ev'n in the vale, where wisdom loves to dwell, 
 With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd. 
 How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop 
 In deep retirM distress. How many stand 
 Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, 
 And point the parting anguish. Thought fond man 
 Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, 
 That one incessant struggle lender life, 
 One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate, 
 Vice in his high career would stand appali'd, 
 And heedless rambling impulse learn to think. 
 
 Thomson, 
 
 LifiI. Sedentary and active. 
 From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease, 
 The sedentary stretch their lazy length 
 When custom bids, but no refreshment find, 
 For none they need; the languid eye, the cheek 
 
LOCHIEL. 117 
 
 Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, 
 And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul, 
 Reproach their owner with that love of rest, 
 To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. 
 Not suchth' alert and active. Measure life 
 By its true worth, the comfort it affords, 
 And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. 
 Good health, and, its associate in the most, 
 Good temper: spirits prompt to undertake, 
 And not soon spent, though in an arduous task; 
 The powr's of fancy and strong thought are theirs. 
 
 Cowper* 
 
 Life. What it is, 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
 To the last syllable of recorded time; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! 
 Life' s but a walking shadow; a poor player, 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no more: it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing. Shakspean. 
 
 Lochiel. LochieVs Warning. 
 
 Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day 
 When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! 
 For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
 And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight: 
 They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; 
 Wo, wo, to the riders that trample them down ! 
 Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
 And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
 But hark ! through the fast flashing lightning of war. 
 What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 
 ? Tis thine, oh Glenullin! whose bride shall await, 
 Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate, 
 A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; 
 But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
 
118 LOCH. 
 
 Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led! 
 Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead: 
 For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
 Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 
 
 Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! 
 
 For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
 But man cannot cover what God would reveal: 
 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
 And coming events cast their shadows before. 
 
 Campbell 
 
 Loch Katrine. 
 Gleaming with the setting sun, 
 One burnish'd sheet of living gold, 
 Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled; 
 In all her length far winding lay, 
 With promontory, creek, and bay, 
 And islands that, empurpled bright, 
 Floated amid the livelier light; 
 And mountains, that like giant's stand, 
 To centinel enchanted land. 
 High on the south, huge Benvenue 
 Down to the lake in masses threw 
 Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurl'd. 
 The fragments of an earlier world; 
 A wildering forest feathered o'er 
 His ruined sides and summit hoar, 
 While on the north, through middle air, 
 Benean heav'd high his forehead bare. 
 The summer dawn's reflected hue 
 To purple changed Loch Katrine blue; 
 Mildly and soft the western breeze 
 Just kissed the lake, just stirred the trees. 
 And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, 
 Trembled but dimpled not for joy; 
 The mountain shadows on her breast 
 Were neither broken nor at rest; 
 In bright uncertainty they lie, 
 Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 
 The water lily to the light 
 Her chalice rear'd of silver bright; 
 
LONDON. 119 
 
 The doe awoke, and to the lawn, 
 Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn; 
 
 The gray mist left the mountain side, 
 
 The torrent showed its glistening pride; 
 
 Invisible in flecked sky, 
 
 The lark sent down her revelry:, 
 
 The black-bird and the speckled thrush 
 
 Good-morrow gave from brake and bush$ 
 
 In answer cooed the cushat dove, 
 
 Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. Scoit, 
 
 Logic. Hudibras, his Logic. 
 He was in logic a great critic, 
 Profoundly skill cl in analytic; 
 He could distinguish, and divide 
 A hair 'twixt south and south-west side; 
 On either which he would dispute, 
 Confute, change hands, and still confute: 
 He 'd undertake to prove, by force 
 Of argument a man's no horse; 
 He *d prove a buzzard is no fowl, 
 And that a lord may be an owl; 
 A calf an alderman, a goose a justice, 
 And rooks committee-men and trustees. 
 He "d run in debt by disputation. 
 And pay with ratiocination: 
 All this by syllogism true, 
 In mood and figure he would do. Blitkr, 
 
 London. Motives for going to. 
 
 Ambition, avarice, penury incurr'd 
 By endless riot, vanity, the lust 
 Of pleasure and variety, despatch, 
 As duly as the swallows, disappear 
 
 The world of wand'ring knights and squires to town | 
 London ingulfs them all! The shark is there, 
 And the shark's prey; the spendthrift, and the leech 
 That sucks him: there the sycophant, and he 
 Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows. 
 Begs a warm office, doourd to a cold jail 
 
120 LOVE. 
 
 And grot per diem, if his patron frown. 
 The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp 
 Were character'd on every statesman's door, 
 s Batter'd and bankrupt fortunes mended here.' 
 These are the charms that sully and eclipse 
 The charms of nature. 'T-is the cruel gripe, 
 That lean, hard-handed poverty inflicts, 
 The hope of better things, the chance to win, 
 The wish to shine, the thirst to be amus'd, 
 That at the sound of winter's hoary wing 
 Unpeople all our counties of such herds 
 Of flutt'ring, loit'ring, cringing, begging, loose, 
 And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast 
 And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. Coivper. 
 
 jLove. Concealed. 
 She never told her love, 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek, she pin'd in thought j 
 And. with a green and yellow melancholy, 
 She sat like patience on a monument, 
 Smiling at grief. Shakspeare, 
 
 Love. Connubial, 
 Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, 
 There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower! 
 In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, 
 At starry midnight charm'd the silent air; 
 In vain the wild-bird caroll'd on the steep, 
 To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep; 
 In vain, to sooth the solitary shade, 
 Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd; 
 The summer wind that shook the spangled tree. 
 The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee: — 
 Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day, 
 And still the stranger wist not where to stray. 
 The world was sad! — the garden was a wild! 
 And man, the hermit, sighed — till woman smiled! 
 
 Campbell. 
 
Love. Dissembltd. 
 
 Hunk not I love him, though I ask for him; 
 
 Tis but a peevish boy: — jet he talks well; — 
 But what care I for words? yet words do well. 
 When he that speaks them pleases those that hear; 
 But sure, he ? s proud; and yet his pride becomes him: 
 He *11 make a proper man: The best thing in him 
 Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue 
 Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. 
 He is not tall; yet for his years he *s tall; 
 His leg is but so so: and yet 'tis well: 
 There was a pretty redness in his lip; 
 A little riper and more lusty red 
 Than that mixM in his cheek; ''twas just the difference 
 Eetwixt the constant ied, and mingled damask. 
 There be some women, Silvias, had they mark'd him 
 In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
 To fail in love with him: but, for my part, 
 I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet 
 I have more cause to hate him than to love him: 
 For what had he to do to chide at me: 
 He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black; 
 And, now I am remembered, scorn'd at me! 
 1 marvel, why I answer d not again: 
 But that 'a all one: omittance is no quittance. 
 
 Shaksveare 
 
 Love. Fickleness cf. 
 Alas — how light a cause may move 
 Dissention between hearts that love! 
 
 Hearts that the world in vain has tried, 
 
 And sorrow but more closely tied: 
 
 That stood the storm when waves were rough, 
 
 Yet in a sunny hour fall off, 
 
 Like ships that have gone down at sea, 
 
 When heaven was all tranquillity! 
 
 A something light as air — a look, 
 
 A word unkind, or wrongly taken— 
 L 
 
122 LOVE. 
 
 O! love, that tempests never shook, 
 
 A breath, a touch like this has shaken— 
 
 And ruder words will soon rush in 
 
 To spread the breach that words begin; 
 
 And eyes forget the gentle ray 
 
 They wore in courtship's smiling day; 
 
 And voices lose the tone that shed 
 
 A tenderness round all they said; 
 
 Till fast declining, one by one, 
 
 The sweetnesses of love are gone, 
 
 And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 
 
 Like broken clouds — or like the stream 
 
 That smiling left the mountain's brow, 
 
 As though its waters ne'er could sever. 
 
 Yet, ere it reach the plains below, 
 
 Breaks into floods that part for ever, 
 
 O you that have the charge of love, 
 Keep him in rosy bondage bound, 
 As in the fields of bliss above 
 He sits, with flowerets fettered round:-— 
 Loose not a tie that round him clings, 
 Nor ever let him use his wings; 
 For even an hour, a minute's flight 
 Will rob the plumes of half their light, 
 Like that celestial bird, whose nest 
 
 Is found below far Eastern skies,— 
 Whose wings, though radiant when at rest. 
 
 Lose all their glory when he flies ! 
 Some difference of this dangerous kind, — 
 By which, though light, the links that bind 
 The fondest hearts may soon be riven; 
 Some shadow in love's summer heaven, 
 Which, though a fleecy speck at first, 
 May yet in awful thunder burst. Moore 
 
 Lo\e. The Poicer of. 
 But, love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
 Lives not alone immured in the brain; 
 But with the motion of all elements, 
 
LOVE. 123 
 
 Courses as swift as thought in every power; 
 
 And gives to every power a double power, 
 
 Above their functions and their offices. 
 
 It adds a precious seeing to the eye: 
 
 A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; 
 
 A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, 
 
 When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd; 
 
 Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, 
 
 Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; 
 
 Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste; 
 
 For valour, is not love a Hercules, 
 
 Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? 
 
 Subtle as sphinx, as sweet and musical, 
 
 As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; 
 
 And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods 
 
 Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Sliakspearc 
 
 Love. Too Aspiring. 
 
 I am undone: there is no living, none. 
 If Bertram be away. It were all one, 
 That I should love a bright particular star. 
 And think to wed it, he is so above me: 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere 
 The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: 
 The hind that would be mated by the lion, 
 Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague. 
 To see him ev'ry hour; to sit and draw 
 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
 In our heart's table: heart, too capable 
 Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: 
 But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
 Must sanctify his relics. Shakspeare. 
 
 Love. True, ever crossed. 
 For aught that ever I could read, 
 Could ever hear by tale or history, 
 The course of true love never did run smooth: 
 But, either it wjis different in blood, 
 
1£4 LOVE. 
 
 Or else misgraff'd in respect of years; 
 
 Or else it stood upon the choice of friends; 
 
 Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
 
 War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it; 
 
 Making it momentary as a sound, 
 
 Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; 
 
 Brief as the lightning in the collied night, 
 
 That in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
 
 And ere a man hath power to say, — behold! 
 
 The jaws of darkness do devour it up: 
 
 So quick bright things come to confusion. Shalcspeare. 
 
 Love. Wedded, Jlddress to* 
 Hail, wedded love, mysterious law, true source 
 Of human offspring, sole propriety 
 In paradise, of all things common else! 
 By thee adult'rous lust was driv'n from men 
 Among the bestial herds to range; by thee 
 Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure, 
 Relations dear, and all the charities 
 
 Of father, son, and brother, first were known. 
 
 Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights 
 His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, 
 Reigns here and revels: not in the bought smile 
 Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendear'd, 
 Casual fruition; nor in court amours, 
 Mix'd dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Love. What it is. 
 Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. 
 It is to be all made of sighs and tears; — 
 It is to be all made of faith and service; — 
 It is to be all made of fantasy, 
 All made of passion, and all made of wishes; 
 All adoration, duty, and observance, 
 All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, 
 All purity, all trial, all observance. Shakspeare* 
 
LUXURY. 125 
 
 Lovers. Parting, Interrupted. 
 
 I did not take my leave of him, but had 
 Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him, 
 How I would think on him, at certain hours, 
 Such thoughts, and such: or I could make him swear 
 The shes of Italy should not betray 
 Mine interest, and his honour; or have charg'd him, 
 At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, 
 To encounter me with orisons, for then 
 I am in heaven for him: or ere T could 
 Give him that parting kiss, which I had set 
 Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, 
 And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north 
 Shakes all our buds from growing. Shak&peare. 
 
 Lowliness. Ambition's Ladder. 
 But 'tis a common proof, 
 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, 
 "Whereto the climber-upward turns his face: 
 But when he once attains the upmost round, 
 He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
 By which he did ascend. Shakspeare, 
 
 Lunar Sphere. What found in. 
 
 There heros' wits are kept in pond'rous vases, 
 And beaux in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases. 
 There broken vows and death-bed alms are found. 
 And lovers' hearts with ends of ribands bound; 
 The courtier's promises, and sick man's pray'rs, 
 The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 
 Cages for knats, and chains to yoke a flea, 
 Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. Pope, 
 
 Luxury. Perverts the Taste. 
 Luxury gives the mind a childish cast, 
 And, while she polishes, perverts the taste; 
 l 2 
 
1£6 MAB. 
 
 Habits of close attention, thinking heads, 
 
 Become more rare as dissipation spreads, 
 
 Till authors hear at length one general ciy, — 
 
 Tickle and entertain us, or we die. 
 
 The loud demand, from year to year the same, 
 
 Beggars invention, and makes Fancy lame; 
 
 Till Farce itself, most mournfully jejune, 
 
 Calls for the kind assistance of a tune; 
 
 And novels (witness every month's review) 
 
 Belie their name, and offer nothing new. Coicper, 
 
 Mab. Queen Mab, her Dreams. 
 
 O, then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with you. 
 She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes 
 In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 On the fore-finger of an alderman, 
 Drawn with a team of little atomies 
 Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: 
 Her waggon-spokes made of long spinner's legs: 
 The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; 
 The traces, of the smallest spider's web; 
 The collars of the moonshine's wat'ry beams; 
 Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash of film: 
 Her waggoner, a small gray-coated gnat, 
 Not half so big as a round little worm 
 Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid: 
 Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 
 Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 
 Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. 
 And in this state she gallops night by night 
 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: 
 On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight: 
 O'er lawyer's fingers, who straight dream on fees: 
 O'er ladies' lips who straight on kisses dream ; 
 Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 
 Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. 
 Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
 And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: 
 And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail. 
 Tickling the parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, 
 
MACBETH. 12f 
 
 Then dreams he of another benefice: 
 Sometime she driveth o'er a soldiers neck, 
 And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
 Of health five fathom deep; and then anon 
 Drums in his ear; at which he starts and wakes; 
 And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, 
 And sleeps again. This is that very Mab, 
 That plats the manes of horses in the night; 
 And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 
 Which, once entangled, much misfortune bodes. 
 This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, 
 That presses them, and learns them first to bear, 
 Making them women of good carriage. Shakspeare. 
 
 Macbeth. His temper. 
 Yet do I fear thy nature; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, 
 To catch the nearest way: Thou would'st be great;' 
 Art not without ambition; but without 
 The illness should attend it. "What thou would'st 
 
 highly. 
 That would'st thou holily; would'st not play false, 
 And yet would'st wrongly win. Shakspeare. 
 
 Macbeth. Lady, her Invocation. 
 The raven himself is hoarse, 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here; 
 And fill me, from the crown to the toe, topful 
 Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse; 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, 
 And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, 
 "Wherever in your sightless substances 
 You wait on nature's mischkf ! Come thick night, 
 
1£8 MAX. 
 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes: 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark. 
 To cry, Hold, hold! Shakspeart. 
 
 Madness. Soothed by Memory. 
 
 But can her smile with gloomy Madness dwell: 
 Say. can she chase the horrors of his cell? 
 Each fiery flight on Frenzy's wing restrain; 
 And mould the coinage of the feverd brain? 
 Pass but that grate, which scarce a gleam supplies. 
 There in the dust the wreck of Genius lies! 
 He, whose arresting hand sublimely wrought 
 Each bold conception in the sphere of thought; 
 Who from the quarried mass, like Phidias, drew 
 Forms ever fair, creations ever new! 
 But, as he fondly snatch'd the wreath of Fame. 
 The spectre Poverty unnerv'd his frame; 
 Cold was her grasp, a withering scowl she wore: 
 And Hope's soft energies were felt no more. 
 Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art! 
 From the rude stone what bright ideas start! 
 Ev'n now he claims the amaranthine wreath, 
 With scenes that glow, with images that breathe 1 
 And whence these scenes, these images, declare, 
 Whence but from Her who triumphs o'er despair: 
 
 Rogers- 
 
 Man. A men-y cue. 
 
 A merrier man 
 Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal: 
 His eye begets occasion for his wit; 
 For every object that the one doth catch, 
 The other turns to a mirth-moving jest; 
 Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor) 
 Delivers in such apt and gracious words, 
 That aged ears play truant at his tales, 
 And younger hearings are quite ravished; 
 So sweet and voluble is his discourse. Shakspeare 
 
MAN. 129 
 
 Man. Accomplished, 
 Teach me, like thee, in various nature wise, 
 To fall with dignity, with temper rise; 
 Form'd by thy converse, happily to steer 
 From grave to gay, from lively to severe; 
 Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease, 
 Intent to reason, or polite to please. Pope, 
 
 Man. Character of his Life* 
 Op'ning the map of God's extensive plan. 
 We find a little isle, this life of man; 
 Eternity's unknown expanse appears 
 Circling around and limiting his years. 
 The busy race examine and explore 
 Each creek and cavein of the dang'rous shore, 
 With care collect what in their eyes excels, 
 Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells; 
 Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great, 
 And happiest he that groans beneath his weight. 
 The waves o'ertake them in their serious play. 
 And ev'ry hour sweeps multitudes away; 
 They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep, 
 Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. Cowper* 
 
 Man. Fortitude of a noble-minded one. 
 Nay, do not think I flatter: 
 For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
 That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits. 
 To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be flat<- 
 
 ter'd? 
 No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp; 
 And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 
 And could of men distinguish her election, 
 She hath sealM thee for herself: for thou hast been 
 As one in suffering all , that suffers nothing; 
 A man that fortune buffets and rewards 
 Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blessed are those. 
 
130 MAN. 
 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 
 
 That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
 
 To sound what stop she please: Give me that man 
 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 
 In my heart's core, ay in my heart of heart, 
 
 As I do thee. Shakspeare. 
 
 Man. Strange Extremes meet in. 
 
 How poor! how rich! how abject! how august! 
 How complicate ! how wonderful is man ! 
 How passing wonder He who made him such ! 
 Who centred in our make such strange extremes ! — 
 An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! 
 Helpless immortal! insect infinite! 
 A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself; 
 And in myself am lost! at home a stranger, 
 Thought wanders up and down, surpris'd aghast, 
 And wond'ring at her own: how reason reels! 
 O what a miracle to man is man. Young, 
 
 Man. Strange Nature of. 
 
 Know then thyself, presume not God to scan; 
 The proper study of mankind is Man, 
 Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state, 
 A being darkly wise, and rudely great; 
 With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side, 
 With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride, 
 He hangs between in doubt to act or rest, 
 In doubt to deem himself a god or beast; 
 In doubt his mind or body to prefer; 
 Born but to die, and reasoning but to err; 
 Alike in ignorance, his reason such, 
 Whether he thinks too little or too much: 
 Chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd, 
 Still by himself abus'd or disabus'd; 
 Created half to rise, and half to fall: 
 Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all: 
 Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd: 
 The glory, jest, and riddle of the world! Pojye, 
 
MARATHON. 131 
 
 Man. Why formed as lie is. 
 The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws 
 Finds in a sober moment time to pause, 
 To press th" important question on his heart, 
 { Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art?' 
 If man be what he seems, this hour a slave, 
 The next mere dust and ashes in the grave: 
 Endu'd with reason only to discry 
 His crimes and follies with an aching eye: 
 With passions, just that he may prove, with pain. 
 The force he spends against their fury vain: 
 And if soon after having burnt by turns, 
 With ev'ry lust, with which frail nature burns, 
 His being end, where death dissolves the bond. 
 The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond; 
 Then he, of all that nature has brought forth, 
 Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth, 
 And useless while he lives and when he dies, 
 Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies. Coicper 
 
 Marathon, Plain of . 
 
 Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted, holy ground, 
 No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould ! 
 But one vast realm of wonder spreads around. 
 And all the muse's tales seem truly told, 
 Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
 The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon: 
 Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold : 
 Defies the power which crush' d thy temples gone: 
 .Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon 
 
 The sun — the soil — but not the slave the same, 
 Unchang'd in all except its foreign lord, 
 
 Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame, 
 The battle-field — where Persia's victim horde 
 
 First bowM beneath the brunt of Hella's sword, 
 As on the morn to distant glory dear, 
 When Marathon became a magic word— 
 Which utterd — to the hero's eye appear 
 
 The camp— the host — the fight— the conqueror's ca~ 
 reer! 
 
132 MARLBOROUGH. 
 
 The flying Mede— his shaftless broken bow, 
 The fiery Greek — his red pursuing spear, 
 Mountains above — earth's — ocean's plain below : 
 Death in the front — destruction in the rear! 
 Such was the scene — what now remaineth here? 
 What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground 
 Recording freedom's smile and Asia's tear? — 
 The rifled urn — the violated mound — 
 The dust — thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns 
 around. 
 
 Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past, 
 Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng; 
 Long shall the voyager, with the Ionian blast, 
 Hail the bright clime of battle and of song; 
 Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue 
 Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore; 
 Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! 
 Which sages venerate and bards adore, 
 As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. 
 
 The parted bosom clings to wonted home, 
 If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth- 
 He that is lonely hither let him roam, 
 And gaze complacent on congenial earth. 
 Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth; 
 But he whom sadness soothes may abide, 
 And scarce regret the region of his birth, 
 When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, 
 Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian 
 died. Byron. 
 
 Marlborough. Character of. 
 
 3 Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was 
 
 prov'd, 
 That, in the shock of charging hosts unmov'd,. 
 Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, 
 Examin'd all the dreadful scenes of war: 
 In peaceful thought the field of death survey'd, 
 To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, 
 
MELANCHOLY. 133 
 
 Inspir'd repuls'd battalions to engage, 
 And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. 
 So when an angel by divine command 
 With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, 
 Such as of late o'er pale Britannia pass'd, 
 Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; 
 And, pleas'd th' Almighty's orders to perform, 
 Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm. 
 
 Addison 
 
 Maxims. Muse of. 
 Yes, you despise the man to books confined, 
 Who from his study rails at human kind; 
 Though what he learns he speaks, and may advance 
 Some gen'ral maxims, or be right by chance. 
 The coxcomb bird, so talkative and grave, 
 That from his cage, cries cuckold, whore, and knave, 
 Though many a passenger he rightly call, 
 You hold him no philosopher at all. Pope* 
 
 Medium. Not easily hit. 
 And first, let no man charge me, that I mean 
 To close in sable ev'ry social scene, 
 And give good company a face severe, 
 As if they met around a father's bier; 
 For tell some men, that pleasure all their bent, 
 And laughter all their work, is life mispent, 
 Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply, — 
 Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry. 
 To find the medium asks some share of wit, 
 And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit. Cowper, 
 
 Melancholy. Address to. 
 Hail, divinest melancholy! 
 Whose saintly visage is too bright 
 To hit the sense of human sight; 
 And therefore to our weaker view 
 O'erlaid with black, staid wisdom's hue.— 
 Come, pensive nun, devout and pure. 
 Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
 M 
 
134 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 All in a robe of darkest grain, 
 Flowing with majestic train, 
 And sable stole of Cyprus lawn, 
 Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 
 Come, but keep thy wonted state, 
 With even step, and musing gait, 
 And looks commercing with the skies, 
 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: 
 There, held in holy passion still, 
 Forget thyself to marble, till 
 With a sad leaden downward cast 
 Thou fix them on the earth as fast: 
 And join with thee calm peace and quiet, 
 Spare fast, that oft with Gods doth diet. 
 And hears the Muses in a ring 
 Ay round about Jove's altar sing: 
 And add to these retired leisure, 
 
 That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. 
 
 Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly. 
 
 Most musical, most melancholy! 
 
 Thee, chantress, oft the woods among 
 
 I woo, to hear thy even -song, 
 
 And, missing thee, I walk unseen 
 
 On the dry smooth-shaven green, 
 
 To behold the wand'ring moon 
 
 Riding near her highest noon, 
 
 Like one that had been led astray 
 
 Through the heaven's wide pathless way. 
 
 And oft, as if her head she bow'd, 
 
 Stooping through a fleecy cloud, 
 
 Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 
 
 I hear the far-off curfew sound 
 
 Over some wide water'd shore, 
 
 Swinging slow with sullen roar. 
 
 And when the sun begins to fling 
 His flaring beams, me, goddess bring 
 To arched walks of twilight groves, 
 And shadows brown that Sylvan loves, 
 Of pine, or monumental oak, 
 Where the rude axe with heaved stroke 
 
MELANCHOLY. lb 
 
 Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, 
 
 Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt, 
 
 There in close covert by some brook, 
 
 Where no profaner eye may look, 
 
 Hide me from day's garish eye, 
 
 While the bee with honied thigh, 
 
 That at her flow'ry work doth sing, 
 
 And the waters murmuring. 
 
 With such concert as they keep, 
 
 Entice the dewy-feather'd sleep; 
 
 And let some strange, mysterious dream 
 
 Wave at his wings an airy stream 
 
 Of lively portiaiture display'd 
 
 Softly on my eyelids laid. 
 
 And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 
 
 Above, about, or underneath, 
 
 Sent by some spirit to mortals good, 
 
 Or th' unseen Genius of the wood. 
 
 But let my due feet never fail 
 
 To walk the studious cloisters pale. 
 
 And love the high embowed roof, 
 
 With antique pillars massy proof, 
 
 And storied windows richly dight, 
 
 Casting a dim, religious light. 
 
 There let the pealing organ blow, 
 
 To the full-voic'd quire below, 
 
 In service high, and anthems clear, 
 
 As may with sweetness, through mine ear. 
 
 Dissolve me into ecstacies, 
 
 And bring all heaven before mine eyes, 
 
 And may at last my weary age 
 
 Find out the peaceful hermitage, 
 
 The hairy gown and mossy cell, 
 
 Where I may sit and rightly spell 
 
 Of ev'ry star that heaven doth show 3 
 
 And ev'ry herb that sips the dew; 
 
 Till old experience do attain 
 
 To something like prophetic strain. 
 
 These pleasures, Melancholy, give, 
 
 And I with thee will choose to live. Milton, 
 
laO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 Melancholy. Gestures that betoken. 
 Look where he comes — in this embower'd alcove 
 Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move: 
 Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow, 
 Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below, 
 Interpret to the marking eye distress, 
 Such as its symptoms can alone express. 
 That tongue is silent now; that silent tongue 
 Could argue once, could jest or join the song, 
 Could give advice, could censure or commend, 
 Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. 
 Renounc'd alike its office and its sport, 
 Its brisker and its graver strains fall short; 
 Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway, 
 And like a summer brook are past away. Coioper. 
 
 Melancholy. Musing. 
 He comes! he comes! in every breeze the power 
 Of philosophic melancholy comes ! 
 His near approach the sudden starting tear, 
 The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air, 
 The soften'd feature, and the beating heart, 
 Pierc'd deep with many a virtuous pang, declare, 
 O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes ! 
 Inflames imagination; through the breast 
 Infuses every tenderness; and far 
 Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought. 
 Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, such 
 As never mingled with the vulgar dream, 
 Crowd fast into the mind's creative eye. 
 As fast the correspondent passions rise, 
 As varied, and as high: Devotion rais'd 
 To rapture, and divine astonishment; 
 The love of nature, unconfin'd, and, chief 
 Of human race; the large ambitious wish, 
 To make them blest; the sigh foi suffering worth 
 Lost in obscurity; the noble scorn 
 Of tyrant-pride; the fearless great resolve; 
 The wonder which the dying patriot draws, 
 Inspiring glory through remotest time : 
 
MEMORY. 137 
 
 Th' awaken'd throb for virtue, and for fame; 
 The sympathies of love, and friendship dear: 
 With all the social offspring of the heart. Thomson, 
 
 Memory. Dwells on the Scenes of our Early Days. 
 Mark yon old mansion, frowning through the trees, 
 Whose hollow turret woos the whistling breeze, 
 That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest shade, 
 First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd. 
 The mould'ring gateway strews the grass-grown court, 
 Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; 
 When nature pleas'd, for life itself was new, 
 And the heart promis'd what the fancy drew. 
 
 See, through the fractur'd pediment reveal'd, 
 Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptur'd shield, 
 The martin's old, hereditary nest; 
 Long may the ruin spare its hallow'd guest. - 
 
 IS T ow stain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung, 
 Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; 
 When round yon ample board, in due degree, 
 We sweeten'd every meal with social glee. 
 The heart's light laughter crown'd the circling jest; 
 And all was sunshine in each little breast. 
 'Twas here we chas'd the slipper by its sound* 
 And turn'd the blindfold hero round and round. 
 'Twas here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring; 
 And fancy flutter'd on her wildest wing. 
 Giants and genii chain'd the wondering ear; 
 And orphan-woes drew nature's ready tear. 
 Oft, with the babes we wander'd in the wood, 
 Or view'd the forest-feats of Robin Hood: 
 Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour; 
 With startling step we scal'd the lonely tower, 
 O'er infant innocence to hang and weep, 
 Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep, 
 
 Ye household deities! whose guardian eye 
 Mark'd each pure thought, ere register'd on high: 
 m 2 
 
138 MERCY. 
 
 Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground, 
 And breathe the soul of inspiration round. — 
 
 The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses gray. 
 Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. 
 Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, 
 Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn; 
 Unheard the shout that rent the noon-tide air, 
 When the slow dial gave a pause to care. 
 Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, 
 Some little friendship form'd and cherish'd here ! 
 And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems 
 With golden visions and romantic dreams ! Rogers. 
 
 Memory. Its Pleasures in recalling the Virtues of a 
 departed Friend. 
 
 Oh thou ! with whom my heart was wont to share, 
 From reason's dawn, each pleasure and each care; 
 With whom, alas! I fondly hop'd to know 
 The humble walks of happiness below; 
 If thy blest nature now unites above 
 An angel's pity with a brother's love, 
 Still o'er my life preserve thy mild control, 
 Correct my views, and elevate my soul; 
 Grant me thy peace and purity of mind, 
 Devout yet cheerful, active yet resign'd; 
 Grant me, like thee, whose heart knew no disguise. 
 Whose blameless wishes never aim'd to rise, 
 To meet the changes time and chance present, 
 With modest dignity and calm content. 
 When thy last breath, ere nature sunk to rest, 
 Thy meek submission to thy God express'd; 
 When thy last look, ere thought and feelings fled, 
 A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed; 
 What to thy soul its glad assurance gave, 
 Its hope in death, its triumph o'er the grave? 
 The sweet remembrance of unblemish'd youth, 
 The inspiring voice of innocence and truth ! Rogers. 
 
MIND. 139 
 
 Mercy. Its Character. 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strain'd; 
 It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd; 
 It blessethhim that gives, and him that takes: 
 5 Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown: 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 
 But mercy is above this sceptr'd sway, 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
 "When mercy seasons justice. Shakspeare. 
 
 Messenger. Post Haste of One. 
 After him, came, spurring hard, 
 A gentleman almost forspent with speed, 
 That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse, 
 He ask'd the way to Chester: and of him 
 I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury; 
 He told me, that rebellion had bad luck, 
 And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold; 
 With that, he gave his able horse the head, 
 And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
 Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
 Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so, 
 He seem'd in running to devour the way, 
 Staying no longer question. ShaJcspeare. 
 
 Mind. Importance of Regulating. 
 'Tis the great art of life to manage well 
 The restless mind. For ever on pursuit 
 Of knowledge bent, it starves the grosser pow'rs: 
 Quite unemploy'd, against its own repose 
 It turns its fatal edge, and sharper pangs 
 Than what the body knows embitter life. 
 
140 MIXD. 
 
 Chiefly where solitude, sad nurse of care, 
 To sickly musing gives the pensive mind, 
 There madness enters; and the dim-eyed fiend, 
 Sour melancholy, night and day provokes 
 Her own eternal wound. The sun grows pale; 
 A mournful visionary light o'erspreads 
 The cheerful face of nature; earth becomes 
 A dreary desert, and heaven frowns above. 
 Then various shapes of curs'd illusion rise: 
 "Whate'er the wretched fears, creating fear 
 Forms out of nothing; and with monsters teem 
 Unknown in hell. The prostrate soul beneath 
 A load of huge imagination heaves; 
 And all the horrors that the murd'rer feels 
 With anxious flutt'rings wake the guiltless breast. 
 
 Such phantoms pride in solitary scenes, 
 Or fear, on delicate self-love creates. 
 From other cares absolv'd, the busy mind 
 Finds in yourself a theme to pore upon; 
 It finds you miserable, or makes you so. 
 For while yourself you anxiously explore, 
 Timorous self-love, with sickening fancy's aid, 
 Presents the danger that you dread the most, 
 And ever galls you in your tender part. 
 Hence some for love, and some for jealousy, 
 For grim religion some, and some for pride, 
 Have lost their reason; some for fear of want, 
 Want all their lives; and others ev'ry day, 
 For fear of dying, suffer worse than death. 
 Ah! from your bosoms banish, if you can, 
 Those fata! guests; and first the demon fear, 
 That trembles at impossible events, 
 Lest aged Atlas should resign his load, 
 And heaven's eternal battlements rush down. 
 Is there an evil worse than fear itself? 
 And what avails it that indulgent heaven 
 From mortal eyes has wrapt the woes to come, 
 If we, ingenious to torment ourselves, 
 Grow pale at hideous fictions of our own? 
 
MIND. 141 
 
 Enjoy the present; nor with needless cares 
 Of what may spring from blind misfortune's womb, 
 Appal the surest hour that life bestows. 
 Serene, and master of yourself, prepare 
 For what may come, and leave the rest to heaven. 
 
 Armstrong. 
 
 Mind. Cultivated, 
 Awake, arise! with grateful fervour fraught, 
 Go, spring the mine of elevated thought. 
 He who, through nature's various walk, surveys 
 The good and fair her faultless line portrays; 
 Whose mind, profanM by no unhallow'd guest, 
 Culls from the crowd the purest and the best; 
 May range, at will, bright fancy's golden clime, 
 Or, musing, mount where science sits sublime, 
 Or wake the spirit of departed time. 
 Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral muse, 
 A blooming Eden in his life reviews! 
 So richly cultur'd every native grace, 
 Its scanty limits he forgets to trace: 
 But the fond fool, when evening shades the sky. 
 Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh! 
 The weary waste that lengthen'd as he ran, 
 Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span ! Rogers. 
 
 Mind. Depends on the Life, 
 Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill: 
 Bend the strait rule to their own crooked will; 
 And with a clear and shining lamp supplied, 
 
 First put it out, then take it for a guide, 
 
 Faults in the life breed errors in the brain, 
 And these reciprocally those again. 
 The mind and conduct mutually imprint 
 And stamp their image in each other's mint. Cowper. 
 
 Mind. Its Diseases incurable. 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd; 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; 
 
142 MINSTREL. 
 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain; 
 And, with gome sweet oblivious antidote, 
 Cleanse the stufi'd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
 Which weighs upon the heart? Shakspeare. 
 
 Minds. Happily tempered. 
 Some minds are temper'd happily, and mix'd 
 "With such ingredients of good sense, and taste 
 Of what is excellent in man, they thirst 
 With such zeal to be what they approve, 
 Thst no restraints can circumscribe them more 
 Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake, 
 Nor can example hurt them: what they see 
 Of vice in others but enhancing more 
 The charms of virtue in their just esteem. Cowper 
 
 Minstrel. Described. 
 Amid the strings his fingers strayed, 
 And an uncertain warbling made — 
 And oft he shook his hoary head. 
 But when he caught the measure wild, 
 The old man raised his face, and smiled: 
 And lighted up his faded eye, 
 With all a poet's ecstacy! 
 In varying cadence, soft or strong, 
 He swept the sounding chords along; 
 The present scene, the future lot, 
 His toils, his wants, were all forgot; 
 Cold diffidence, and age's frost, 
 In the full tide of song were lost. 
 Each blank, in faithless memory void, 
 The poet's glowing thought supplied; 
 And, while his harp responsive rung, 
 *Twas thus the latest minstrel sung. Scott 
 
 Minstrel. His Retreat. 
 Hushed is the harp — the minstrel gone, 
 And did he wander forth alone ? 
 Alone, in indigence and age, 
 To linger out his pilgrimage ? 
 
MIRTH* 143 
 
 No — close beneath proud Newark's tower, 
 Arose the minstrel's lowly bower: 
 
 A simple hut; but there was seen 
 
 The little garden hedged with green, 
 
 The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. 
 
 There shelter'd wanderers, by the blaze. 
 
 Oft heard the tale of other days; 
 
 For much he loved to ope his doer, 
 
 And give the aid he begged before. 
 
 So pass the winter's day— but still, 
 
 When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, 
 
 And July's eve, with balmy breath, 
 
 Waved the blue bells on Newark heath; 
 
 And flourished, broad, Blackandro's oak, 
 
 The aged harper's soul awoke! 
 
 Then would he sing achievements high, 
 
 And circumstance of chivalry, 
 
 Till the rapt traveller would stay 
 
 Forgetful of the closing day: 
 
 And Yarrow, as he rolled along, 
 
 Bore burden to the mint'trel's song. Scoti, 
 
 Mirth. Jlddress to. 
 
 Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
 Jest and youthful Jollity, 
 Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
 Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, 
 ,Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, 
 And love to live in dimple sleek; 
 Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, 
 And Laughter holding both his sides; 
 Gome, and trip it as you go 
 On the light fantastic toe, 
 And in thy right hand lead with thee 
 The mountain nymph, sweet Libeity; 
 And if I give the honour due, 
 Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 
 To live with her, and live with thee. 
 In unreproved pleasures free: 
 
144 MIRTH. 
 
 To hear the lark begin his flight, 
 And singing, startle the dull night, 
 From his watch-tower in the skies, 
 Till the dapple dawn doth rise; 
 Then to come in spite of sorrow, 
 And at my window bid good-morrow, 
 Through the sweet-briar or the vine. 
 Or the twisted eglantine: 
 While the cock with lively din 
 Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 
 And to the stack, or the barn-door, 
 Stoutly struts his dames before; 
 Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn 
 Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn, 
 From the side of some hoar hill, 
 Through the high wood echoing shrill; 
 Some time walking, not unseen, 
 By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, 
 Right against the eastern gate, 
 Where the great sun begins his state, 
 Rob'd in flames and amber light, 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight; 
 While the ploughman near at hand 
 Whistles o'er the furrow'dland, 
 And the milk-maid singeth blithe, 
 And the mower whets his sithe, 
 And ev'ry shepherd tells his tale 
 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale. 
 
 Sometimes with secure delight 
 The upland hamlets will invite, 
 When the merry bells ring round, 
 And the jocund rebecks sound 
 To many a youth and many a maid, 
 Dancing in the checquer'd shade; 
 And young and old come forth to play 
 On a sun-shine holiday, 
 Till the live-long day-light fail; 
 Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 
 With stories told of many a feat, 
 How fairy Mab the junkets eat; 
 
MIRTH, 145 
 
 She was pinch'd and pull'd, she said, 
 
 And by the fiyei's lantern led. 
 
 Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 
 
 By whisp'ring winds soon lull'd asleep. 
 
 Tow'red cities please us then, 
 
 And the busy hum of men, 
 
 Where throngs of knights and barons bold 
 
 In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, 
 
 With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
 
 Rain influence, and judge the prize 
 
 Of wit, or arms, while both contend 
 
 To win her grace whom all commend: 
 
 There let Hymen oft appear 
 
 In saffron robe, with taper clear, 
 
 And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 
 
 With mask, and antique pageantry: 
 
 Such sights as youthful poets dream 
 
 On summer eves by haunted stream. 
 
 Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
 
 If Jonsons learned sock be on, 
 
 Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, 
 
 Warble his native wood-notes wild. 
 
 And ever against eating cares, 
 
 Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 
 
 Married to immortal verse, 
 
 Such as the meeting soul may pierce, 
 
 In notes with many a winding bout 
 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out. 
 
 With wonton heed, and giddy cunning, 
 
 The melting voice through mazes running; 
 
 Untwisting all the chains that tie 
 
 The hidden soul of harmony. Milton. 
 
 Mirth and Melancholy. 
 
 Now, by two headed Janus, 
 Nature hath framed strange fellows in her times: 
 Some that will evermore peep through their eyes. 
 An laugh, like parrots at a bag-piper; 
 And others of such vinegar aspect, 
 N 
 
146 MOONLIGHT. 
 
 That they '11 not show their teeth in way of smile, 
 Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Mob. Folly of trusting to. 
 
 What would you have, you curs, 
 That like nor peace, nor war? the one affrights you, 
 The other makes you proud. He that trusts you, 
 Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; 
 Where foxes, geese: You are no surer, no, 
 Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, 
 Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is, 
 To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him, 
 And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness, 
 Deserves your hate; and your affections are 
 A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
 Which would increase his evil. He that depends 
 Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead, 
 And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! 
 
 Trust ye ? 
 With every minute you do change a mind; 
 And call him noble, that was now your hate, 
 Him vile, that was your garland. Shakspeare. 
 
 Modesty. Described. 
 Yet innocence and virgin modesty, 
 Her virtue and the conscience of her worth, 
 That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won. 
 Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retir'd, 
 The more desirable, or, to say all, 
 Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought, 
 Wrought in her so, that seeing me she turn'd; 
 I followed her; she what was honour knew, 
 And with obsequious majesty approv'd 
 My pleaded reason. Milton* 
 
 Moonlight. 
 
 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
 Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night, 
 
music. 147 
 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
 
 Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven 
 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; 
 
 There 's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st. 
 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 
 Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubim; 
 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls; 
 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 
 
 Shakspeave- 
 Murder. Murdered Person described. 
 
 But, see, his face is black, and full of blood; 
 His eyeballs further out than when he liv'd, 
 Staring full ghastly, like a strangled man: 
 His hair upreard, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling: 
 His hands abroad display 'd, as one that grasp'd 
 And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd. 
 Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking: 
 His well proportion'd beard made rough and rugged. 
 Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
 It cannot be, but he was murder'd here; 
 The least of all these signs were probable. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 Muse. Haunts of. 
 
 Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep; 
 Isles, that crown th' Egean deep; 
 Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, 
 Or where Maeander's amber waves 
 In ling'ring lab'rinths creep, 
 How do your tuneful echoes languish! 
 Mute but to the voice of anguish! 
 Where each old poetic mountain 
 Inspiration breath'd around; 
 Ev'ry shade and hallow'd fountain 
 Murmur'd deep a solemn sound. Gray* 
 
 Music. 
 
 Therefore the poet 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; 
 Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, 
 
148 NATURE. 
 
 But music for the time doth change his nature: 
 
 The man that hath no music in himself, 
 
 Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; 
 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
 
 And his affections dark as Erebus: 
 
 Let no such man be trusted. Shakspeare, 
 
 Narcissus. Character of. 
 Narcissus the Tartarian club disclaims; 
 Nay, a free mason with some terror names: 
 Omits no duty, nor can envy say 
 He miss'd these many years the church or play; 
 He makes no noise in parliament 'tis true; 
 But pays his debt and visit when 'tis due: 
 His character and gloves are ever clean; 
 And then he can outbow the bowing dean ! 
 A smile eternal on his lip he wears, 
 Which equally the wise and worthless shares, 
 In gay fatigues this most undaunted chief, 
 Patient of idleness beyond belief, 
 Most charitabl}' lends the town his face 
 For ornament, in ev'ry public place: 
 As sure as cards he to the assembly comes, 
 And is the furniture of drawing-rooms. 
 When ombre calls, his hand and heart are free: 
 And, join'd to two, he fails not — to make three. 
 
 Young, 
 
 Nature. Her bounties. 
 
 I care not, Fortune! what you me deny. 
 You cannot rob me of free nature's grace, 
 You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 
 Through which Aurora shows her bright'ningface: 
 You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 
 The wood and lawns, by living stream at eve: 
 Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, 
 And I their toys to the great children leave. 
 Of fancy, reason, virtue nought can me bereave. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
NATURE- 149 
 
 Nature Her Charms. 
 
 O how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
 Of charms which nature to her votary yields! 
 The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 
 The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields, 
 All that the genial ray o\ morning gilds. 
 And all that echoes to the song of even: 
 AH that the mountain's shelfring bosom shields, 
 And all the dread magnificence of heaven, 
 how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven? 
 
 Beattie. 
 
 Nature. Hr wants feic. 
 
 Mams rich with little, were his judgment true; 
 Nature is frugal, and her wants are few; 
 Those few wants answered bring sincere delights, 
 But fools create themselves new appetites. 
 Fancy and pride seek things at vast expense, 
 Which relish nor to reason nor to sense. 
 When surfeit or un thankfulness destroys. 
 In nature's narrow sphere, our solid joys, 
 fn fancy's airy land of noise and show, 
 Where nought but dreams, no real pleasures grow, 
 Like cats in air pumps, to subsist we strive 
 On joys too thin to keep the soul alive. Young. 
 
 Nature. Kind to all. 
 Now nature's children shall divide her care, 
 The fur that warms a monarch warm'd a bear. 
 While man exclaims, '•' See all things for my use!" 
 1 ■ See man for mine ! ; ' replies a pamper'd goose. Pope. 
 
 Nature. Spoilt by Falsi Learning, 
 
 Nature affords at least a glimmering light; 
 The lines, tho ; touched but faintly, are drawn right, 
 But as the slightest sketch, if justly trard, 
 Is by ill colouring but the more disgrac'd; 
 So by false learning is good sense defac J d= 
 H 2 
 
150 NEWSMONGERS. 
 
 Some are bewildered in the maze of schools, 
 And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools. 
 In search of wit these lose their common sense, 
 And then turn critics in their own defence: 
 Each burns alike, who can or cannot write, 
 Or with a Rival's or an Eunuch's spite. 
 All fools have still an itching to deride, 
 And fain would be upon the laughing side. Pope* 
 
 Necessaries. OfLifefeio. 
 
 O, reason not the need: our basest beggars 
 Are in the poorest thing superfluous: 
 Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
 Man's life is cheap as beast's. Shakspcare. 
 
 News Bearers. 
 
 Old men, and beldames, in the streets 
 Do prophecy upon it dangerously: 
 Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths: 
 And when they talk of him they shake their heads, 
 And whisper one another in the ear; 
 And he that speaks doth gripe the bearer's wrist; 
 Whilst he that hears makes fearful action, 
 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
 I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; 
 Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
 Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
 That were embattled and rank'd in Kent: 
 Another lean unwash'd artificer 
 Cuts off his tale and talks of Artur's death. 
 
 ShaJcspeare. 
 
 Newsmongers. Ridiculed, 
 
 So we '11 live, 
 And pray, and sing, and tell old tales and laugh 
 
NEWSPAPERS. 151 
 
 At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
 
 Talk of court news; and we '11 talk with them too, — 
 
 "Who loses, and who wins; who 's in,who 's out; — 
 
 And take upon us the mystery of things, 
 
 As if we were Gods spies: And we '11 wear out, 
 
 In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, 
 
 That ebb and flow by the moon. Shakspeare. 
 
 Newspapers. Contents of 
 Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
 Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 
 And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn 
 Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, 
 That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, 
 So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 
 Not such his ev'ning, who with shining face 
 Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeezed 
 And bor'd with elbow-points through both his sides 3 
 Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage: 
 Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, 
 And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
 Of patriots, bursting with herioc rage, 
 Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. 
 This folio of four pages, happy work; 
 Which not e'en critics criticise; that holds 
 Inquisitive Attention, while I read, 
 Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, 
 Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break; 
 What is it, but a map of busy life, 
 Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns? 
 Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge, 
 That tempts Ambition. On the summit see 
 The seals of office glitter in his eyes; 
 He climbs, he pants, he grasps them! At his heels, 
 Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, 
 And, with a dext'rous jerk, soon twists him down, 
 And wins them, — but to lose them in his turn. 
 Here rills of oily eloquence in soft 
 Meanders lubricate the course they take; 
 
152 NIGHT. 
 
 The modest speaker is asham'd and griev'dj 
 
 T' engross a moment's notice; and yet begs, 
 
 Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, 
 
 However trivial all that he conceives. 
 
 Sweet bashfulness! it claims at least this praise; 
 
 The dearth of information and good sense, 
 
 That it foretells us, always comes to pass. 
 
 Cat'racts of declamation thunder here; 
 
 There forests of no meaning spread the page ; 
 
 In which all comprehension wanders lost: 
 
 While fields of pleasantry amuse us there 
 
 With merry descants on a nation's woes. 
 
 The rest appears a wilderness of strange 
 
 But gay confusion; roses for the cheeks, 
 
 And lilies for the brows of faded age, 
 
 Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 
 
 Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their sweets^ 
 
 Nectareous essences, Olympian dews, 
 
 Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs, 
 
 iEthereal journies, submarine exploits, 
 
 And Katerfelto, with his hair on-end 
 
 At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread. 
 
 'Tis pleasant, through the loop-holes of retreat, 
 To peep at such a world; to see the stir 
 Of the great Babel, and not to feel the crowd; 
 To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
 At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
 Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur'd ear. Coioper. 
 
 Night. 
 
 Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, 
 In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 
 Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world: 
 Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound! 
 Nor eye nor list'ning ear an object finds; 
 Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse 
 Of life stood still, and nature made a pause; 
 An awful pause, prophetic of her end. Young 
 
NOON. 153 
 
 Night. 
 The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day- 
 Is crept into the bosom of the sea; 
 And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
 That drag the tragic melancholy night; 
 Who with her drowsy, slow, and flagging wings 
 Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws 
 Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Nobility. True. 
 Stuck o'er with titles, and hung round withstrings 3 
 That thou mayest be by kings, or whores of kings, 
 Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race, 
 Inquiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece: 
 But by your Fathers' worth if yours you rate, 
 Count me those only who were good and great. 
 Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood 
 Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood, 
 Go! and pretend your family is young; 
 Nor own your fathers have been fools so long. 
 What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? 
 Alas ! not all the blood of all the Howards ! JPope. 
 
 Noon. Noonday Heat. 
 
 5 Tis raging noon, and, vertical the sun 
 Darts on the head direct his forceful rays. 
 O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye 
 Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns; and all 
 From pole to pole in undistinguish'd blaze. 
 In vain the sight dejected, to the ground 
 Stoops for relief; thence hot ascending steams 
 And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root 
 Of vegetation parch'd, the cieaving fields 
 And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose, 
 Blast Fancy's bloom, and wither ev'n the soul. • 
 
 All-conquering Heat, Oh intermit thy wrath! 
 And on my throbbing temple potent thus 
 Beam not so fierce; incessant still you flow, 
 
154 NOURMAHAL. 
 
 And still another fervent flood succeeds, 
 Pour'd on the head profuse In vain I sigh, 
 And restless turn, and look around for night: 
 Night is far off; and hotter hours approach. 
 Thrice happy he ! who on the sunless side 
 Of a romantic mountain, forest crown'd, 
 Beneath the whole collected shade reclines: 
 Or in the gelid caverns, wood-bine wrought, 
 And fresh bedew'd with ever spouting streams, 
 Sits coolly calm; while all the world without, 
 Unsatisfied, and sick, tosses in noon. Thomson. 
 
 Nourmahal. Her charms. 
 That loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
 Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days, 
 Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies 
 From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes, 
 Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, 
 Like the glimpses a saint has of Heav'n in his dreams! 
 When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace, 
 That charm of all others, was born with her face; 
 And when angry, — for ev'n in the tranquillest climes 
 Light breezes will ruffle the flowers sometimes, — 
 The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken 
 New beauty, like flow'rs that are sweetest when sha- 
 ken; 
 If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye 
 At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye, 
 From the depth of whose shadow , like holy revealings, 
 From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings ! 
 Then her mirth — oh ! 'twas sportive as ever took wing 
 From the heart with a burst, like the wild bird in 
 
 spring;— 
 Illum'd by a wit that would fascinate sages, 
 Yet playful as Peris just loos'd from their cages. 
 While her laugh, full of life, without any control 
 But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul; 
 And where it most sparkled no glance could discover, 
 Ih Up, cheek, or eyes, for she brightened all over.— 
 
NOVELS. 155 
 
 Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, 
 When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun. 
 
 Moore , 
 
 Novelists. Satire on. 
 
 Ye writers of what none with safety reads ; 
 Footing it in the dance that Fancy leads; 
 Ye novelists, who mar what ye would mend; 
 Sniveling and driv'lling folly without end; 
 "Whose corresponding misses fill the ream 
 With sentimental frippery and dream, 
 Caught in a delicate soft silken net 
 By some lewd earl, or rakehell baronet: 
 Ye pimps, who, under virtue's fair pretence- 
 Steal to the closet of young innocence, 
 And teach her, inexperienced yet and green, 
 To scribble as you scribbled at fifteen; 
 "Who kindling a combustion of desire, 
 With some cold moral think to quench the fire 
 Though all your engineering proves in vain. 
 The dribbling stream ne'er puts it out again: 
 O that a verse had power, and could command 
 Far, far away these flesh-flies of the land; 
 Who fasten without merer on the fair, 
 And suck, and leave a craving maggot there! 
 Howe'er disguis'd th ? inflammatory tale, 
 And coverd with a fine-spun specious veil; 
 Such writers, and such readers owe the gust 
 And relish of their pleasure all to lust. Cotcper, 
 
 Novels. Satire on. 
 
 I've often marvelPd, when by night, by day, 
 Fve mark'd the manners moving in my way, 
 And heard the language and beheld the lives 
 Of lass and lover, goddesses and wives, 
 That books, which promise much of life to give. 
 Should show so little how we truly live. 
 
 To me it seems, their females and their men 
 Are but the creatures of the authors pen; 
 
156 NOVELS. 
 
 Nay, creatures borrowed and again convey'd 
 
 From book to book — the shadows of a shade. 
 
 Life , if they'd search, would show them many a change ; 
 
 The ruin sudden and the misery strange ! 
 
 With more of grievous, base, and dreadful things, 
 
 Than novelists relate or poet sings: 
 
 But they who ought to look the world around, 
 
 Spy out a single spot in fairy-ground: 
 
 Where all, in turn, ideal forms behold, 
 
 And plots are laid and histories are told. 
 
 Time have I lent — I would their debt were less — 
 To flow'ry pages of sublime distress: 
 And to the heroine's soul-distracting fears 
 I early gave my sixpences and tears; 
 Oft have I travell'd in these tender tales, 
 To Darntey- Cottages, and Maple-Vales, 
 And watch'd the fair one from the first-born sigh, 
 When Henry pass'd, and gaz'd in passing by; 
 Till I beheld them pacing in the Park, 
 Close by a coppice where 'twas cold and dark; 
 When such affection with such fate appear'd, 
 Want and a father to be shunn'd and fear'd, 
 Without employment, prospect, cot, or cash, 
 That I have judg'd th' heroic souls were rash. 
 
 Now shifts the scene, —the fair in tower confin'd, 
 In all things suffers but in change of mind: 
 Now woo'd by Greatness to a bed of state, 
 Now deeply thieaten'd with a dungeon's grate^ 
 Till suffering much and being tried enough, 
 She shines, triumphant maid !— temptation-proof. 
 
 Then was I led to vengeful monks, who mix 
 With nymphs and swains, and play unpriestly tricksy 
 Then view'd banditti who in forest wide, 
 And cavern vast, indignant virgins hide} 
 Who, hcnm'd with bands of sturdiest rogues about, 
 Find some strange succour, and come virgins out. 
 
 I've watch'd a wintry night on castle walls, 
 I've stalk'd by moonlight through deserted halls, 
 And when the weary world was sunk to rest, 
 I 've had such sights as— may not be express'd. 
 
 Cralbe- 
 
occiduus. 157 
 
 Obstinacy. JJ ho most guilty of. 
 Patient of contradiction as a child, 
 Affable, humble, diffident, and mild; 
 Such was Sir Isaac, and such Boyle and Locke; 
 Tour blund'rer is as sturdy as a reck. 
 The creature is so sure to kick and bite, 
 A muleteer's the man to set him right. 
 First Appetite enlists him Truth's sworn foe, 
 Then obstinate Self-will confirms him so. 
 Tell him he wanders; that his error leads 
 To fatal ill; that though the path he treads 
 Be flow'ry, and he see no cause of fear, 
 Death and the pains of Hell attend him there: 
 In vain, the slave of arrogance and pride, 
 He has no hearing on the prudent side; 
 His still refuted quirks he still repeats; 
 New rais'd objections with new quibbles meets; 
 Till, sinking in the quicksand he defends, 
 He dies disputing, and the contest ends. Cowper. 
 
 Occiduus. Character of. 
 
 Occiduus is a pastor of renown; 
 When he has pray'd and preach'd the Sabbath down, 
 With wire and catgut he concludes the day, 
 Quav'ring and semiquav'ring care away. 
 The full concerto swells upon your ear; 
 All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear 
 The Babylonian tyrant with a nod 
 Had summon'd them to serve his golden god. 
 So well that thought th' employment seems to suit, 
 Psalt'ry and sackbut, dulcimer and flute. 
 Oh fie ! 'tis evangelical and pure: 
 Observe each face, how sober and demure! 
 Ecstasy sets her stamp on ev'ry mien; 
 Chins fall'n, and not an eye-ball to be seen. 
 Still I insist, though music heretofore 
 Has charm'd me much (not e'en Occiduus more,) 
 Love, joy, and peace, make harmony more meet 
 For Sabbath ev'nings, and perhaps as sweet. Cowper, 
 O 
 
158 OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 Og. Character of! 
 
 Now stop your noses, readers, all and some, 
 For here 's a tun of midnight work to come, 
 Og from a treason-tavern rolling home 
 Round as a globe, and liquor'd ev'ry chink, 
 Goodly and great he sails behind his link: 
 With all this bulk there 's nothing lost in Ogj 
 For every inch that is not fool, is rogue; 
 A monstrous mass of foul corrupted matter, 
 As all the devils had spew'd to make the batter. 
 
 The midwife laid her hand on his thick scull, 
 With this prophetic blessing — " Be thou dull; 
 Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight 
 Fit for thy bulk} do any thing but write: 
 Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men; 
 A strong nativity — but for the pen! 
 Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink, 
 Still thou may'st live, avoiding pen and ink:" 
 I see, I see, 'tis counsel given in vain, 
 For treason botch'd in rhyme will be thy bane : 
 Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck, 
 5 Tis fatal to thy fame and to thy neck: 
 Why should thy metre good king David blasti 
 
 A psalm of his will surely be thy last. 
 
 A double noose thou on thy neck dost pull 
 
 For writing treason, and for writing dull: 
 
 To die for faction is a common evil; 
 
 But to be hang'd for nonsense is the devil. Dryden> 
 
 Opportunity. Omitted, Effects of. 
 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat; 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 Or lose our ventures. Shakspeart 
 
Oi HELLO. 
 
 159 
 
 Othello. His Speech to the Senate. 
 
 Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters, 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter. 
 It is most true; true, I have married her; 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in speech. 
 And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace; 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years 1 pith. 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 
 Their dearest action in the tented field; 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause, 
 In speaking of myself: Yet. by your gracious patience 
 I will a round unvarnishrd tale deliver 
 Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms. 
 What conjurations, and what mighty magic, 
 (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal) 
 
 I won his daughter with. 
 
 Her father lov'd me: oft invited me; 
 
 Still questioned me the story of my life, 
 
 From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,, 
 
 That I have pass'd. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 
 
 To the very moment that he made me tell it, 
 
 Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, 
 
 Of moving accidents, by flood and field; 
 
 Of hair breadth scapes T the imminent deadly breach: 
 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
 
 And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, 
 
 And portance in my travel's history: 
 
 These things to hear, 
 
 "Would Desdemona seriously incline: 
 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence; 
 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 
 She ? d come again, and with a greedy ear 
 
 Devour up my discourse: Which I observing 
 
 Took once a pliant hour: and found good mean? 
 
160 PARADISE. 
 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
 
 But not intentively: I did consent; 
 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
 
 That my youth sufferd. My story being done, 
 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: 
 
 She swore — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing 
 
 strange; 
 '"Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: 
 She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd 
 That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd 
 
 me; 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 And that would woo her Upon this hint, I spake; 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd; 
 And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. Shalcspeare* 
 
 Pains. Of Idleness. 
 
 Then look'd, and saw a lazy, lolling sort, 
 Unseen at church, at senate, or at court, 
 Of ever-listless loiterers, that attend 
 No cause, no trust, no duty, and no friend. 
 Thee too, my Paridel! she mark'd thee there, 
 Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair, 
 And heard thy everlasting yawn confess 
 The pains and penalties of idleness. 
 She pity'd ! but her pity only shed 
 Benigner influence on thy nodding head. Pope. 
 
 Paradise of Fools. What it contains. 
 Up hither like aerial vapours flew 
 Of all things transitory and vain, when sin 
 With vanity had fill'd the works of men; 
 Both all things vain, and all who in vain things 
 Built their fond hopes of glory or lasting fame, 
 Or happines in this or th' other life j 
 
PARADISE. .161 
 
 All who have their reward on earth, the fruits 
 Of painful superstition and blind zeal, 
 Nought seeking but the praise of men, here find 
 Fit retribution, empty as their deeds; 
 All the unaccomplish'd works of nature's hand, 
 Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mix'd, 
 Dissolv'd on earth, fleet hither, and in vain, 
 Till final dissolution, wander here, 
 Not in the neighb'ring moon, as some have dream'dj 
 Those argent, fields more likely habitants, 
 Translated saints, or middle spirits hold, 
 Betwixt the angelical and human kind. 
 Hither, of ill-join'd sons and daughters born, 
 First from the ancient world those giants came 
 "With many a vain exploit, though then renown'd; 
 The builders next of Babel on the plain 
 Of Sennaar, and still with vain design 
 New Babels, had they wherewithal, would build: 
 Others came single; he who, to be deem'd 
 A god, leap'd fondly into Etna flames, 
 Empedocles; and he who, to enjoy 
 Plato's Elysium, leap'd into the sea, 
 Cleombrotus; and many more too long, 
 Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars, 
 White, black, and gray, with all their trumpery. 
 Here pilgrims roam, that stray'd so far to seek 
 In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heaven: 
 And they who, to be sure of paradise, 
 Dying put on the weeds of Dominic, 
 Or in Franciscan think to pass disguis'd^ 
 They pass the planets seven, and pass the fix'd, 
 And that crystalline sphere whose balance weighs 
 The trepidation talk d, and that first mov'd: 
 And now Saint Peter at Heaven's wicket seems 
 To wait them with his keys, and now at foot 
 Of Heaven's ascent they lift their feet, when lo 
 A violent cross wind from either coast 
 Blows them transverse ten thousand leagues awry 
 Into the devious air^ then might ye see 
 o 2 
 
16% PARENTS. 
 
 Cowls, hoods, and habits, with their wearers, tost 
 
 And flutter'd into rags, then reliques, beads, 
 
 Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls, 
 
 The sport of winds: all these, upwhirl'd aloft, 
 
 Fly o'er the backside of the world far off 
 
 Into a limbo large and broad, since call'd 
 
 The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown. Milton* 
 
 Paradise Lost. Subject of the Poem. 
 
 Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
 Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
 Brought death into the world, and all our wo, 
 With loss of Eden, till one greater man 
 Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 
 Sing, heav'nly muse, that on the secret top 
 Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 
 That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, 
 In the beginning how the heav'ns and earth 
 Rose out of Chaos! Or, if Sion hill 
 Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook, that flow'd 
 Fast by the oracle of God, I thence 
 Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song, 
 That with no middle flight intends to soar 
 Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues 
 Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 
 
 And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer 
 Before all temples th' upright heart and pure, 
 Instruct me, for Thou know'stj Thou from the first 
 Was present, and with mighty wings outspread, 
 Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, 
 And raad'st it pregnant: What in me is dark, 
 Illumine^ what is low, raise and support; 
 That to the height of this great argument 
 I may assert eternal Providence, 
 And justify the ways of God to men. Milton, 
 
 Parents, dged, Duty to. 
 Me let. the tender office long engage, 
 To rock the cradle of reposing age^ 
 
PARLOUH. 163 
 
 With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, 
 Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death; 
 Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, 
 And keep a while one parent from the sky! Pope. 
 
 Parents. Our First, described. 
 
 Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, 
 Godlike erect, with native honour clad, 
 In naked majesty seem'd lords of all, 
 And worthy seem'd; for in their looks divine 
 The image of their glorious Maker shone, 
 Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure, 
 (Severe but in true filial freedom plac'd) 
 Whence true authority in men; though both 
 Not equal, as their sex not equal seem'd; 
 For contemplation he and valour form'd, 
 For softness she and sweet attractive grace; 
 He for God only, she for God in him. 
 His fair large front and eye sublime declar'd 
 Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks 
 Round from his parted forelock manly hung 
 Olust'ring, but not beneath his shoulders broad; 
 She, as a veil, down to the slender waist 
 Her unadorned golden tresses wore 
 Dishevell'd, but in wanton ringlets wav'd 
 As the vine curls her tendrils, which implied 
 Subjection, but requir'd, with gentle sway, 
 And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd, 
 Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, 
 And sweet reluctant amorous delay. Milton. 
 
 Parlour. Tioilight. 
 Not undelightful is an hour to me 
 So spent in parlour-twilight: such a gloom 
 Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, 
 The mind contemplative, with some new theme 
 Pregnant, or indispos'd alike to all. 
 Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial powr's, 
 That never felt a stupor, know no pause, 
 Nor need one; I am conscious, and confess 
 
164 PASSIONS. 
 
 Fearless, a soul that does not always think. 
 Me oft has fancy ludicrous and wild 
 Sooth'd with a waking dream of houses, tow'rs, 
 Trees, churches, and strange visages express'd 
 In the red cinders, while with poring eye 
 I gaz'd, myself creating what I saw. 
 Nor less amus'd have I quiescent watch'd 
 The sooty films, that play upon the bars 
 Pendulous, and foreboding in the view 
 Of superstition, prophecying still, 
 Though still deceiv'd, some stranger's near approach. 
 ? Tis thus the understanding takes repose 
 In indolent vacuity of thought, 
 And sleeps, and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face 
 Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask 
 Of deep deliberation, as the man 
 Were task'd to his full strength, absorbed and lost. 
 
 Ccwper, 
 
 Parts. Superior, their Disadvantages, 
 In parts superior what advantage lies? 
 Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise? 
 5 Tis but to know how little can be known; 
 To see all others' faults, and feel our own: 
 Condemn'd in business or in arts to drudge, 
 Without a second, or without a judge. 
 Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? 
 All fear, none aid you, and few understand. 
 Painful pre-eminence! yourself to view 
 Above life's weakness, and its comforts too. Pope> 
 
 Passions. Disorders of. 
 Now the distemper'd mind 
 Has lost that concord of harmonious powers, 
 Which forms the soul of happiness; and all 
 Is off the poise within: the passions all 
 Have burst their bounds: and reason, half extinct. 
 Or impotent, or else approving, sees 
 The foul disorder. Senseless, and deform'd, 
 
PASTOR. 165 
 
 Convulsive anger storms at large; or pale, 
 
 And silent, settles into fell revenge. 
 
 Base envy withers at another's joy, 
 
 And hates that excellence it cannot reach. 
 
 Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full, 
 
 Weak and unmanly, loosens every power. 
 
 Ev'n love itself is bitterness of soul, 
 
 A pensive anguish pining at the heart; 
 
 Or, sunk to sordid interest, feels no more 
 
 That noble wish that never cloy'd desire, 
 
 Which, selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone 
 
 To bless the dearer object of its flame. 
 
 Hope sickens with extravagance; and grief, 
 
 Of life impatient, into madness swells; 
 
 Or in dead silence wastes the weeping hours. 
 
 These, and a thousand mixt emotions more, 
 
 From ever changing views of good and ill, 
 
 Fornrd infinitely various, vex the mind 
 
 With endless storm; whence deeply rankling, grows 
 
 The partial thought, a listless unconcern, 
 
 Cold, and averting from our neighbour's good; 
 
 Then dark disgust, and hatred, winding wiles, 
 
 Coward deceit, and ruffian violence: 
 
 At last, extinct each social feeling, fell 
 
 And joyless inhumanity pervades 
 
 And petrifies the heart. Thomson, 
 
 Pastor. Injury done by a bad one. 
 
 The pastor, either vain 
 By nature, or by flatt'ry made so, taught 
 To gaze at his own splendour, and t' exalt 
 Absurdity, not his office, but himself; 
 Or unenlighten'd, and too proud to learn; 
 Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach; 
 Perverting often by the stress of lewd 
 And loose example, whom he should instruct; 
 Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace 
 The noblest function, and discredits much 
 The brightest truths that man has ever seen. 
 
166 PATRIOTS. 
 
 For ghostly cousel, if it either fall 
 Below the exigence, or be not back'd 
 With show of love, at least with hopeful proof 
 Of some sincerity on the giver's part; 
 Or be dishonour'd in th' exterior form 
 And mode of its conveyance by such tricks 
 As move derision, or by foppish airs 
 And histrionic mumm'ry, that let down 
 The pulpit to the level of the stage; 
 Drops from the lips a disregarded thing. 
 The weak perhaps are mov'd, but are not taught, 
 "While prejudice in men of stronger minds 
 Takes deeper root, confirmed by what they see. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 Pastors. Ungracious ones. 
 Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; 
 Whilst, like a pufFd and reckless libertine, 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
 And recks not his own reed. Shakspeare* 
 
 Patriots. False. 
 
 But the age of virtuous politicks is past, 
 And we are deep in that of cold pretence. 
 Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, 
 And we t©o wise to trust them. He that takes 
 Deep in his soft credulity the stamp 
 Design'd by loud declaimers on the part 
 Of liberty, themselves the slave of lust, 
 Incurs derision for his easy faith, 
 And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough: 
 For when was public virtue to be found, 
 Where private was not? Can he love the whole, 
 Who loves no part? He be a nation's friend, 
 Who is in truth the friend of no man there ? 
 Can he be strenuous in his country's cause, 
 Who slights the charities, for whose dear sake 
 That country, if at all, must be belov'd. Cowper, 
 
PESTILENCE. 167 
 
 Peasantry. Value of. 
 Ill fares the land, tohas'tning ills a prey, 
 Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: 
 Princes and Lords may flourish or may fade; 
 A breath can make them as a breath has made: 
 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
 When once destroy'd, can never be supplied. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Persecution. Who persecuted by Mary. 
 When persecuting zeal made royal sport 
 With tortur'd innocence in Mary's court, 
 And Bonner, blythe as shepherd at a wake, 
 Enjoy 'd the show, and danc'd about the stake; 
 The sacred Book, its value understood, 
 ReceivM the seal of martyrdom in blood. 
 Those holy men, so full of truth and grace, 
 Se^m to reflection of a different race; 
 Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere, 
 In such a cause they could not dare to fear; 
 They could not purchase earth with such a prize, 
 Or spare a life too short to reach the skies. Cowper. 
 
 Pestilence. 
 
 Then, wasteful, forth 
 Walks the dire power of pestilent disease. 
 A thousand hideous fiends her course attend, 
 Sick nature blasting, and to heartless wo, 
 And feeble desolation, casting down 
 The towering hopes and all the pride of man. 
 Such as, of late, at Carthagena quench'd 
 The British fire. You, gallant Vernon, saw 
 The miserable scene; you, pitying saw 
 To infant- weakness sunk the warrior's arm: 
 Saw the deep-racking pang, the ghastly form, 
 The lip pale-quivering, and the beamless eye 
 No more with ardour bright: you heard the groans 
 Of agonizing ^hips, from shore to shore; 
 Heard, nightly plung'd amid the sullen waves, 
 The frequent corse; while on each other fix'd, 
 
168 PHCEBE DAWSON. 
 
 In sad presage, the blank assistants seem'd, 
 Silent, to ask, whom fate would next demand. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 Philosophy. Hudibras, his Philosophy. 
 
 Beside, he was a shrewd philosopher, 
 And had read ev'ry text and gloss over; 
 Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath, 
 He understood b' implicit faith: 
 Whatever sceptic could inquire for, 
 For ev'ry why he had a wherefore: 
 Knew more than forty of them do, 
 As far as words and terms could go: 
 Ail which he understood by rote, 
 And as occasion serv'd, would quote: 
 JSo matter whether right or wrong; 
 They might be either said or sung. 
 His notions fitted things so well, 
 That which was which he could not tell; 
 But oftentimes mistook the one 
 For th' other, as great clerks have done. 
 He could reduce all things to acts, 
 And knew their natures by abstracts; 
 Where entity and quiddity, 
 The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly; 
 Where truth in person does appear, 
 Like words congeal 'd, in northern air. 
 He knew what's what, and that 's as high 
 As metaphysic wit can fly. Butler, 
 
 Phcebe Dawson. 
 Two summers since, I saw, at Lammas fair, 
 The sweetest flower that ever blossom'd there; 
 When Phcebe Dawson gayly cross'd the green, 
 In haste to see and happy to be seen; 
 Her air, her manners, all who saw, admir'd — 
 Courteous, though coy, and gentle, though retir'd — 
 The joy of youth and health her eyes dispiay'd, 
 And ease of heart her every look convey'd: 
 
PHCEBE DAWSON. 169 
 
 A native skill her simple robes expressed 
 As with untutor'd elegance she dress'd: 
 The lads around admird so fair a sight, 
 And Phoebe felt, and felt she gave, delight. 
 Admirers soon of every age she gain'd, 
 Her beauty won them and her worth retain'd. 
 
 Lo! now with red rent cloak and bonnet black, 
 And torn green gown loose hanging at her back, 
 One who an infant in her arms sustains, 
 And seems in patience striving with her pains: 
 Pinch'd are her looks, as one who pines for bread, 
 Whose cares are growing and whose hopes are fled. 
 Pale her parch'd lips, her heavy eyes sunk low, 
 And tears unnotic'd from theii channels flow; 
 Serene her manner, till some sudden pain 
 Frets the meek soul, and then she J s calm again; — 
 Her broken pitcher to the pool she takes, 
 And every step with cautious terror makes; 
 For not alone that infant in her arms, 
 But nearer cause, her anxious soul alarms* 
 With water burthen'd, then she picks her way, 
 Slowly and cautious, in the clinging clay; 
 Till, in mid' green, she trusts a place unsound, 
 And deeply plunges in th 5 adhesive ground; 
 Thence, but with pain, her slender foot she takes, 
 While hope the mind as strength the frame forsakes: 
 For when so full the cup of sorrow grows, 
 Add but a drop, it instantly o'erflows. 
 And now her path but not her peace she gains, 
 Safe from her task, but shivering with her pains; 
 Her home she reaches, open leaves the door. 
 And placing first her infant on the floor, 
 And bares her bosom to the winds, and sits 
 And, sobbing, struggles with the rising fits; 
 In vain they come, she feels th' inflating grief, 
 That shuts the swelling bosom from relief, 
 That speaks, in feeble cries, a soul distress'd; 
 Or the sad laugh that cannot be repress'd. 
 The neighbour matron leaves her wheel and flies 
 P 
 
170 PLAGIARY. 
 
 With all the aid her poverty supplies, 
 Unfee'd the calls of nature she obeys, 
 Not led by profit, nor allur'd by praise; 
 And waiting long till these contentions cease 5 
 She speaks of comfort, and departs in peace- 
 
 Friend of distress ! the mourner feels thy aid, 
 She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid. 
 
 But who this child of weakness, want and care? 
 ; Tis Phoebe Dawson, pride of Lammas fair; 
 Who took her lover for his sparkling eyes, 
 Expressions warm, and love-inspiring lies: 
 Compassion first assail'd her gentle heart, 
 For all his sufferings, all his bosom's smart: 
 l( And then his prayers! they would a savage move. 
 And win the coldest of the sex to love!" — 
 But ah! too soon his looks success declard, 
 Too late her loss the marriage-rite repaird; 
 The faithless flatterer then his vows forgot, 
 A captious tyrant or a noisy sot; 
 If present, railing, till he saw her pain'd; 
 If absent, spending what their labours gain'd; 
 Till that fair form in want and sickness pin'd, 
 And hope and comfort fled that gentle mind, Crabht 
 
 Pitt. Tender Appeal to. 
 Butwhate'er you are, 
 That in this desert inaccessible, 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; 
 If ever you have looked on better days, 
 If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church: 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast! 
 If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, 
 And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied, 
 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Plagiary. Character of one. 
 Swearing and supperless the hero sat, 
 BlasphemM his god*, the dice, and damn'd hi? fate 
 
PLAGtHS. 171 
 
 Then gnaw'd his pen, then dash'd it on the ground, 
 
 Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound! 
 
 Plung'd for his sense, but found no bottom there. 
 
 Yet wrote and flounder'd on, in mere despair. 
 
 Round him much embryo, much abortion lay, 
 
 Much future ode, and abdicated play: 
 
 Nonsense precipitate, like running lead, 
 
 That slipp'd through crags and zig-zags of the head; 
 
 All that on folly frenzy could beget, 
 
 Fruits of dull heat, and sooterkins of wit. 
 
 Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll, 
 
 In pleasing memory of all he stole, 
 
 How here he slipp'd, how there he plunder'd snug, 
 
 And suck'd all o'er, like an industrious bug. 
 
 Here lay poor Fletcher's half-eat scenes, and here 
 
 The frippery of crucified Moliere: 
 
 There hapless Shakspeare, yet of Tibbald sore, 
 
 Wish'd he had blotted for himself before. Pope. 
 
 Plague. Stot-y connected with. 
 
 So when the plague o 3 er London's gasping crowds 
 
 Shook her dank wing, and steer'd her murky clouds. 
 Six lovely daughters, and their father, swept 
 To the throng'd grave, Cleone saw, and wept. 
 One smiling boy, her last sweet hope, she warms, 
 Hushed on her bosom, circled in her arms, — 
 Daughter of wo! ere morn, in vain carress'd, 
 Clung the cold babe upon thy milkless breast, 
 With feeble cries thy last sad aid required, 
 Stretched its stiff limbs, and on thy lap expired! — 
 
 Long with wild eye-lids on her child she gazed; 
 And long to heaven their tearless orbs she raised; 
 Then, with quick foot, and throbbing heart, she found 
 Where Chartreuse open'd deep his holy ground; 
 Bore her last treasure through the midnight gloom; 
 And, kneeling, dropp'd it in the mighty tomb. 
 
 I follow next! The frantic mourner said, 
 And, living, plunged amid the festering dead. Darwin, 
 
172 PLAY. 
 
 Planets. Astrologers Opinion of. 
 
 Oft has this planet roll'd around the sun, 
 Since to consult the skies I first begun: 
 Such my applause, so mighty my success, 
 Some granted my predictions more than guess. 
 But, doubtful as I am, I '11 entertain 
 This faith, there can be no mistake in gain. 
 For the dull world must honour pay to those, 
 Who on their understanding most impose. 
 First man creates, and then he fears the elf; 
 Thus others cheat him not, but he himself; 
 He loathes the substance, and he loves the show; 
 You 'li ne'er convince a fool, himself is so: 
 He hates realities, and hugs the cheat, 
 And still the only pleasure 's the deceit. 
 So meteors flatter with a dazzling dye, 
 Which no existence has, but in the eye, 
 As distant prospects please us, but when near, 
 AVe find but desert rocks and fleeting air; 
 From stratagem to stratagem we run, 
 And he knows most who latest is undone. 
 
 Mankind one day serene and free appear; 
 The next, they 're cloudy, sullen and severe; 
 New passions new opinions still excite; 
 And what they like at noon they leave at night. 
 They gain with labour what they quit with ease; 
 And health, for want of change, becomes disease: 
 Religion's bright authority they dare, 
 And yet are slaves to superstitious fear. 
 They counsel others, but themselves deceive, 
 And though they're cozen'd still, they still believe. 
 
 So false their censure, fickle their esteem, 
 This hour they worship, and the next blaspheme. 
 
 Garth. 
 Play. Rage for. 
 The paralytic, who can hold her cards, 
 But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand 
 To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort 
 
FLAYTHIXGS. 173 
 
 Her mingled suits and sequences; and sits 
 
 Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad 
 
 And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. 
 
 Others are dragg'd into the crowded room 
 
 Between supporters; and, once seated, sit. 
 
 Through downright inability to rise, 
 
 Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. 
 
 These speak a loud memento. Yet e'en these 
 
 Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he, 
 
 That overhangs a torrent, to a twig. 
 
 They love it, and yet loathe it; fear to die, 
 
 Yet scorn the purposes for which they live. Cowper 
 
 Players. General muster of. 
 
 First, order came, — with solemn step, and slow. 
 In measur'd time his feet were taught to go. 
 Behind, from time to time, he cast his eye, 
 Lest this should quit his place, that step awry. 
 Appearances to save his only care; 
 So things seem right, no matter what they are, 
 In him his parents saw themselves renew'd, 
 Begotten by Sir Critic on Saint Prude. 
 
 Then came drum, trumpet, hautboy, fiddle, flute \ 
 Next snufTer, sweeper, shifter, soldier, mute; 
 Legions of angels all in white advance; 
 Furies, all fire, come forward in a dance; 
 Pantomime figures then are brought to view, 
 Fools hand in hand with fools go two by two, 
 Next came the treasurer of either house; 
 One with full purse, t' other with not a sous. 
 Behind, a group of figures awe create, 
 Set off with all th' impertinence of state; 
 By lace and feather consecrate to fame, 
 Expletive kings, and queens without a name. 
 
 Churchill 
 Playthings. For every Jige. 
 
 Behold the child, by nature's kindly law, 
 Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw; 
 Some livelier plaything gives his vouth delight. 
 p 2 
 
1 74 PLEASURE. 
 
 A little louder, but as empty quite; 
 
 Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, 
 
 And beads and pray'r-books are the toys of age: 
 
 Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before; 
 
 Till tir'd he sleeps, and Life's poor play is o'er. 
 
 Meanwhile Opinion gilds with varying rays 
 
 Those painted clouds that beautify our days; 
 
 Each want of happiness by Hope supplied, 
 
 And each vacuity of sense by Pride: 
 
 These build as fast as knowledge can destroy; 
 
 In folly's cup still laughs the bubble, Joy: 
 
 One prospect lost another still we gain; 
 
 And not a vanity is given in vain. Pope. 
 
 Playplace. Of our Early Days. 
 Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, 
 We love the playplace of our early days; 
 The scene is touching, and the heart is stone, 
 That feels not at that sight, and feels at none. 
 The wall on which we tried our graving skill, 
 The very name we carv'd subsisting still; 
 The bench on which we sat while deep employed, 
 Tho' mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, not yet destroy'd; 
 The little ones, unbutton'd, glowing hot, 
 Playing our games, and on the very spot; 
 As happy as we once, to knee! and draw 
 The chalky ring, and knuckie down at taw; 
 To pitch the ball into the grounded hat, 
 Or drive it devious with a dext'rous pat; 
 The pleasing spectacle at once excites 
 Such recollection of our own delights, 
 That, viewing it, we seem almost t' obtain 
 Our innocent sweet simple years again. Cowper 
 
 Pleasure. True and False. 
 
 Consistent wisdom ever wills the same: 
 Thy fickle wish is ever on the wing. 
 Sick of herself is folly's character; 
 As wisdom's is a modest self-applause. 
 
poets. 175 
 
 A change of evils is thy good supreme; 
 
 Nor, but in motion, canst thou find thy rest. 
 
 Man's greatest strength is shown in standing still: 
 
 The first sure symptom of a mind in health, 
 
 Is rest of heart and pleasure felt at home. 
 
 False pleasure from abroad her joys imports; 
 
 Rich from within, and seif-sustain'd, the true. Young. 
 
 Pleasures. Foreign, Fully of. 
 For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam; 
 No thought of peace or happiness at home. 
 But wisdom's triumph is well-tim'd retreat, 
 As hard a science to the fair as great! 
 Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendless grown, 
 Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone; 
 Worn out in public, weary ev'ry eye, 
 Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Poet. Fori® of a False One. 
 A poet's form she placed before their eyes, 
 And bade the nimblest racer seize the prize: 
 No meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin, 
 In a dun night-gown of his own loose skin, 
 But such a bulk as no twelve bards could raise, 
 Twelve starvelling bards of these degenerate days. 
 All as a partridge plump, full-fed, and fair, 
 She form'd this image of well bodied air; 
 With pert fiat eyes she window'd well its head; 
 A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead: 
 And empty woids she gave, and sounding strain, 
 But senseless, lifeless! idol void and vain I 
 Never was dash'd out, at one lucky hit, 
 A fool, so just a copy of a wit. p pe. 
 
 Poets. True, rare. 
 Nature, exerting an unwearied power, 
 Forms, opens, and gives scent to ev'ry Lower: 
 Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads 
 The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads: 
 
176 TOETRY. 
 
 She fills profuse ten thousand little throats 
 
 With music modulating all their notes; 
 
 And charms the woodland scenes and wilds unknown, 
 
 "With artless airs and concerts of her own: 
 
 But seldom (as if fearful of expense) 
 
 Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence — 
 
 Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought, 
 
 Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought; 
 
 Fancy, that, from the bough that spans the sky, 
 
 Brings colours, dipp'd in Heav'n, that never die; 
 
 A soul exalted above earth, a mind 
 
 Skill'd in the characters that form mankind. Cowper. 
 
 Poetry. Beauties of not to be taught. 
 Some beauties yet no precepts can declare; 
 For there 's a happiness as well as care: 
 Music resembles poetry; in each 
 Are nameless graces which no methods teach, 
 
 And which a master-hand alone can reach. 
 
 Great wit sometimes may gloriously offend, 
 And rise to faults true critics dare not mend; 
 From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, 
 And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art. Pope. 
 
 Poetry. Folly of straining after. 
 
 From him who rears a poem lank and long, 
 To him who strains his all into a song; 
 Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, 
 All birks and braes, though he was never there; 
 Or, having whelp'd a prologue with great pains, 
 Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains: 
 A prologue interdash'd with many a stroke — 
 An art contrived to advertise a joke, 
 So that the jest is clearly to be seen, 
 Not in the words — but in the gap between: 
 Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, 
 The substitute for genius, sense, and wit. 
 
 To dally much with subjects mean and low, 
 Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so. 
 
PREACHER. 177 
 
 Neglected talents rust into decay, 
 
 And ev'ry effort ends in push-pin play. Cowper. 
 
 Praise. Loved by all. 
 The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art, 
 Reigns, more or less, and glows in every heart: 
 The proud, to gain it, toils on toils endure; 
 The modest shun it but to make it sure. 
 O'er globes and sceptres, now on thrones it swells, 
 Now trims the midnight lamp in college cells. 
 *Tis Tory, Whig; it plots, prays, preaches, pleads; 
 Harangues in senates, squeaks in masquerades; 
 
 Here, to S e's humour makes a bold pretence: 
 
 There, bolder aims at Pult'ney's eloquence: 
 It aids the dancer's heel, the writer's head, 
 And heaps the plaiu with mountains of the dead. 
 Nor ends with life; but nods in sable plumes, 
 Adorns our hearse, and flatters on our tombs. Young. 
 
 Preacher. The Village. 
 Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, 
 And still where many a garden fiow'r grows wild, 
 There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
 A man he was to all the country dear, 
 And passing rich with forty pounds a-year; 
 Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
 Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change, his place; 
 Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for pow'r, 
 By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; 
 Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, 
 More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
 His house was known to all the vagrant train: 
 He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain. 
 The long remember'd beggar was his guest, 
 Whose beard descending swept his aged breast: 
 The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
 Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd, 
 The broken soldier, kindly bid to stay, 
 Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; 
 
178 RAPTURES. 
 
 Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, 
 Shoulder'd his crutch, andshow'd how fields were won. 
 Pleas'd with his guests the good man learn'd to glow, 
 And quite forgot their vices in their wo; 
 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
 His pity gave ere charity began. 
 
 Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
 And ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side; 
 But, in his duty prompt atev'ry call, 
 He watch d and wept, he prayM and felt for all. 
 And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 
 To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies; 
 He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, 
 Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
 
 Beside the bed, where parting life was laid, 
 And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd 
 The rev'rend champion stood: At his control 
 Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 
 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise. 
 And his last fault'ring accents whisper'd praise. 
 
 At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
 His looks adorn'd the venerable place; 
 Truth from his lips prevaiPd with double sway, 
 And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. 
 The service past, around the pious man, 
 With ready zeal each honest rustic ran; 
 Ev'n children follow'd with endearing wile, 
 And pluek'd his gown to share the good man's smile. 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd, 
 Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd* 
 To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given. 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
 
 Goldsmith, 
 
 Rafttjres. Who enjoy most. 
 But in her temple's last recess inclos'd, 
 On dulness' lap th' annointed head repos'd. 
 Him close she curtains round with vapours blue, 
 And soft besprinkles with Cimmerian dew; 
 
REAPERS. 179 
 
 Then raptures high the seat of sense o'erflow, 
 Which only heads refin'd from reason know; 
 Hence from the straw where Bedlam's prophet nods, 
 He hears loud oracles, and talks with gods: 
 Hence the fool's paradise, the statesman's scheme. 
 The air-built castle, and the golden dream, 
 The maid's romantic wish, the chemist's flame, 
 And poet's vision of eternal fame. Pope. 
 
 Reading. Muse of 
 
 However, many books, 
 
 "Wise men have said, are wearisome; who reads 
 
 Incessantly, and to his reading brings not 
 
 A spirit and judgment equal or superior, 
 
 (And what he brings, what need he elsewhere seek?) 
 
 Uncertain and unsettled still remains, 
 
 Deep-versed in books, and shallow in himself, 
 
 Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys 
 
 And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge; 
 
 As children gathering pebbles on the shore. Milton. 
 
 Recreation. Bad effects from the want of. 
 
 Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, 
 But moody and dull melancholy, 
 (Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair;) 
 And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop 
 Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life? ShaJcspeare* 
 
 Reapers. 
 Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, 
 And, unperceived unfolds the spreading day; 
 Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand, 
 In fair array; each by the lass he loves, 
 To bear the rougher part, and mitigate 
 By nameless gentle offices her toil. 
 At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves; 
 While through their cheerful band the rural talk* 
 The rural scandal, and the rural je?t a 
 
180 RELIGION. 
 
 Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, 
 
 And steal, unfelt, the sultry hours away. Thomson, 
 
 Refinement. Cannot clear the stain of Vice. 
 She judges of refinement by the eye, 
 He by the test of conscience, and a heart 
 Not soon deceiv'd; aware that which is base 
 No polish can make sterling; and that vice, 
 Though well perfunTd and elegantly dress'd, 
 Like an unburied carcass trick'd with flow'rs, 
 Is but a garnished nuisance, fittei far 
 For cleanly riddance, than for fair attire. Cowper, 
 
 Religion. Hudibras, his. 
 For his religion, it was fit 
 To match his learning and his wit; 
 'Twas Presbyterian true blue; 
 For he was of that stubborn crew 
 Of errant saints, whom all men grant 
 To be the true church militant; 
 Such as do build their faith upon 
 The holy text of pike and gun; 
 Decide all controversies by 
 Infallible artillery; 
 And prove their doctrine orthodox, 
 By apostolic blows and knocks; 
 
 Call fire, and sword, and desolation, 
 
 A godly, thorough Reformation, 
 
 Which always must be carried on 
 
 And still be doing, never done; 
 
 As if religion were intended 
 
 For nothing else but to be mended: 
 
 A sect whose chief devotion lies 
 
 In odd perverse antipathies; 
 
 In falling out with that or this, 
 
 And finding somewhat still amiss; 
 
 More peeVish, cross, splenetic, 
 
 Than dog distract, or monkey sick; 
 
RESPECT. ISl 
 
 That with more care keep holiday 
 The wrong:, than others the right way; 
 Compoon i for sins they are inclin'd to, 
 
 By damning those they have no mind to; 
 
 Still so perverse and opposite, 
 
 As if they worshipp'd God for spite; 
 
 The self-same thing they will abhor 
 
 One way, and long another for. Butler, 
 
 Reputation-. 
 
 Good name, in man and woman, dear mv lord 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls: 
 Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, 
 
 nothi 
 Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
 But he, that filches ay good name, 
 
 Robs me of that, which not enriches him, 
 And makes me poor indeed. Shah 
 
 Resolutions. Vanity of Man's, 
 
 Of n - mistakes, this bears 
 
 Hm palm, ,; that all men are about to live." 
 For ever on the brink i , corn: 
 
 All pay themselves iment to the 
 
 They, one day, shall not drivel; and their : 
 
 :his reversion takes up ready praises. 
 
 At thirty man suspects himself a fool; 
 
 Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; 
 
 At fifty chides his infamous delay, 
 
 Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; 
 
 In all the magnanimity of thought 
 
 Resolves: and re resolves: then dies the same. Four*. 
 
 Respect. Lost, hi being loo I 
 
 The skipping king, he ambled up and down 
 With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits. 
 Soon kindled, and soon burn'd" carded his state; 
 Mingled his royalty with capering fools: 
 Hadhis great name profaned with their scorn-: 
 
 Q 
 
184 ROMANCE. 
 
 Richard. King, his Character, 
 Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; 
 Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and furi 
 
 ous; 
 Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous; 
 Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody. 
 
 Shakspeare, 
 
 Riches. Their true Value. 
 Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earn'd; 
 Or dealt by chance, to shield a lucky knave, 
 Or throw a cruel sun-shine on a fool. 
 But for one end, one much-neglected use, 
 Are riches worth your care, (for nature's wants 
 Are few, and without opulence supplied;) 
 This noble end is, to produce the soul; 
 To show the virtues in the fairest light; 
 To make humanity the minister 
 Of bounteous Providence: and teach the breast 
 That gen'rous luxury the gods enjoy. Armstrong, 
 
 Right. Whatever is, is right. 
 Cease then, nor order imperfections name: 
 Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. 
 Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree 
 Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee 
 Submit — in this, or any other sphere, 
 Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear: 
 Safe in the hand of one disposing pow'r, 
 Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. 
 All nature is but art unknown to thee; 
 All chance, direction which thou canst not see; 
 All discord, harmony not understood; 
 All partial evil, universal good: 
 And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, 
 One truth is clear, Whatever is, isright. Pone, 
 
 Romance. General Character of. 
 
 A thousand visions float around my head: 
 Hark! hollow blasts through empty courts resound. 
 
ROME. 185 
 
 And shadowy forms with staring eyes stalk round ! 
 See! moats and bridges, walls and castles rise, 
 Ghosts, fairies, demons, dance before our eyes; 
 Lo! magic verse inscrib'd on golden gate, 
 And bloody hand that beckons on to fate: — 
 " And who art thou, thou little page, unfold? 
 Say, doth thy lord my Claribel withhold; 
 Go tell him straight, Sir Knight, thou must resign 
 The captive queen; — for Claribel is mine." 
 Away he flies; and now for bloody deeds, 
 Black suits of armour, masks, and foaming steeds: 
 The giant falls; his recreant throat I seize, 
 And from his corslet take the massy keys: — 
 Dukes, lords, and knights, in long procession move, 
 Releas'd from bondage with my virgin love: — 
 She comes ! she comes ! in all the charms of youth, 
 Unequall'd love and unsuspected truth! 
 
 Ah ! happy he who thus, in magic themes, 
 O'er worlds bewitch'd, in early rapture dreams, 
 Where wild enchantment waves her potent wand, 
 And fancy's beauties iill her fairy land; 
 Where doubtful objects strange desires excite, 
 And fear and ignorance afford delight. 
 
 But lost, for ever lost, to me these joys, 
 Which reason scatters and which time destroys. 
 Too dearly bought: maturer judgment calls 
 My busy mind from tales and madrigals: 
 Thy doughty giants all are slain or fled, 
 And all my knights, blue, green, and yellow, dead! 
 No more the midnight fairy tribe I view, 
 All in the merry moonshine tippling dew; 
 E'en the last lingering fiction of the brain, 
 The church-yard ghost, is now at rest again; 
 And all these wayward wanderings of my youth, 
 Fly reason's power and shun the light of truth. 
 
 Crabbt. 
 Rome. 
 
 Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! 
 The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
 Q2 
 
186 ROME, 
 
 Lone mother of dead empires! and control, 
 In their shut breasts, their petty misery. 
 What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see 
 The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
 O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, ye ! 
 Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
 A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 
 
 The Niobe of nations! there she stands, 
 Childless and crownless, in her voiceless wo:~ 
 An empty urn within her withered hands, 
 Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago. 
 The Scipios 5 tomb contains no ashes now, 
 The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
 Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow, 
 Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? 
 Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 
 
 The Goth, the Christian, time, war, flood, and fire, 
 Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride; 
 She saw her glories star by star expire, 
 And up the steep barbarian monarch's side, 
 Where the car climb'd the capitol; far and wide 
 Temple and tower went down, nor left a site: — 
 Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, 
 O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 
 And say, " here was, or is," where all is doubly night ? 
 
 Alas! the lofty city! and, alas! 
 The trebly hundred triumphs! and the day 
 When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
 The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away! 
 Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, 
 And Livy's pictur'd page! — but these shall be 
 Ker resurrection, all beside decay. 
 Alas, for earth, for never shall we see 
 That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was 
 free! 
 
 Oh thou, whose chariot roll'd on fortune's wheel, 
 Triumphant Sylla! Thou who didst subdue 
 
ROSES. 187 
 
 Thy country's foes ere thou would pause to feel 
 The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due 
 Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew 
 O'er prostrate Asia; — thou, who with thy frown 
 Annihilated senates—Roman, too, 
 With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down, 
 With an atoning smile, a more than earthly crown, 
 
 The dictatorial wreath, — couldst thou divine 
 To what would one day dwindle that which made 
 Thee more than mortal? and that so supine 
 By ought than Romans Rome should thus be laid? 
 She who was named eternal, and array'd 
 Her warriors but to conquer — she who veil'd 
 Earth with her haughty shadow, and display'd 
 Until the o'er-canopied horizon fail'd, 
 Her rushing wings — Oh ! she who was Almighty hail'd. 
 
 Byron, 
 
 Rosalind. Proposing to wear men's Clothes. 
 Were it not better, 
 Because that I am more than common tall, 
 That I did suit me all points like a man? 
 A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, 
 A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart 
 Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will), 
 We'll have a swashing and a martial outside; 
 As many other mannish cowards have, 
 That do out face it with their semblances. Shakspeare. 
 
 Roses. Bower of Roses. 
 There 's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, 
 And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; 
 In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, 
 To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. 
 That bower and its music I never forget, 
 But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, 
 I think — is the nightingale singing there yet? 
 Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer! 
 
188 RULING. 
 
 No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, 
 But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly they 
 
 shone, 
 And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave 
 All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. 
 Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, 
 An essence that breathes of it many a year; 
 Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, 
 Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer ! 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Royalty. Inborn. 
 O thou goddess, 
 Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
 In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
 As zephyrs blowing below the violet, 
 Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough, 
 Their royal blood enchaf 'd, as the rud'st wind, 
 That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 
 And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful, 
 That an invisible instinct should frame them 
 To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught; 
 Civility not seen from other; valour, 
 That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
 As if it had been sow'd. Shakspeare, 
 
 Ruling Passion. 
 
 As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath, 
 Receives the lurking principle of death; 
 The young disease, that must subdue at length, 
 Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his 
 
 strength; 
 So cast and mingled with his very frame, 
 The mind's disease, its ruling passion came; 
 Each vital humour which should feed the whole, 
 Soon flows to this, in body and in soul: 
 Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head, 
 As the mine opens, and its functions spread, 
 Imagination plies her dang'rous art, 
 And pours it all upon the peccant part. 
 
 
SABBATH. 139 
 
 Nature its mother, habit is its nurse; 
 Wit, spirit, faculties, but make it worse: 
 Reason itself but gives it edge and pow'r; 
 As heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more sour. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Ruling passion. Clue to Character. 
 
 Manners with fortune?, humours turn with climes, 
 Tenets with books, and principles with times. 
 Search then the ruling passion: There, alone, 
 The wild are constant, and the cunning known; 
 The fool consistent, and the false sincere; 
 Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here. Pope* 
 
 Sabbath. Stillness oj. 
 How still the morning of the hallowed day! 
 Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd 
 The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song 
 The sithe lies glittering in the dewy wreath 
 Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers, 
 That yester morn bloomed waving in the breeze: 
 The faintest sounds attract the ear, — the hum 
 Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, 
 The distant bleating, midway up the hill. 
 Calmness seems thron'd on yon unmoving cloud. 
 To him who wanders o'er the upland leas, 
 The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale. 
 And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark 
 Warbles his heav'n-tun'd song; the lulling brook 
 Murmurs more gently down the deep-sunk glen; 
 "While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke 
 O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals, 
 The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise. 
 With dove-like wings peace o'er yon village broods; 
 The dizzing mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din 
 Has ceased; all, all around is quietness. Grahame. 
 
 Sabbath. Poor Man's Day of Rest. 
 
 But, chiefly, man the day of rest enjoys. 
 Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. 
 On other days, the man of toil is doom'd 
 
1 90 SATAN. 
 
 To eat his joyless bread, lonely, the ground 
 
 Both seat and board — screen'd from the winter's cold 
 
 And summer's heat; by neighbouring hedge or tree; 
 
 But on this day, embosom'd in his home, 
 
 He shares the frugal meal with those he loves; 
 
 With those he loves he shares the heartfelt joy 
 
 Of giving thanks to God, — not thanks of form, 
 
 A word and a grimace, but reverently, 
 
 With covered face and upward earnest eye. 
 
 Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. 
 The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe 
 The morning air pure from the city's smoke, 
 As wandering slowly up the river's bank, 
 He meditates on him whose power he marks 
 In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, 
 And in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom 
 Around the roots: and while he thus surveys 
 With elevated joy each rural charm, 
 He hopes, (yet fears presumption in the hope) 
 That heaven may be one Sabbath without end. 
 
 Grahame. 
 
 Satan. His appearance. 
 Their dread commander; he, above the rest 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
 Stood like a tow'r, his form had not yet lost 
 All her original brightness, nor appear'd 
 Less than Archangel ruin'd, and th 1 excess 
 Of glory obscur'd; as when the sun, new risen, 
 Looks through the horizontal misty air, 
 Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon, 
 In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
 On half the nations, and with fear of change 
 Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone 
 Above them all th' Archangel: but his face 
 Deep scars of thunder had intrench'd, and care 
 Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows 
 Of dauntless courage and considerate pride, 
 Waiting revenge: cruel his eye, but cast 
 Signs of remorse and passion to behold 
 The fellows of his crime, the followers rather. Milton. 
 
SATIRE. 191 
 
 Satan. Tempting Eve. 
 -Him theie they found 
 
 Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve, 
 
 Assaying by his devilish art to reach 
 
 The organs of her fancy, and with them forge 
 
 Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams: 
 
 Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint 
 
 Th' animal spirits that from pure blood arise 
 
 Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise 
 
 At least distemper'd, discontended thoughts, 
 
 Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires, 
 
 Blown up with high conceits engend'ring pride. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Satire. Often to Maine, 
 Unless a love of virtue light the flame, 
 Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame! 
 He hides behind a magisterial air 
 His own offences, and strips others bare; 
 Affects indeed a most humane concern, 
 That men, if gently tutor'd, will not learn, 
 That mulish folly, not to be reclaim'd 
 By softer methods, must be made asham'd; 
 But (I might instance in St. Patrick's dean) 
 Too often rails to gratify his spleen. 
 Most sat'rists are indeed a public scourge; 
 Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge; 
 Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirr'd, 
 The milk of their good purpose all to curd. 
 Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, 
 By lean despair upon an empty purse, 
 The wild assassins start into the street, 
 Prepar'd to poniard whomsoe'er they meet 
 No skill in swordmanship, however just, 
 Can be secure against a madman's thrust; 
 And even virtue, so unfairly match'd, 
 Although immortal, maybe prick'd or scratch'd. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
19£ SCEPTIC. 
 
 Satire. Proper Objects of. 
 Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, 
 That tends to make one worthy man my foe, 
 Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear, 
 Or from the soft-ey'd virgin steal a tear! 
 But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, 
 Insults fallen worth, or beauty in distress; 
 Who loves a lie, lame slander helps about, 
 Who writes a libel, or who copies out; 
 That fop whose pride affects a patron's name, 
 Yet absent wounds an author's honest fame: 
 Who can your merit selfishly approve, 
 And show the sense of it without the love; 
 Who has the vanity to call you friend, 
 Yet wants the honour injur'd to defend; 
 Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say, 
 And, if he lie not, must at least betray: 
 Who reads but with a lust to misapply, 
 Make satire a lampoon, and fiction lie — 
 A lash like mine no honest man shall dread, 
 But all such babbling blockheads in his stead. Pope. 
 
 Sceptics. Address to. 
 
 Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 
 Lights of the world and demi-gods of fame ? 
 Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, 
 Children of truth, and champions of her cause? 
 For this hath science search'd, on weary wing, 
 By shore and sea — each mute and living thing? 
 Lanch'd with Iberia's pilot from the steep, 
 To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep! 
 Or round the cope her living chariot driven, 
 And wheeled in triumph through the signs of Heaven 
 Oh! star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there, 
 To waft us home the message of despair? 
 Then bind the palm thy sage's brow to suit, 
 Of blasted leaf, and death distilling fruit! 
 Ah me ! the laurell'd wreath that murder rears, 
 Blood-nursed, and water'd by the widow's tears. 
 
 
SCHOOL. 193 
 
 Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, 
 
 As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head. 
 
 What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain? 
 
 I smile on death, if heaven-ward hope remain! 
 
 But, if the warring winds of nature's strife 
 
 Be all the faithless charter of ray life, 
 
 If chance awak'd, inexorable power, 
 
 This frail and feverish being of an hour; 
 
 Doom'd o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, 
 
 Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, 
 
 To know delight but by her parting smile, 
 
 And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while; 
 
 Then melt, ye elements, that form'd in vain 
 
 This troubled pulse, and visionary brain! 
 
 Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom, 
 
 And sing, ye stars, that light me to the tomb. 
 
 Truth, ever lovely — since the world began, 
 
 The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man, — 
 
 How can thy words from balmy slumber start, 
 
 Reposing virtue, pillow'd on the heart! 
 
 Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolPd, 
 
 And that were true which nature never told, 
 
 Yet wisdom smile not on her conquer'd field; 
 
 No rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed! 
 
 Oh! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 
 
 The doom that bars us from a better fate; 
 
 But, sad as angels for the good man's sin, 
 
 Weep to record, and blush to give it in. Campbell 
 
 School Divinity. Hudibras, his Divinity. 
 In school-divinity as able 
 As he that hight irrefragable; 
 A second Thomas, or, at once 
 To name them all, another Dunce: 
 Profound in all the nominal 
 And real ways beyond them all : 
 For he a rope of sand could twist 
 As tough as learned Sorbonist, 
 R 
 
194 SCHOOLMASTER, 
 
 And weave fine cobwebs, fit for scull 
 
 That's empty when the moon is full; 
 
 Such as take lodgings in a head 
 
 That 's to be let unfurnished. 
 
 He could raise scruples dark and nice, 
 
 And after solve 'em in a trice; 
 
 As if Divinity had catch'd 
 
 The itch, on purpose to be scratch'd; 
 
 Or, like a mountebank, did wound 
 
 And stab herself with doubts profound, 
 
 Only to show with how small pain 
 
 The sores of faith are cur'd again; 
 
 Although by woful proof we find 
 
 They always leave a scar behind. Butler 
 
 Schoolmaster. Countnj, described 
 
 Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,, 
 
 With blossom'd furze unpiofitably gay, 
 
 There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd 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 learnt to trace 
 
 The day's disasters in his morning face: 
 
 Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee. 
 
 At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; 
 
 Full well the busy whisper circling round 
 
 Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd: 
 
 Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 
 
 The love he bore to learning was his fault. 
 
 The village all declar'd how much he knew; 
 
 'Twas certain he could write and cipher too: 
 
 Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
 
 And ev'n the story ran that he could guage; 
 
 In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, 
 
 For, ev'n though vanquish'd, he could argue still: 
 
 While words of learned length and thund'ring sound .. 
 
 Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around; 
 
SCIENCE. 195 
 
 And still they gazM, and still the wonder grew, 
 That one small head could carry all he knew. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Science. Man's best. 
 Man's science is the culture of his heart; 
 And not to lose his plummet in the depths 
 Of nature, or the more profound of God: — 
 u Not deeply to discern, not much to know, 
 Mankind was born to wonder and adore." Young 
 
 Science. Often Misleads. 
 Go, wond'rous creature ! mount where science 
 
 guides, 
 Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides; 
 Instruct the planets in what orbs to run, 
 Correct old time, and regulate the sun: 
 Go, soar with Plato to th empyreal sphere, 
 To the first good, first perfect, and first fair; 
 Or tread the mazy round his followers trod. 
 And quitting sense call imitating God: 
 As Eastern priests in giddy circles run, 
 And turn their heads to imitate the sun. 
 Go, teach eternal wisdom how to rule; 
 Then drop into thyself, and be a fool! Pope, 
 
 Science. To be modestly traced, 
 
 Trace science, then, with modesty the guide; 
 First strip of! all her equipage of pride; 
 Deduct but what is vanity or dress, 
 Or learning's luxury, or idleness: 
 Or tricks to show the stretch of human brain, 
 Mere curious pleasure, or ingenious pain; 
 Expunge the whole, or lop th' excrescent parts 
 Of all our vices have created arts; 
 Then see how little the remaining sum, 
 Which serv'd the past, and must the time to come! 
 
 Pope. 
 
196 SCENES. 
 
 Scexery. Mountain Scenery. 
 A little way 
 He turned aside, by natural impulses 
 Moved, to behold Cadwallon's lonely hut. 
 That lonely dwelling stood among the hillSj 
 By a gray mountain-stream: just elevate 
 Above the winter torrents did it stand, 
 Upon a craggy bank, an orchard slope 
 Arose behind, and joyous was the scene, 
 In early summer, when those antic trees 
 Shone with their blushing blossoms, and the flax 
 Twinkled beneath the breeze its liveliest green. 
 But, save the flax-field and that orchard slope. 
 All else was desolate, and now all wore 
 One sober hue: the narrow vale which wound 
 Among the hills, was gray with rocks, that peered 
 Above its shallow soil; the mountain side 
 Was with loose stones bestrewn, which oftentimes 
 Sliding beneath the foot of straggling goat, 
 Clattered adown the steep; or huger crags, 
 Which, when the coming frost should loosen them, 
 Would thunder down. All things assorted well 
 With that gray mountain hue; the low stone lines, 
 Which scarcely seemed to be the work of man, 
 The dwelling, rudely reared with stones unhewn, 
 The stubble flax, the crooked apple-trees, 
 Gray with their fleecy moss and misletoe, 
 The white barked birch, now leafless, and the ash, 
 Whose knotted roots weie like the rifted rock, 
 Where they had forced their way. Adown the vale 
 Broken by stones, and o ? er a stony bed, 
 Rolled the loud mountain-stream. Southey. 
 
 Scenes. Of our JVattvc Land. 
 Breathes there the man with soul so dead, 
 Who never to himself hath said, 
 This is my own, my native land! 
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, 
 As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, 
 From wandering on a foreign strand ! 
 
SCENES. 197 
 
 If such there breathes, go, mark him well; 
 For him no minstrel raptures swell; 
 High though his titles, proud his name, 
 Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim: 
 Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
 The wretch, concenter'd all in self, 
 Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
 And, doubly dying, shall go down 
 To the vile dust from whence he sprung, 
 Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung. 
 
 Caledonia ! stern and wild, 
 Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 
 
 Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 
 
 Land of the mountain and the flood, 
 
 Land of my sire ! what mortal hand 
 
 Can e'er untie the filial band, 
 
 That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 
 
 Still, as I view each well-known scene, 
 
 Think what is now, and what hath been, 
 
 Seems as, to me, of all bereft, 
 
 Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; 
 
 And thus I love them better still, 
 
 Even in extremity of ill. 
 
 By Yarrow's streams still let me stray, 
 
 Though none should guide my feeble way: 
 
 Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, 
 
 Although it chill my withered cheek; 
 
 Still lay my head by Tiviot stone, 
 
 Though there, forgotten and alone, 
 
 The bard may draw his parting groan. 
 
 Not scorned like me ! Scott 
 
 Scenes. Of Infancy. 
 Sweet scenes of youth, to faithful memory dear, 
 Still fondly cherish'd with the sacred tear, 
 When, in the softened light of summer skies, 
 Full on my soul life's first illusions rise ! 
 Sweet scenes of youthful bliss, unknown to pain I 
 
 1 come, to trace your soothing haunts again, 
 
 r 2 
 
198 SCENES. 
 
 To mark each grace that pleas'd my stripling prime, 
 
 By absence hallow'd, and endear'd by time; 
 
 To lose amid your winding dells the past: — 
 
 Ah! must I think this ling'ring look the last? 
 
 Ye lovely vales, that met my earliest view! 
 
 How oft ye smil'd, when Nature's charms were new! 
 
 Green was her vesture, glowing, fresh and warm, 
 
 And every op'ning grace had power to charm; 
 
 While, as each scene in living lustre rose, 
 
 Each young emotion wak'd from soft repose.— 
 
 As every prospect opens on my view, 
 I seem to live departed years anew; 
 When in these wilds a jocund, sportive child, 
 Each flower self-sown my heedless hours beguil'd: 
 The wabret leaf, that by the pathway grew, 
 The wild-briar rose, of pale and blushful hue, 
 The thistle's rolling wheel, of silken down, 
 The blue-bell, or the daisy's pearly crown, 
 The gaudy butterfly, in wanton round, 
 That, like a living pea-flower, skimm'd the ground. 
 Again I view the cairn, and moss-gray stone, 
 Where oft at eve I wont to muse alone, 
 And vex with curious toil mine infant eye, 
 To count the gems that stud the nightly sky; 
 Or think, as playful fane)*- wander'd far, 
 'How sweet it were to dance from star to star! 
 Again I view each rude romantic glade, 
 Where once with tiny steps my childhood stray'd, 
 To watch the foam-bells of the bubbling brook, 
 Or mark the motions of the clamorous rook, 
 Who saw her nest, close thatch'd with ceaseless toiL 
 At summer eve become the woodman's spoil. 
 
 Sweet scenes! conjoin'd with all that most endears 
 The cloudless morning of mv tender years; 
 With fond regret your haunts I wander o'er, 
 And wand'ring feel myself the child no more: 
 Your forms, your sunny tints, are still the same; 
 But sad the tear which lost affections claim. Leyden, 
 
SCRIBBLER. 199 
 
 Scenes. Of Childhood. 
 
 Dear native brook! like peace, so placidly 
 Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek! 
 Dear native brook! where first young poesy 
 Stard wildly-eager to her noon-tide dream, 
 Where blameless pleasures dimple quiet's cheek, 
 As water-lilies ripple a slow stream! 
 Dear native haunts! where virtue still is gay: 
 Where friendship's fix'd star sheds a mellow'd ray; 
 Where love a crown of thornless roses wears: 
 Where soften'd sorrow smiles within her tears; 
 And mem'ry, with a Vestal's chaste employ, 
 Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of joy! 
 No more your sky-larks melting from the sight 
 Shall thrill th' untuned heart-string with delight: 
 No more shall deck your pensive pleasures sweet 
 With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat. 
 Yet dear to fancy's eye your varied scene 
 Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between! 
 Yet sweet to fancy's ear the warbled song, 
 That soars on morning's wing your vales among. 
 
 Scenes of my hope! the asking eye ye leave, 
 Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve, 
 Tearful and sadd'ning with the sadden'd blaze, 
 Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze; 
 Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, 
 Till chill and damp the moonless night descend. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 Scribbler. Feels little. 
 
 You think this cruel? take it for a rule, 
 No creature smarts so little as a fool. 
 Let peals of laughter, Codrus, round thee break, 
 Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty crack: 
 Pit, box, and gall'ry in convulsions hurl'd; 
 Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world. 
 Who shames a scribbler? break one cobweb thro', 
 He spins the slight self-pleasing thread anew : 
 
200 SCRIBBLERS.* 
 
 Destroy his fib or sophistry in vain, 
 
 The creature 's at his dirty work again. 
 
 Thron'd on the centre of his thin designs, 
 
 Proud of a vast extent of flimsy lines! Pope. 
 
 Scribblers. Their Impertinence. 
 
 e Shut, shut the door, good John!' fatigu'd I said, 
 6 Tie up the knocker, say I 'm sick, I 'm dead. 5 
 The dog-star rages ! nay, 'tis past a doubt, 
 All bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: 
 Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, 
 They rave, recite, and madden round the land. 
 
 What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide : 
 They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide, 
 By land, by water, they renew the charge; 
 They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. 
 No place is sacred, not the church is free, 
 E'en Sunday shines no sabbath-day to me; 
 Then from the mint walks forth the man of rhyme,. 
 Happy! to catch me, just at dinner time. 
 
 Is there a parson, much bemus'd in beer, 
 A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, 
 A clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, 
 Who pens a stanza when he should engross? 
 Is there who, lock'd from ink and paper, scrawls 
 "With desperate charcoal round his darken'd walls' 
 All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain 
 Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. 
 Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws, 
 Imputes to me and my damn'd works, the cause: 
 Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope, 
 And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope. 
 
 Friend to my life ! (which did not you prolong, 
 The world had wanted many an idle song) 
 What drop or nostrum can this plague remove? 
 Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love? 
 A dire dilemma! either way I 'm sped; 
 If foes, they write; if friends, they read me dead> 
 Seiz'd and tied down to judge, how wretched I! 
 Who can't be silent, and who will not lie; 
 
SERVILE. £01 
 
 To laugh were want of goodness and of grace; 
 
 And to be grave, exceeds all power cf face. 
 
 I sit with sad civility; I read 
 
 With honest anguish, and an aching head; 
 
 And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, 
 
 This saving counsel, 'Keep your piece nine years.' 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Sekse. Value of Common Sense. 
 Oft have you hinted to your brother peer, 
 A certain truth, which many buy too dear: 
 Something there is more needful than expense, 
 And something previous even to taste — 'tis sense: 
 Good sense which only is the gift of Heaven, 
 And though no science, fairly worth the seven: 
 A light which in yourself you must perceive; 
 Jones and Le Notre have it not to give. Pcpe 
 
 Servant. Old, his Gratitude. 
 
 But do not so: I have five hundred crowns, 
 The thrifty hire I sard under your father, 
 "Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse, 
 "When service should in my old limbs lie lame, 
 And unregarded age in cornets thrown; 
 Take that, and Ke that doth the ravens feed, 
 Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, 
 Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; 
 All this I give you: Let me be your servant 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Service. In an dd Cathedral. 
 But the place 
 Was holy — the dead air, that underneath 
 Those arches never felt the healthy sun, 
 Nor the free motion of the elements, 
 Chiiiy and damp, infused associate awe: 
 The sacred odours of the incense still 
 Floated, the day-light and the taper flames 
 Commingled, dimming each, and each bedimmed; 
 And as the slow procession paced along, 
 Still to their hymn, as if in symphony, 
 
202 SHEPHERD. 
 
 The regular foot- fall sounded; swelling now, 
 
 Their voices in one chorus, loud and deep, 
 
 Rung o'er the echoing aisle; and when it ceased s 
 
 The silence of that huge and sacred pile 
 
 Came on the heart. What wonder if the Prince 
 
 Yielded his homage now? the influences 
 
 Of that sweet autumn day made every sense 
 
 Alive to every impulse — and he stood 
 
 On his forefathers' dust. Southey, 
 
 Shepherd. Blessings of his Life. 
 O God! methinks, it were a happy life, 
 To be no better than a homely swain; 
 To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 
 To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
 Thereby to see the minutes how they run: 
 How many make the hour full complete, 
 How many hours bring about the day, 
 How many days will finish up the year, 
 How many years a mortal man may live. 
 When this is known then to divide the times: 
 So many hours must I tend my flock; 
 So many hours must I take my rest; 
 So many hours must I contemplate; 
 So many hours must I sport myself; 
 So many days my ewes have been with young; 
 So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; 
 So many years ere I shall shear the fleece; 
 So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, 
 Pass'd over to the end they were created 
 Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
 Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely ! 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 To shepherds, iooking on their silly sheep, 
 Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
 To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
shipwreck. 203 
 
 Shepherd. Going home at Eve. 
 
 His folded flock secure, the shepherd home 
 Hies, merry hearted; and by turns relieves 
 The ruddy milk-maid of her brimming pail; 
 The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart, 
 Unknowing what the joy-mixt anguish means, 
 Sincerely loves, by that best language shown 
 Of cordial glances, and obliging deeds. 
 Onward they pass, o'er many a panting height^ 
 And valley sunk, and unfrequented; where 
 At fall of eve the fairy people throng, 
 In various game and revelry, to pass 
 The summer night, as village-stories tell. 
 But far about they wander from the grave 
 Of him, whom his ungentle fortune urg'd 
 Against his own sad breast to lift the hand 
 Of impious violence. The lonely tower 
 Is also shunn'd; whose mournful chambers hold, 
 So knight-struck fancy dreams, the yelling ghost. 
 
 Thomson, 
 
 Shield. Satan's described. 
 
 His pond'rous shield 
 Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, 
 Behind him cast; the broad circumference 
 Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 
 Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 
 At ev'ning from the top of Fesole, 
 Or in Daldarno, to descry new lands, 
 Rivers, or mountains on her spotty globe. 
 His spear (to equal which the tallest pine 
 Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast 
 Of some great ammiral, were but a wand.) Milton> 
 
 Shipwreck. Described. 
 Her giant-form, 
 O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm. 
 Majestically calm, would go 
 Mid the deep darkness white as snow ' 
 
204 SHIPWRECK. 
 
 But gently now the small waves glide 
 Like playful lambs o'er mountain's side. 
 So stately her bearing, so proud her array, 
 The main she will traverse for ever and aye. 
 Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast ! 
 
 Hush ! hush ! thou vain dreamer ! this hour is her 
 
 last. 
 
 Fife hundred souls in one instant of dread 
 Are hurried o'er the deck; 
 And fast the miserable ship 
 Becomes a lifeless wreck. 
 Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock, 
 Her planks are torn assunder, 
 And down comes her masts with a reeling shock 
 And a hideous crash like thunder, 
 Her sails are draggled in the brine 
 That gladden'd late the skies, 
 And her pendant that kiss'd the fair moonshine, 
 Down many a fathom lies. 
 Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues 
 Gleamed softly from below, 
 And flung a warm and sunny flash 
 O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow, 
 To the coral rocks are hurrying down 
 To sleep amid colours as bright at their own. 
 
 Oh ! many a dream was in the ship 
 An hour before her death; 
 And sights of home with sighs disturb'd 
 The sleepers' long-drawn breath. 
 Instead of the murmur of the sea 
 The sailor heard the humming tree 
 Alive through all its leaves, 
 The hum of the spreading sycamore 
 That grows before his cottage-door, 
 And the swallow's song in the eaves. 
 His arms enclosed a blooming boy, 
 Who listen'd with tears of sorrow and joy 
 To the dangers his father had pass'd; 
 And his wife — by turns she wept and smiled. 
 As she look'd on the father of her child 
 
six. 205 
 
 Returned to her heart at last. 
 
 He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll. 
 
 And the rush of waters is in his soul. — 
 
 Now is the ocean's bosom bare, 
 Unbroken as the floating air; 
 The ship hath melted quite away, 
 Like a struggling dream at break of day, 
 No image meets my wandering eye 
 But thenew-risen sun, and the sunny sky. 
 Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour dull 
 Bedims the waves so beautiful^ 
 While a low and melancholy moan 
 Mourns for the glory that hath flown. Wilson 
 
 Six. Satan's Encounter With. 
 
 The other shape, 
 If shape.it might be call'd that shape had none 
 Distinguishable in member, joint or limb; 
 Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd: 
 For each seem'd either; black it stood as night, 
 Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, 
 And shook a dreadful dart: w T hat seem'd his head 
 The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 
 Satan was now at hand; and from his seat 
 The monster, moving onward, came as fast 
 With horrid strides; hell trembled as he strode. 
 Th' undaunted fiend what this might be admir'd; 
 Admir'd, not fear'd; God and his Son except, 
 Created thing nought valued he, nor shunn'd; 
 And with disdainful look thus first began: — 
 
 (; Whence and what art thou, execrable shape, 
 That darst, though grim and terrible, advance 
 Thy miscreated front athwart my way 
 To yonder gates: through them I mean to pass, 
 That be assur'd, without leave ask'd of thee: 
 Retire, or taste thy folly; and learn by proof, 
 Hell-born, not to contend with spirits of Heav'n.'' 
 
 To whom the goblin, full of wrath, reply'd: 
 M Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he, 
 S 
 
£06 SKULL. 
 
 Who first broke peace in Heav'n and faith, till then 
 Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
 Drew after hirn the third part of HeavVs sons, 
 Conjur'd against the High'st, for which both thou 
 And they, outcast from God, are here condemn'd 
 To waste eternal days in wo and pain ? 
 And reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of Heaven, 
 Hell doom'd, and breath'st defiance here and scorn 
 "Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more, 
 Thy king and lord? Back to thy punishment, 
 False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings, 
 Lest with a whip of scorpions 1 pursue 
 Thy ling'ring, or with one stroke of this dart 
 Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before." 
 
 So spake the grisly terror, and in shape, 
 So speaking and so threat'ning, grew tenfold 
 More dreadful and defoim: on th' other side, 
 Incens'd with indignation, Satan stood 
 Unterrified; and like a comet burn d, 
 That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
 In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
 Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 
 Levell'd his deadly aim; their fatal hands 
 No second stroke intend; and such a frown 
 Each cast at th' other, as when two black clouds, 
 With Heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on 
 Over the Caspian, then stand front to front 
 Hov'ring a space, till winds the signal blow 
 To join their dark encounter in mid air: 
 So frown'd the mighty combatants, that hell 
 Grew darker at their fiown, so match'd they stood; 
 For never bu> once more was either like 
 To meet so great a foe. Milton. 
 
 Skull. Reflections on. 
 Remove yon skull from out the scatter'd heaps; 
 Is that a temple where a God may dwell? 
 Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shattered cell ! 
 
SLAVERY. 207 
 
 Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, 
 Its chambers desolate, and portals foul: 
 Yes. this was once ambition's airy hall, 
 The dome of thought, the palace of the soul: 
 Beriold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, 
 The gay recess of wisdom and of wit, 
 And passion's port, that never brook'd control, 
 Can all, saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, 
 People this lonely tower, this tenement refit? Byron, 
 
 Slavery. Its Sufferings. 
 
 The broken heart which kindness never heals, 
 The home-sick passion which the negro feels, 
 When toiling, fainting:, in the land of canes, 
 His spirit wanders to his native plains; 
 His little lovely dwelling there he sees, 
 Beneath the shade of his paternal trees, 
 The home of comfort: — then before his eyes 
 The terrors of captivity arise. 
 
 — 'Twa* night: — his babes around him lay at rest, 
 Their mother slumbered on their father's breast; 
 A yell of murder rang around their bed; 
 Thev wake; their cottage blaz'd; the victims fled, 
 Forth sprang the ambush'd ruffians on their prey, 
 They caught, they bound, they drove them far away; 
 The white man bought them at the mart of blood, 
 In pestilential barks they cross'd the flood; 
 Then were the wretched one* asunder torn, 
 To distant isles to separate bondage borne, 
 Denied, though sought with tears, the sad relief, 
 That misery loves, — the fellowship of grief. 
 
 The negro, spoil'd of all that nature gave, 
 The free-born man, thus shrunk into a slave, 
 His passive limbs to measur'd tasks conrin'd, 
 Obey'd the impulse of another mind; 
 A silent, secret, terrible control, 
 That ruled his sinews, and repress'd his soul. 
 Not for himself he waked at morning light, 
 Toil'd the long day, and sought repose at night; 
 
308 SLAVES. 
 
 His rest, his labour, pastime, strength, and health, 
 Were only portions of a master's wealth; 
 His love — O, name not love, where Britons doom 
 The fruit of love to slavery from the womb. 
 
 Thus spurn'd, degraded, trampled, and oppress'd, 
 The negro-exile languish'd in the west, 
 With nothing left of life but hated breath, 
 And not a hope except the hope in death, 
 To fly for ever from the Creole strand, 
 And dwell a freeman in his father's land. 
 
 Lives there a savage ruder than the slave ? 
 Cruel as death, insatiate as the grave, 
 False as the winds that round his vessel blow, 
 Remorseless as the gulf that yawns below; 
 Is he who toils upon the wafting flood, 
 A Christian broker in the trade of blood; 
 Boisterous in speech, in action prompt and bold, 
 He buys, he sells, — he steals, he kills for gold. 
 At noon, when sky and ocean, calm and clear, 
 Bend round his bark, one blue, unbroken sphere, 
 When dancing dolphins sparkle through the brine, 
 And sun-beam circles o'er the waters shine; 
 He sees no beauty in the heaven serene, 
 But darkly scowling at the glorious day, 
 Curses the winds that loiter on their way. 
 When swoln with hurricanes the billows rise, 
 To meet the lightning midway from the skies; 
 When from the unburden'd hold his shrieking slaves 
 Are cast, at midnight, to the hungry waves; 
 Not for his crimes the harden'd pirate weeps, 
 But, grimly smiling, when the storm is o'er, 
 Counts his sure gains, and hurries back for more. 
 
 Montgomery- 
 
 Slaves. Disgrace of having them. 
 
 Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys; 
 And, worse than all, and most to be deplor'd 
 As human nature's broadest foulest blot, 
 Chains him and tasks him, and exacts his sweat 
 
SLEEP. 209 
 
 With stripes, that mercy with a bleeding heart 
 Weeps, when she sees inflicted on a beast. 
 Then what is man? And what man, seeing this 3 
 And having human feelings, does not blush, 
 And hang his head, to think himself a man? 
 I would not have a slave to till my ground, — 
 To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 
 And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
 That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. 
 JN"o: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 
 Just estimation priz'd above all price, 
 I had much rather be myself the slave, 
 And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
 We have no slaves at home — then why abroad? 
 And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave 
 That parts us, are emancipate and loos'd. 
 Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs 
 Receive our air, that moment they are free; 
 They touch our country, and their shackles fall, 
 That 's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
 And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, 
 And let it circulate through ev'ry vein 
 Of all your empire: that, when Britain's pow'r 
 Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. Coicper, 
 
 Sleep Dreaming of the Joys of Youth, 
 No — dread, unlooked for, like a visitant 
 From th' other world, he comes as if to haunt 
 Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight, 
 Long lost to all but memory's aching sight: — 
 Sad dreams! as when the spirit of our youth 
 Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth 
 And innocence once ours, and leads us back, 
 In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track 
 Of our young life, and points out every ray 
 Of hope and peace we've lost upon the way! Moore, 
 s 2 
 
210 SLEEP. 
 
 Sleep. Fors&kes the Wretched. 
 
 Tir'd nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! 
 He, like the world, his ready visit pays 
 Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes: 
 Swift on his downy pinion flies from wo, 
 And lights on lids unsullied with a tear. Young, 
 
 Sleep. Oft denied to Ch'eatness. 
 
 Sleep, gentle sleep, 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulness? 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 
 And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; 
 Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, 
 Under the canopies of costly state, 
 And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? 
 O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, 
 In loathsome beds: and leav'st the kingly couch, 
 A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell? 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge; 
 And in the visitation of the winds, 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
 With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds, 
 That, w T ith the hurly, death itself awakes? 
 Canst thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 
 To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude; 
 And, in the calmest and most stillest night, 
 With all appliances and means to boot, 
 Deny it to a king ? Shakspeare. 
 
 Sleep. Restores the Spirits. 
 But oh! — my spirits fail! — sleep's dewy wand 
 Has strok'd my drooping lids to soft repose: 
 Haste, haste, sweet stranger! from the peasant's cot! 
 
snow. 211 
 
 The ship-boy's hammock, or the soldier's straw, 
 Whence sorrow never chas'd thee: with thee bring 
 Not hideous visions, as of late; but draughts 
 Delicious of well-tasted, cordial, rest; 
 Man's rich restorative; his balmy bath, 
 That supplies, lubricates, and keeps in play, 
 The various movements of this nice machine: 
 Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn. Youttg> 
 
 Snow Storm. Man sinking under. 
 
 As thus the snows arise; and foul, and fierce, 
 All winter drives along the darken'd air; 
 In his own loose revolving fields, the swain 
 Disaster'd stands; sees other hills ascend, 
 Of unknown joyless brew; and other scenes, 
 Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain: 
 Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid 
 Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on 
 From hill to dale, still more and more astray; 
 Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, 
 Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of home 
 Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth 
 In many a vain attempt. How sinks his soul ! 
 What black despair, what horror fills his heart! 
 When for the dusky spot, which fancy feign'd 
 His tufted cottage rising through the snow, 
 He meets the roughness of the middle waste, 
 Far from the track, and bless'd abode of man! 
 While round him night resistless closes fast, 
 And every tempest, howling o'er his head, 
 Renders the savage wilderness more wild. 
 Then throng the busy shapes into his mind 
 Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep, 
 A dire descent! beyond the power ©f frost: 
 Of faithless bogs; of precipices huge, 
 Smooth'd up with snow; and what is land unknown , 
 What water of the still unfrozen spring, 
 In the loose marsh, or solitary lake, 
 Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 
 
£12 SOLDIERS. 
 
 These check his fearful steps; and down he sinks 
 Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, 
 Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death, 
 Mix'd with the tender anguish nature shoots 
 Thro' the wrung bosom of the dying man, 
 His wife, his children, and his friends unseen. 
 In vain for him th' officious wife prepares 
 The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm; 
 In vain his little children, peeping out 
 Into the mingling storm, demand their sire, 
 With tears of artless innocence. Alas! 
 Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold, 
 Nor friends, nor sacred home On every nerve 
 The deadly winter seizes; shuts up sense; 
 And, o'e his inmost vitals creeping cold, 
 Lays him along the snows, a stiflen'd corpse, 
 Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blast. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 Society. Misery of being cut off from. 
 Unhappy he! who from the first of joys, 
 Society, cut off, is left alone 
 Amid this world of death Day after day, 
 Sad on the jutting eminence he sits, 
 And views the main that ever toils below; 
 Still fondly forming in the furthest verge, 
 Where the round ether mixes with the wave, 
 Ships, dim-discover'd, dropping from the clouds; 
 At evening, to the sitting sun tie turns 
 A mournful eye, and down his dying heart 
 Sinks helpless; while the wonted roar is up, 
 And hiss continual through the tedious night. Thomson, 
 
 Soldiers. English, Scottish, and Irish. 
 A various host — from kindred realms they came, 
 Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown — 
 For yon fair bands shall merry England claim, 
 And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. 
 Her's their bold port, and her's their martial frown, 
 
SOLITUDE. 213 
 
 And her's their scorn of death in freedom's cause, 
 Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, 
 And the blunt speech that burst without a pause, 
 And freeborn thoughts, which league the soldier with 
 the laws. 
 
 And O! loved warriors of the minstrel's land! 
 Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave! 
 The rugged form may mark the mountain band, 
 And harsher features, and a mien more grave: 
 But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave 
 As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid; 
 And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, 
 And level for the charge your arms are laid, 
 Where lives the desperate foe, that for such onset staid I 
 
 Hark ! from yon stately rank what laughter rings, 
 Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy, 
 His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings, 
 And moves to death with military glee: 
 Boast, Erin, boast them! tameless, frank, and free, 
 In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, 
 Rough nature's children, humorous as she: 
 And he, yon chieftain — strike the proudest tone 
 Of thy bold harp, green isle! — the hero is thine own. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Solicitation. The Season for. 
 He was not taken well; he had not dined: 
 The veins unfiU'd, our blood is cold, and then 
 We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
 To give or to forgive; but when we have stufFd 
 These pipes and these conveyances of our blood 
 With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
 Than in our priest-like fasts; therefore I'll watch him 
 Till he be dieted to my request. Shakspeare. 
 
 Solitude. Feelings excited by. 
 I am monarch of all I survey, 
 My right there is none to dispute: 
 
214 SOLITUDE. 
 
 From the centre all round to the sea ? 
 I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 
 
 solitude ! where are the charms 
 That sages have seen in thy face ? 
 Better dwell in the midst of alarms. 
 Than reign in this horrible place. 
 
 1 am out of humanity's reach, 
 
 I must finish my journey alone, 
 
 Never hear the sweet music of speech, 
 
 I start at the sound of my own. 
 
 The beasts, that roam over the plain, 
 
 My form with indifference see; 
 
 They are so unacquainted with man, 
 
 Their tameness is shocking to me. Cowper. 
 
 Solitude. Bad Effects of 
 
 For solitude, however some may rave. 
 Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, 
 A sepulchre in which the living lie, 
 Where all good qualities grow sick and die. 
 I praise the Frenchman, his remark was shrewd — 
 How sweet, how passing sweet is solitude ! 
 But grant me still a friend in my retreat, 
 Whom I may whisper — solitude is sweet. Cowper. 
 
 Solitude. Worst kind of. 
 To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 
 To slowly trace the forest'a shady scene, 
 Where things that own not mans dominion dwell. 
 And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been; 
 To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, 
 With the wild flock that never needs a fold, 
 Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; 
 This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold 
 Converse with nature's charm, and see her stores 
 unroll'd. 
 
 But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, 
 To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, 
 
SONG. £15 
 
 And roam along, the world's tir'd denizen, 
 With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; 
 Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! 
 None that, with kindred consciousness endued. 
 If we were not, would seem to smile the less 
 Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought and sued: 
 This is to be alone*, this, this is solitude! Byron, 
 
 Solitude. Preferred to a Court Life. 
 Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, 
 Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
 Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods 
 More free from peril than the envious court? 
 Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
 The seasons' difference; as the icy fang, 
 And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; 
 Which, when it bites, and blows upon my body, 
 Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, 
 This is no flattery: these are counsellors 
 That feelingly persuade me what I am. Shakspeare. 
 
 Song. Of the Young Bard Caradoc. 
 
 Inclining on his harp, 
 He, while his comrades in probation song 
 Approved their claim, stood harkening, as it seemed; 
 And yet like unintelligible sounds 
 He heard the symphony and voice attuned: 
 Even in such feelings as, all undefined, 
 Come with the flow of waters to the soul, 
 Or with the motions of the moonlight sky. 
 But when his bidding came, he, at the call 
 Arising from the dreamy mood, advanced, 
 Threw back his mantle, and began the lay. 
 
 Where are the sons of Gavran? where his tribe 
 The faithful? Following their beloved chief, 
 They the green islands of the ocean sought. 
 Nor human tongue hath told, nor human ear, 
 Since from the silver shores they went their way, 
 
216 SORROW. 
 
 Hath heard their fortunes. In his chrystal ark, 
 Whither sailed Merlin with his band of bards, 
 Old Merlin, master of the mystic lore? 
 Belike his chrystal ark, instinct with life, 
 Obedient to the mighty master, reached 
 The land of the departed: there, belike, 
 They in the clime of immortality, 
 Themselves immortal, drink the gales of bliss. 
 That o'er Flathinnis breathe eternal spring, 
 That blend whatever odours make the gale 
 Of evening sweet, whatever melody 
 Charms the wood-traveller. In their high-roofed halls 
 There, with the chiefs of other days, feel they 
 The mingled joy pervade them? — Or beneath 
 The mid-sea waters, did that chrystal ark 
 Down to the secret depths of ocean plunge 
 Its fated crew: Dwell they in coral bowers 
 With mermaid loves, teaching their paramours 
 The songs that stir the sea, or make the winds 
 Hush, and the waves be still? In fields of joy 
 Have they their home, where central fires maintain 
 Perpetual summer, where one emerald light 
 Through the green element for ever flows? Southey. 
 
 Sorrow. Deep Female Sorrow Described. 
 Pelayo stood confused: he had not seen 
 Count Julian's daughter, since, in Roddick's court, 
 Glittering in beauty and in innocence, 
 A radiant vision, in her joy she moved: 
 More like a poet's dream, in form divine, 
 Heaven's prototype of perfect womanhood, 
 So lovely was the presence, — than a thing 
 Of earth and perishable elements. 
 Now, had he seen her in her winding sheet, 
 Less painful would that spectacle have proved: 
 For peace is with the dead, and piety 
 Bringeth a patient hope to those who mourn 
 O'er the departed; but this alter'd face, 
 Bearing its deadly sorrow character'd. 
 
SOUNDS. 21 T 
 
 Came like a ghost, which in the grave 
 Could find no rest. He taking her cold hand, 
 Raised her, and would have spoken; but his tongue 
 Fail'd in its office; and could only speak 
 In under-tone compassionate her name. 
 
 The voice of pity sooth'd, and melted her, 
 And when the prince bade her be comforted, 
 Proffering his zealous aid in whatsoe'er 
 Might please her to appoint, a feeble smile 
 Past slowly over her pale countenance 
 Like moonlight on a marble statue. Southey. 
 
 Souxds. Rural 
 
 Nor rural sights, alone, but rural sounds, 
 Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
 The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, 
 That sweep the skirt of some far spreading wood 
 Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 
 The dash of ocean on his winding shore, 
 And lull the spirit while they fill the mind; 
 Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast, 
 And all their leaves fast flutt'ring, all at once. 
 Nor less composure waits upon the roar 
 Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
 Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that slip 
 Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall 
 Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 
 In matted grass, that with a livelier green 
 Betrays the secret of their silent course. Cowper* 
 
 Sounds. From the Village, 
 
 Sweet was the sound, when oft at ev'ning's close. 
 Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; 
 There as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, 
 The mingling notes came soften'd from below; 
 The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, 
 The sober herd that low'd to meet their youngj 
 The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
 The playful children just let loose from school; 
 T 
 
218 SPLEEK. 
 
 The watch -dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring wind , 
 And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind. 
 
 Goldsmith, 
 Spirits. Their Nature. 
 
 For Spirits, when they please, 
 Can either sex assume, or both; so soft 
 And uncompounded is their essence pure, 
 Not ty'd or manacled with joint or limb, 
 Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones, 
 Like cumbrous flesh; but in what shape they choose, 
 Dilated or condens'd, bright or obscure, 
 Can execute their airy purposes, 
 And works of love or enmity fulfil. Milton. 
 
 Spirits. Animal. 
 
 There is, I grant, a triumph of the pulse; 
 A dance of spirits, a mere froth of joy, 
 That mantles high, that sparkles and expires, 
 Leaving the soul more vapid than before; 
 An animal ovation ! such as holds 
 No commerce with our reason, but subsists 
 On juices thro' the well-ton'd tubes, well-strain'd; % 
 A nice machine! scarce ever tun'd aright; 
 But when it jars, the syrens sing no more. Young 
 Spleen. Acts in various ways. 
 
 Hail, wayward queen! 
 "Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen: 
 Parent of vapours, and of female wit, 
 Who gives th' hysteric or poetic fit; 
 On various tempers act, by various ways, 
 Make some take physic, others scribble plays; 
 Who cause the proud their visits to delay, 
 And send the godly in a pet to pray. Pope. 
 
 Spleen. Rare in the Country. 
 
 The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns; 
 The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown, 
 And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort, 
 And mar the face of beauty, when no cause 
 For such immeasurable wo appears, 
 These Flora banishes, and gives the fair 
 Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own. 
 
SPRING. 219 
 
 It is the constant revolution, stale 
 
 And tasteless, of the same repeated joys, 
 
 That palls and satiates, and makes languid life 
 
 A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down. 
 
 Health suffers, and the spirits ebb, the heart 
 
 Recoils from its own choice — at the full feast 
 
 Is famish'd — finds no music in the song, 
 
 No smartness in the jest; and wonders why. Cowper. 
 
 Spring. Address to. 
 
 Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd hours, 
 Fair Venus' train, appear; 
 Disclose the long-expected flow'rs, 
 And wake the purple year ! 
 The Attic warbler pours her throat, 
 Responsive to the cuckoo's note, 
 The untaught harmony of spring; 
 While, whisp'ring pleasure as they fly 9 
 Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky 
 Their gather'd fragrance fling. 
 
 "Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 
 A broader, browner shade^ 
 Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 
 O'er-canopies the glade; 
 Beside some water's rushy brink 
 With me the muse shall sit, and think 
 (At ease reclhvd in rustic state) 
 How vain the ardour of the crowd, 
 How low, how little are the proud, 
 How indigent the great ! 
 
 Still is the toiling hand of care; 
 
 The panting herds repose: 
 
 Yet, hark, how thro' the peopled air 
 
 The busy murmur glows ! 
 
 The insect youth are on the wing, 
 
 Eager to taste the honey'd spring, 
 
 And float amid the liquid noon: 
 
 Some lightly o'er the current skim, 
 
 Some show their gayly -gilded trim 
 
 Quick-glancing to the sun. 
 
220 SPRING. 
 
 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 thro' life's little day, 
 
 In fortune's varying colours drest: 
 
 Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance, 
 
 Or chill'd by age, their airy dance, 
 
 They leave, in dust to rest. Gray 
 
 Spring. Melancholy Reflections on. 
 Few are thy days, and full of wo, 
 
 O man, of woman born! 
 Thy doom is written, " Dust thou art, 
 
 And shalt to dust return." 
 Behold the emblem of thy state 
 
 In flow'rs that bloom and die, 
 Or in the shadow's fleeting form, 
 
 That mocks the gazer's eye. 
 Guilty and frail, how shalt thou stand 
 
 Before thy sov'reign Lord? 
 Can troubled and polluted springs 
 
 A hallow d stream afford ? 
 Determin'd are the days that fly 
 
 Successive o'er thy head; 
 The number'd hour is on the wing 
 
 That lays thee with the dead. 
 Great God ! afflict not in thy wrath 
 
 The short allotted span 
 That bounds the few and weary days 
 
 Of pilgrimage to man. 
 All nature dies, and lives again: 
 
 The flow'r that paints the field, 
 The trees that crown the mountain's brow, 
 
 And boughs and blossoms yield, 
 
 Kesign the honours of their form 
 
 At winter's stormy blast, 
 And leave the naked leafless plain 
 
 A desolated waste. 
 
STAG. £21 
 
 Yet soon reviving plants and flow'rs 
 
 A new shall deck the plain: 
 The woods shall hear the voice of Spring, 
 
 And flourish green again. 
 But man forsakes this earthly scene, 
 
 Ah! never to return: 
 Shall any folPwing spring revive 
 
 The ashes of the urn? 
 The mighty flood that rolls along 
 
 Its torrents to the main, 
 Can ne'er recal its waters lost 
 
 From that abyss again. 
 
 So days, and years, and ages past, 
 
 Descending down to night, 
 Can henceforth never more return 
 
 Back to the gates of light; 
 And man. when laid in lonesome grave, 
 
 Shall sleep in death's dark gloom, 
 Until th' eternal morning wake 
 
 The slumbers of the tomb. 
 O may the grave become to me 
 
 The bed of peaceful rest, 
 Whence I shall gladly rise at length, 
 
 And mingle with the blest ! 
 Cheer d by this hope, with patient mind, 
 
 I '11 wait Heav'n's high decree, 
 Till the appointed period come, 
 
 When death shall set me fiee. Logan 
 
 Stag. Wounded. 
 
 Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: 
 To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, 
 That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, 
 Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, 
 The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, 
 That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
 Almost to bursting; and the big round tears 
 Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
 t 2 
 
222 STATE. 
 
 In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, 
 
 Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
 
 Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
 
 Augmenting it with tears. Shakspeare. 
 
 ^tars. Their fate. 
 Roll on, ye stars, exult in youthful prime, 
 Mark with bright curves the printless steps of time; 
 Near and more near your beamy cars approach, 
 And lessening orbs on lessening orbs encroach. 
 Flowers of the sky! ye too to age must yield, 
 Frail as your silken sisters of the field ! 
 Star after star from heaven's bright arch shall rush, 
 Suns sink on suns, and systems systems crush, 
 Headlong, extinct, to one dark centre fall, 
 And death, and night, and chaos mingle all! 
 Till o'er the wreck, emerging from the storm, 
 Immortal nature lifts her changeful form; 
 Mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of flame, 
 And soars and shines another and the same. Dancin. 
 
 State. What Constitutes one. 
 What constitutes a state? 
 
 Not high-rais'd battlement and labour'd mound, 
 Thick wall, or moated gate; 
 
 .Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowird: 
 Not bays and broad-arm'd ports, 
 
 Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride: 
 Not starr'd and spangled courts, 
 
 "Where low-bred baseness wafts perfume to pride: 
 No — men, high-minded men, 
 
 With powers as far above dull brutes endu'd 
 In forest, brake, or den, 
 
 As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude: 
 Men, who their duties know, 
 
 But know their rights: and, knowing, dare maintain, 
 Prevent the long-aim'd blow, 
 
 And crush the tyrant, while they rend the chain. 
 These constitute a state: 
 
 And sovereign law, that state's collected will. 
 
STATION. X>23 
 
 O'er thrones and globes elate, 
 Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. Jones. 
 
 Statesmen-. Fox arid Pitt. 
 With more than mortal powers endowed, 
 How high they soared above the crowd! 
 Theirs was no common party race, 
 Jostling by dark intrigue for place; 
 Like fabled gods, their mighty war 
 Shook realms and nations in its jar; 
 Beneath each banner proud to stand, 
 Looked up the noblest of the land, 
 Till through the British world were known 
 The names of Pitt and Fox alone, 
 Spells of such force no wizard grave 
 E'er fram'd in dark Thessalian cave, 
 Though his could drain the ocean dry, 
 And force the planets from the sky. 
 These spells are spent, and spent with these, 
 The wine of life is on the lees. 
 Genius, and taste, and talent gone, 
 For ever tombed beneath the stone, 
 Where, — taming thought to human pride!— 
 The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
 Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
 'Twill trickle to his rival's bier: 
 O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, 
 And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
 The solemn echo seems to cry. — 
 " Here let their discord with them die; 
 Speak not for those a separate doom, 
 Whom fate made brothers in the tomb, 
 But search the land of living men, 
 Where wilt thou find their like again?" Scott- 
 
 Station. Exalted. 
 What is station high? 
 Tis a proud mendicant: it boasts, and begs; 
 It begs an alms of homage from the throng, 
 And oft the throng denies its charity. 
 Monarchs, and ministers, are awful names; 
 
224 STUDY. 
 
 Whoever wear them, challenge our devoir. 
 
 Religion, public order, both exact 
 
 External homage, and a supple knee, 
 
 To beings pompously set up, to serve 
 
 The meanest slave; all more is merit's due; 
 
 Her sacred and inviolable right, 
 
 Nor ever paid the monarch, but the man. 
 
 Our hearts ne'er bow but to superior worth; 
 
 Nor ever fail of their allegiance there. 
 
 Fools indeed drop the man in their account, 
 
 And vote the mantle into majesty. Young. 
 
 Storm. Jin approaching One* 
 The day is lowering — stilly black 
 Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack, 
 Dispersed and wild, 'twixt earth and sky 
 
 Hangs like a shatter'd canopy ! 
 
 On earth 'twas yet all calm around, 
 
 A pulseless silence; dread, profound, 
 
 More awful than the tempest's sound. 
 
 The diver steer'd for Ormus' bowers, 
 
 And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours; 
 
 The sea-birds, with portentous screech, 
 
 Flew fast to land; — upon the beach 
 
 The pilot oft had paus'd, with glance 
 
 Turn'd upward to that wild expanse; 
 
 And all was boding, drear and dark 
 
 As her own soul, when Hinda's bark 
 
 Went slowly from the Persian shore — 
 
 No music timed her parting oar, 
 
 Nor friends upon the lessening strand 
 
 Linger'd, to wave the unseen hand, 
 
 Or speak the farewell, heard no more; — 
 
 But lone, unheeded, from the bay 
 
 The vessel takes its mournful way, 
 
 Like some ill-destin'd bark that steers 
 
 In silence through the Gate of Tears. Moore. 
 
 Study. Excessive, Folly of. 
 Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, 
 That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks: 
 
suicide. 225 
 
 Small have continual plodders ever won, 
 Save base authority from others' books. 
 
 These earthly god fathers of heaven's lights, 
 That give a name to every fixed star, 
 
 Have no more profit of their shining nights, 
 
 Than those that walk and wot not what they are. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Study. Often Trifling. 
 
 If not to some peculiar end assign'd, 
 Study 's the specious trifling of the mind; 
 Or is at best a secondary aim, 
 A chace for sport alone, and not for game. Young h 
 
 Suicide. The. 
 I mark'd his desultory pace, 
 His gestures strange, and varying face, 
 
 With many a mutter'd sound; 
 And ah ! too late aghast I view'd 
 The reeking blade, the hand imbru'd; 
 He fell, and groaning grasp'd in agony the ground, 
 
 Full many a melancholy night 
 
 He watch'd the slow return of light; 
 
 And sought the powers of sleep, 
 To spread a momentary calm 
 O'er his sad couch, and in the balm 
 Of bland oblivion's dews his burning eyes to steep, 
 
 Full oft, unknowing and unknown 
 He wore his endless noons alone, 
 
 Amid the autumnal wood; 
 Oft was he wont, in hasty fit, 
 Abrupt the social board to quit, 
 And gaze with eager glance upon the tumbling flood, 
 
 Beck'ning the wretch to torments new, 
 Despair, for ever in his view, 
 
 A spectre pale, appear'd; 
 While, as the shade of eve arose, 
 And brought the day's unwelcome close, 
 More horrible and huge her giant-shape she rear'd 
 
2£6 SUNSHINE. 
 
 " Is this," mistaken scorn will cry, 
 " Is this the youth whose genius high 
 
 Could build the genuine rhyme ? 
 Whose bosom mild the fav'ring rr.use 
 Had stor'd with all her ample views, 
 Parent of fairest deeds, and purposes sublime? 55 
 
 Ah ! from the muse that bosom mild 
 By treach'rous magic was beguil'd, 
 
 To strike the deathful blow : 
 She fill'd his soft ingenuous mind 
 With many a feeling too refin'd, 
 And rous'd to livelier pangs his wakeful sense of wo. 
 
 Though doomed hard penury to prove, 
 And the sharp stings of hopeless love; 
 
 To griefs congenial prone, 
 More wounds than nature gave he knew, 
 While misery's form his fancy drew 
 In dark ideal hues, and horrors not his own. 
 
 Then wish not o'er his earthly tomb 
 The baneful night shade's lurid bloom 
 
 To drop its deadly dew: 
 Nor, oh! forbid the twisted thorn, 
 That rudely binds his turf forlorn, 
 With spring's green swelling buds to vegetate anew, 
 
 Warlon 
 
 Sunshine. Its Poicer. 
 
 Blest power of sunshine ! genial day, 
 What balm, what life are in thy ray! 
 To feel thee is such real bliss, 
 That had the world no joy but this, 
 To sit in sunshine calm and sweet, — 
 It were a world too exquisite 
 For man to leave it for the gloom, 
 The deep cold shadow of the tomb ! Moore 
 
 Sunshine. Effects of a Bright Day. 
 There was not, on that day, a speck to stain 
 The azure heaven; the blessed sun alone. 
 In unapproachable divinity, 
 
Swiss. 227 
 
 Careered, rejoicing in his fields of light. 
 
 How beautiful beneath the bright blue sky, 
 
 The billows heave 1 one glowing green expanse^ 
 
 Save where along the bending line of shore 
 
 Such hue is thrown, as when the peacock's neck 
 
 Assumes its proudest tint of amethyst, 
 
 Embathed in emerald glory. All the flocks 
 
 Of ocean are abroad: like floating foam, 
 
 The sea-gulls rise and fall upon the waves; 
 
 With long protruded neck the cormorants 
 
 "Wing their far flight aloft, and round and round 
 
 The plovers wheel, and give their note of joy. 
 
 It was a day that sent into the heart 
 
 A summer feeling; even the insect swarms 
 
 From their dark nooks and coverts issued forth. 
 
 For one day of existence more, and joy; 
 
 The solitary primrose, on the bank, 
 
 Seemed now as though it had no cause to mourn 
 
 Its bleak autumnal birth; the rocks, and shores, 
 
 And everlasting mountains, had put on 
 
 The smile of that glad sunshine, — they partook 
 
 The universal blessing. Souihey. 
 
 Swiss. Character of, 
 Turn we to survey 
 Where rougher climes a nobler race display; 
 Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread- 
 And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. 
 No product here the barren hills afford, 
 But man and steel, the soldier and his sword: 
 No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, 
 But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May; 
 No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, 
 But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. 
 Tet still, ev'n here, content can spread a charm> 
 Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. 
 Tho' poor the peasant's hut, his feasts tho' small. 
 He sees his little lot the lot of all; 
 Sees no contiguous palace rear its head 
 To shame the meanness of his humble shed; 
 
£28 SYLPHS. 
 
 No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal 
 
 To make him loathe his vegetable meal; 
 
 But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, 
 
 Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil, 
 
 Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose; 
 
 Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes; 
 
 With patient angle trolls the finny deep, 
 
 Or drives his vent 5 rous ploughshare to the steep; 
 
 Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, 
 
 And drags the struggling savage into day. 
 
 At night returning, every labour sped, 
 
 He sits him down, the monarch of a shed; 
 
 ♦Smiles by his cheerful fiie, and round surveys 
 
 His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; 
 
 While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, 
 
 Displays the cleanly platter on her board; 
 
 And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, 
 
 With many a tale repays the nightly bed. Goldsmith* 
 
 Sycophant. His Subserviency. 
 
 Who 'd be a crutch to prop a rotten peer? 
 Or living pendant dangling at his ear, 
 For ever whisp'ring secrets which were blown 
 For months before, by trumpets, thro' the town? 
 Who M be a glass, with flattering grimace, 
 Still to reflect the temper of his face ? 
 Or happy pin to stick upon his sleeve, 
 When my lord 's gracious, and vouchsafes it leave? 
 Or cushion, when his heaviness shall please 
 To loll, or thump it for his better ease? 
 Or a vile butt, for noon or night bespoke, 
 When the peer rashly swears he '11 club his joke? — 
 With terms like these how mean the tribe that close ! 
 Scarce meaner they who terms like these impose. 
 
 Voung. 
 
 Sylphs. Their Province. 
 
 Our humbler province is to tend the fair, 
 Not a less pleasing, tho' less glorious care; 
 To save the powder from too rude a gale, 
 Nor let the imprisoned essences exhale; 
 
 
SYSTEMS, 229 
 
 To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow'rs; 
 
 To steal from rainbows, ere they drop in show'rs, 
 
 A brighter wash; to curl their waving hairs, 
 
 Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs; 
 
 Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow, 
 
 To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. Pope* 
 
 Sylphs. Tkeir Punishment 
 Whatever spirit, careless of his charge, 
 His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large, 
 Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins, 
 Be stopp'd in vials, or transfixed with pins; 
 Or plung'd in lakes of bitter washes lie, 
 Or wedg'd whole ages in a bodkin's eye: 
 Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain, 
 While clogg'd he beats his silken wings in vain; 
 Or alum styptics with contracting pow'r, 
 Shrink his thin essence like a shrivelPd flow'r: 
 Or, as Ixion fix'd, the wretch shall feel 
 The giddy motion of the whirling wheel; 
 In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow, 
 And tremble at the sea that froths below. Pope. 
 
 Systems. Makers of, Ridiculed. 
 Some drill and bore 
 The solid earth, and from the strata there 
 Extract a register, by which we learn, 
 That he who made it, and reveal'd its date 
 To Moses, was mistaken in its age. 
 Some, more acute, and more industrious still, 
 Contrive creation: travel nature up 
 To the sharp peak of her sublimest height, 
 And tell us whence the stars: why some are fix'd, 
 And planetary some; what gave them first 
 Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light: 
 Great contest follows, and much learn'd dust 
 Involves the combatants; each claiming truth, 
 And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend 
 The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp 
 U 
 
£30 TALAVERA. 
 
 In playing tricks with nature, giving laws 
 
 To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. 
 
 Is 't not a pity now that tickling rheums 
 
 Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight. 
 
 Of oracles like these ? Great pity too, 
 
 That having wielded th' elements, and built 
 
 A thousand systems, each in his own way, 
 
 They should go out in fume, and be forgot. Coiwper* 
 
 Talavera. Battle of. 
 Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? 
 Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? 
 Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote; 
 Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 
 Tyrants and tyrants' slaves? — The fires of death, 
 The bale-fires flash on high; — from rock to rock 
 Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe; 
 Death rides upon the sulphury siroc, 
 
 Red battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock* 
 Lo! where the giant on the mountain stands, 
 His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun, 
 With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, 
 And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; 
 
 • Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon 
 Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet 
 Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done: 
 For on this morn three potent nations meet, 
 
 To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most 
 sweet. 
 Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; 
 Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; 
 Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies; 
 The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, victory! 
 The foe, the victim, and the fond ally, 
 That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, 
 Are met — as if at home they could not die- 
 To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, 
 
 And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. 
 There shall they rot — ambition's honour'd fools! 
 Yes, honour decks the turf that wraps their clay 
 
TALK. 231 
 
 Vain sophistry! in these behold the tools, 
 The broken tools, that tyrants cast away 
 By myriads, where they dare to pave their way 
 VVith human hearts — to what? — a dream alone. 
 Can despots compass aught that hails their sway? 
 Or call with truth one span of earth their own, 
 Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone 
 
 Byron, 
 
 Tale. What it should be. 
 A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct; 
 The language plain, and incidents well link'd; 
 Tell not as new what ev'ry body knows, 
 And, new or old, still hasten to a close; 
 There, centring in a focus round and neat, 
 Let all your rays of information meet. 
 What neither yields us profit nor delight 
 Is like a nurse's lullaby at night; 
 Guy Earl of Warwick and Fair Eleanore, 
 Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 Talents. Confined. 
 One science only will one genius fit; 
 So vast is art, so narrow human wit: 
 Not only bounded to peculiar arts, 
 But oft in those confin'd to single parts. 
 Like kings, we lose the conquests gain'd before. 
 By vain ambition still to make them more: 
 Each might his servile province well command, 
 Would all but stoop to what they understand. Pope. 
 
 Talk. Fashionable. 
 
 In various talk the instructive hours they pass'd, 
 Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; 
 One speaks the glory of the British queen, 
 And one describes a charming Indian screen; 
 A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; 
 At ev'ry word a reputation dies. 
 Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat; 
 With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. Pope. 
 
232 
 
 Tam O'Shanter. 
 
 Weel mounted on his gray mare Jtfeg, 
 (A better never lifted leg,) 
 Tam skelpit on through dub and mire, 
 Despisin wind, and rain, and fire; 
 Whyles haudin fast his guid blue bonnet; 
 Whyles croonin o'er some auld Scots sonnet; 
 Whyles glow'rin round wi' prudent cares, 
 Lest bogles catch him unawares: 
 Kirk-Alloway was drawin nigh, 
 Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.— 
 
 By this time he was cross the ford, 
 Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; 
 And past the birks and muckle stane, 
 Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; 
 And through the whins, and by the cairn, 
 Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn: 
 x\nd near the thorn, aboon the well, 
 
 Whare Mungo's mither hang'd herself. 
 
 When, glimmerin through the groanin trees, 
 Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; 
 Through ilka bore the beams were glancin, 
 And loud resounded mirth and dancin. 
 
 And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight! 
 Warlocks and witches in a dance; 
 Nae cotillon brent new frae France, 
 But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 
 Put life and mettle in their heels. 
 A winnock-bunker in the east, 
 There sat Jluld Nick, in shape o' beast; 
 A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 
 To gie them music was his charge: 
 He screw'd the pipes, and gart them skirl,, 
 
 Till roof and rafters a 5 did dirl. 
 
 Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
 That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses: 
 And by some devilish cantrip slight, 
 Each in his cauld hand held a light. — 
 By which heroic Tam was able, 
 To note upon the haly table, 
 
TENTS. %oo 
 
 A murd'rers banes in gibbet-aiins; 
 
 Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; 
 
 A thief, new cutted frae a rape, 
 
 Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; 
 
 Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted; 
 
 Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; 
 
 A garter, which a babe had strangl'd; 
 
 A knife, a father's throat had mangl'd, 
 
 Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 
 
 The gray hairs yet stack to the heft; 
 
 Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
 
 Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. Burns, 
 
 Tears. Different Causes of . 
 
 Our funeral tears from different causes rise: 
 Of various kinds they flow. From tender hearts, 
 By soft contagion eall'd, some burst at once, 
 And stream obsequious to the leading eye. 
 Some ask more time, by curious art distilPd. 
 Some hearts, in secret hard, unapt to melt, 
 Struck by the public eye, gush out amain. 
 Some weep to share the fame of the deceas'd, 
 So high in merit, and to them so dear: 
 They dwell on praises, which they think they share. 
 Some mourn in proof that something they could love, 
 They weep not to relieve their grief, but show. 
 Some weep in perfect justice to the dead, 
 As conscious all their love is in arrear. 
 Some mischievously weep, not unappriz'd, 
 Tears, sometimes, aid the conquest of an eye. 
 As seen through crystal, how their roses glow, 
 While liquid pearl, runs trickling down their cheek. 
 By kind construction some are deem'd to weep, 
 Because a decent veil conceals their joy. Young, 
 
 Tents. Of an Army s their Effect. 
 
 Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way. 
 Where all was waste and silent yesterday? 
 This city of war which, in a few short hours, 
 Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers 
 u 2 
 
234 THAMES. 
 
 Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star, 
 
 Built the high pillar'd halls of Chilminar, 
 
 Had conjur'd up, far as the eye can see, 
 
 This world of tents and domes and sun-bright armory !— • 
 
 But y ester eve, so motionless around, 
 
 So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound 
 
 But the far torrent, or the locust bird 
 
 Hunting among the thickets, could be heard; 
 
 Yet hark! what discords now, of every kind, 
 
 Shouts, laughs, and screams are revelling in the wind ! 
 
 The neigh of cavalry; — the tinkling throngs 
 
 Of laden camels and their drivers' songs; — 
 
 Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze 
 
 Gf streamers from ten thousand canopies; — 
 
 War music, bursting out from time to time 
 
 With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime. Moore 
 
 Teyiot. 
 
 Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide, 
 
 The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; 
 No longer steel-clad warriors ride 
 
 Along thy wild and willowed shore; 
 Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hill, 
 All, all is peaceful, all is still, 
 
 As if thy waves, since time was born, 
 Since first they rolled their way to Tweed, 
 Had only heard the shepherd's reed, 
 
 Nor started at the bugle horn. 
 Unlike the tide of human time, 
 
 Which, though it change in ceaseless flow. 
 Retains each grief, retains each crime, 
 
 Its earliest course was doomed to know; 
 And, darker as it downward bears, 
 Is stained with past and present tears. Scott> 
 
 Thames. 
 
 And thy'stream, O Thames, 
 Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods! 
 Chose for his grand resort. On either hand, 
 Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts 
 Shot up their spires; the bellying sheet between 
 
[OUGHT. 
 
 Possess'd the breezy void: the sooty hulk 
 
 glee on; the splendid barge along 
 
 RowM, regular, to harmony: around, 
 
 The boat, light-skimming, stretch'd its oary wings; 
 
 While deep the various voice of fervent toil 
 
 From bank to bank increased; whence ribb'd with 
 
 oak, 
 To bear the British thunder, black, and bold, 
 The roaring vessel rush'd into the main. Thornton 
 Thames, 
 My eye, descending from the eys 
 
 Where Thames ays. 
 
 Thames, the - sons 
 
 By his to his embraces runs; 
 
 - sea, 
 Like mortal life to meet eternity. 
 
 bee, and make thy stream 
 My great example, as it is my theme! 
 Tho' deep, yet cl dull; 
 
 mg full. D«»n/*am. 
 
 Theology. The W 
 The world ? s a system of 
 Read by the greatest strangers to the schools, 
 If honest. Keara'd; and sages o'er a plough. Young. 
 
 Thing?. Little, great tc Man* 
 Say. 
 That good which makes each humbler bosom vain? 
 Let schoc _ ide dissemble all it can, 
 
 These little things are great to little man, Goldsmith. 
 
 Thought, Its Difference from Reverie. 
 
 Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem 
 As natural as when asleep to dream; 
 But reveries (for human mind- will act) 
 Specious in show, impossible in fact, 
 Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought, 
 Attain not to the dignity of thought; 
 Nor yet the swarms, that occupy the brain, 
 Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign. 
 
£36 thought. 
 
 Nor such as useless conversation breeds, 
 Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. 
 Whence, and what are we? to what end ordain'd? 
 What means the drama by the world sustain'd? 
 Business or vain amusement, care or mirth, 
 Divide the frail inhabitants of earth, 
 Is duty a mere sport, or an employ? 
 Life an intrusted talent, or a toy? Cowper* 
 
 Thoughts. To be well guarded. 
 
 Who does the best his circumstance allows, 
 Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more. 
 Our outward act, indeed, admits restraint; 
 'Tis not in things o'er thought to domineer; 
 Guard well thy thoughts; our thoughts are heard in 
 heaven. 
 
 On all important time, thro' eveiy age, 
 Tho' much, and warm, the wise have urg'd; the man 
 Is yet unborn who duly weighs an hour. 
 " I 've lost a day" — the prince who nobly cry'd, 
 Had been an emperor without his crown. Young . 
 
 Thought. Painful, to be Avoided. 
 But 'tis not thought (for still the soul 's employ'd ? ) 
 ? Tis painful thinking, that corrodes our clay. 
 All day the vacant eye without fatigue 
 Strays o'er the heaven and earth; but long intent 
 On microscopic arts its vigour fails. 
 Just to the mind, with various thought amus'd, 
 Nor aches itself, nor gives the body pain; 
 But anxious study, discontent, and care, 
 Love without hope, and hate without revenge. 
 And fear, and jealousy, fatigue the soul, 
 Engross the subtle ministers of life, 
 And spoil the lab'ring functions of their share. 
 Hence the lean gloom that melancholy wears, 
 The lover's paleness, and the sallow hue 
 Of envy, jealousy, the meagre stare 
 Of sore revenge: the canker'd body hence 
 Betrays each fretful motion of the mind. 
 
 
TIME. 237 
 
 The strong built pedant, who, both night and day- 
 Feeds on the coarsest fare the schools bestow, 
 And crudely fattens at gross Burman's stall; 
 O'erwhelm'd with phlegm lies in a dropsy drown'd, 
 Or sinks in lethargy before his time. Armstrong. 
 
 Thresher. 
 Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms 
 We may discern the thresher at his task. 
 Thump after thump resounds the constant flail, 
 That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 
 Full on the destin'd ear. Wide flies the chaff, 
 The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist 
 Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam. 
 Come hither, ye that press your beds of down, 
 And sleep not; see him sweating o'er his bread 
 Before he eats it. 'Tis the primal curse, 
 But soften'd into mercy; made the pledge 
 Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan. Cowper. 
 
 Time. Fashionable way of Spending. 
 
 To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undress'd, 
 To read the news, or fiddle, as seems best, 
 Till half the world comes rattling at his door, 
 To fill the dull vacuity till four; 
 And, just when ev'ning turns the blue vault gray, 
 To spend two hours in dressing for the day; 
 To make the sun a bauble without use, 
 Save for the fruits his heav'nly beams produce; 
 Quite to forget, or deem it worth no thought, 
 Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not; 
 Through mere necessity to close his eyes 
 Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise; 
 Is such a life, so tediously the same, 
 So void of all utility or aim, 
 That poor Jonquil, with almost ev'ry breath 
 Sighs for his exit, vulgarly call'd death: 
 For he, with all his follies, has a mind. 
 Not yet so blank, or fashionably blind, 
 But now and then perhaps a feeble ray 
 Of distant wisdom shoots across his way. 
 
238 TIME. 
 
 By which he reads, that life without a plan, 
 
 As useless as the moment it began, 
 
 Serves merely as a soil for discontent 
 
 To thrive in; an encumbrance ere half spent. 
 
 Oh weariness byond what asses feel, 
 
 That tread the circuit of the cistern wheel; 
 
 A dull rotation, never at a stay, 
 
 Yesterday's face twin image of to-day; 
 
 While conversation, an exhausted stock, 
 
 Grows drowsy as the clicking of a clock. Cowper. 
 
 Time. Past and Future. 
 Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings, 
 And seems to creep, decrepit with his age; 
 Behold him, when past by; what then is seen 
 But his broad pinions swifter than the winds? 
 And all mankind, in contradiction strong, 
 Rueful, aghast! cry out at his career. Young. 
 
 Time. Ceaseless Sweep o/. 
 Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore 
 
 Who danced our infancy upon their knee, 
 And told our marvelling boy-hood legends store, 
 
 Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, 
 How are they blotted from the things that be ! 
 
 How few, all weak and withered of their force, 
 Wait, on the verge of dark eternity, 
 
 Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, 
 To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his cease- 
 less course. Scott. 
 
 Time. JVbf Regarded. 
 The bell strikes one: We take no note of time, 
 But from its loss. To give it then a tongue, 
 Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 
 I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 
 It is the knell of my departed hours: 
 Where are they ? with the years beyond the flood ? 
 It is the signal that demands despatch; 
 How much is to be done ! my hopes and fears 
 Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge 
 
TOILET. 239 
 
 Look down — on what? a fathomless abyss; 
 
 A dread eternity ! how surely mine ! 
 
 And can eternity belong to me, 
 
 Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour? Young. 
 
 Time and Change. On the effects of. 
 Of chance or change O let not man complain, 
 Else shall he never, never cease to wail; 
 For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain 
 Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale, 
 All feel th 5 assault of fortune's fickle gale; 
 Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doom'd; 
 Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale. 
 And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entomb'd, 
 And where th' Atlantic rolls wide continents have 
 bloom'd. 
 
 But sure to foreign climes we need not range^ 
 Nor search the ancient records of our race, 
 To learn the dire effects of time and change, 
 Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace. 
 Yet at the darken'd eye, the withered face, 
 Or hoary hair, I never will repine: 
 But spare, oh Time, whate'er of mental grace, 
 Of candour, love, or sympathy divine, 
 Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is mine, 
 
 Beattie* 
 Toilet. 
 
 And now, unveil'd, the toilet stands displayed; 
 Each silver vase in mystic order laid. 
 First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores, 
 With head uncover'd, the cosmetic pow'rs: 
 A heavenly image in the glass appears; 
 To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; 
 Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side, 
 Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride. 
 Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here 
 The various off'rings of the world appear: 
 From each she nicely culls with curious toil, 
 And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil, 
 
240 TO-MORROW. 
 
 This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, 
 And all Arabia breathes from yonder box: 
 The tortoise here and elephant unite, 
 Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white; 
 Here files of pins extend their shining rows, 
 Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billetdoux. 
 Now awful beauty puts on all its arms; 
 The fair each moment rises in her charms, 
 Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace, 
 And calls forth all the wonders of her face. Pope? 
 To-morrow. 
 In human hearts what bolder thought can rise, 
 Than man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn? 
 Where is to-morrow: In another world. 
 For numbers this is certain; the reverse 
 Is sure to none; and yet on this perhaps, 
 This peradventure, infamous for lies, 
 As on a rock of adamant we build 
 Our mountain hopes; spin out eternal schemes, 
 And, big with life's futurities, expire. Young : 
 
 To-morrow. Danger of Procrastination* 
 To-morrow, didst thou say? 
 Me thought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow. 
 Go to — I will not hear of it — to-morrow ! 
 ? Tis a sharper who takes penury 
 Against thy plenty — who takes thy ready cash, 
 And pays thee nought, but wishes, hopes, and pro- 
 mises, 
 The currency of idiots. Injurious bankrupt, 
 That gulls the easy creditor! — To-morrow I 
 It is a period nowhere to be found 
 In all the hoary registers of time, 
 Unless perchance in the fool's calendar. 
 "Wisdom disclaims the words, nor holds society 
 With those who own it. No, my Horatio, 
 'Tis fancy's child, and folly is its father; 
 Wrought on such stuff as dreams are; and baseless 
 As the fantastic visions of the evening. 
 But soft, my friends, arrest the present moments; 
 For be assur'd, they all are arrant tell-tales; 
 
,i. 241 
 
 And tho* th at, and their paths brae 
 
 As :h- • 
 
 They ;_:•: to Heaven, and there record their felly — 
 
 Didst let th:- ov'd. 
 
 And know thou sh. mher'st on the gna 
 
 Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar 
 For every fugitive: and wl thus 
 
 Sh:-ht >*.-.:. : ::r:y leaded ?.t the hi.sn tribvi]?.! 
 Of hood-wink'd jnstic e 
 
 the prese Horatio. 
 
 Imprint the marks of w 
 
 lis of more worth than k: re cious 
 
 Than all the crimson treasures of tain. 
 
 Oh! let it not elude thy grasp, but, like 
 The good old patriarch upc 
 Hold the fi ssthee. C 
 
 TQM6CTB. T : .: 
 
 Now thousand tongues are heard in one loud 
 The monkey-mimlcfi rash discordant in: 
 Twas chat 
 
 And noise and Norton, brangling and Breval, 
 Dennis and dissonance, and captious art, 
 
 snip-snap short, and interruption smart; 
 Ar. " - :':.'. :-.;•.. ■■:'. ::.. r :.:: . ?::: theses thick. 
 And major, minor, and conclusion quick. Pcpe, 
 
 Tovs. Fondness for, Ridiculed* 
 But what in oddness can L 
 
 Than S , the foremost I me: 
 
 Hi? nice ambitic 
 
 His s portion a rich shell enhan 
 
 he's baby-house is. in his view, 
 le, a rich t 
 
 b never w 
 He shows on holidays a sacred pin 
 That touch'd the ruff that touch'd queen Bess's 
 
 rare 
 
 X 
 
242 TRAVELLING. 
 
 Tragic Muse. Use of. 
 
 To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, 
 To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; 
 To make mankind in conscious virtue bold, 
 Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold: 
 For this the tragic muse first trod the stage, 
 Commanding tears to stream through ev'ry age; 
 Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, 
 And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. Pope, 
 
 Travel. Jldvice on going to. 
 Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
 Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 Of each new hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in, 
 Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
 But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy: 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man; 
 And they in France, of the best rank and station, 
 Are most select and generous, chief in that. 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be: 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend; 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 This above all, — To thine own self be true; 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. Shakspeare* 
 
 Travelling. Effects of on a Rake. 
 
 Receive, great empress, thy accomplish'd son: 
 Thine from the birth, and sacred from the rod, 
 A dauntless infant! never scar'd with God. 
 The sire saw, one by one, his virtues wake: 
 The mother begg'd the blessing of a rake. 
 
TRAVELLING. 
 
 245 
 
 Thou gav'st that ripeness, which so soon began, 
 And ceased so soon, he ne'er was boy nor man. 
 Through school and college thy kind cloud o'ercast* 
 Safe and unseen the young JEneas past: 
 Thence bursting glorious, all at once let down, 
 StunnM with his giddy larum half the town, 
 Intrepid then, o'er seas and lands he flew; 
 Europe he saw, and Europe saw him too. 
 There all thy gifts and graces we display, 
 
 Thou, only thou, directing all our way. 
 
 Led by my hand, he saunter'd Europe round, 
 
 And gather'd every vice on Christian ground; 
 
 Saw every court, heard every king declare 
 
 His royal sense of operas or the fair; 
 
 The stews and palace equally explor'd, 
 
 Intrigu'd with glory, and with spirit whor'd; 
 
 Try'd all hors cfauvres, all liqueurs defin'd, 
 
 Judicious drank, and greatly-daring din'd; 
 
 Dropt the dull lumber of the Latin store, 
 
 Spoil'd his own language, and acquir'd no more; 
 
 All classic learning lost on classic ground; 
 
 And last turn'd air, the echo of a sound; 
 
 See now, half-cur'd, and perfectly well-bred, 
 
 With nothing but a solo in his head; 
 
 As much estate, and principle, and wit, 
 
 As Janesen, Fleetwood, Cibber shall think fit; 
 
 Stol'n from a duel, follow'd by a nun, 
 
 And if a borough choose him, not undone. Pope, 
 
 Travelling. Satire on. 
 With rev'rend tutor cald in habit lay, 
 To tease for cash, and quarrel with all day; 
 With memorandum-book for ev'ry town, 
 And ev'ry post, and where the chaise broke down; 
 His stock, a few French phrases got by heart, 
 With much to learn, but nothing to impart: 
 The youth, obedient to his sire's commands, 
 Sets off a wand'rer into foreign lands. 
 Surpris'd at all they meet, the gosling pair, 
 With awkward gait, stretch'd neck, and silly stare, 
 
244 TRUTHS. 
 
 Discover huge cathedrals built with stone, 
 And steeples tow'ring high much like our own; 
 But show peculiar light by many a grin, 
 At popish practices observed within. Coioper. 
 
 Triumph. Triumphant Entry. 
 
 Here drawn in fair array, 
 The faithful vassals of my master's house, 
 Their javelins sparkling to the morning sun, 
 Spread their triumphant banners; high plumed helms 
 Rose o'er the martial ranks, and prancing steeds 
 Made answer to the trumpet's stirring voice; 
 While yonder towers shook the dull silence off 
 Which long to their deserted walls had clung, 
 And with redoubling echoes swell'd the shout 
 That hail'd victorious Roderick. Louder rose 
 The acclamation, when the dust was seen 
 Rising beneath his chariot wheels far off; 
 But nearer as the youthful hero came, 
 All sounds of all the multitude were hush'd, 
 And from the thousands and ten thousands here, 
 Whom Cordoba and Hispalis sent forth, 
 Yea, whom all Baetica, all Spain pour'd out 
 To greet his triumph, — not a whisper rose 
 To heaven, such awe and reverence master'd them, 
 Such expectation held them motionless. Southey. 
 Troubles. Of Loiterers. 
 
 Then look'd, and saw a lazy, lolling sort, 
 Unseen at church, at senate, or at court, 
 Of ever-listless loiterers that attend 
 No cause, no trust, no duty, and no friend. 
 Thee too, my Paridel! she mark'd thee there, 
 Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair, 
 And heard thy everlasting yawn confess 
 The pains and penalties of idleness. 
 She pity'd ! but her pity only shed 
 Benigner influence on thy nodding head. Pope. 
 
 Truths. Blunt, Mischief of. 
 
 'Tis not enough your counsel still be true; 
 Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do. 
 
TUTOR. £45 
 
 Men must be taught as if you taught them not, 
 And things unknown propos'd as things forgot. 
 Without good-breeding, truth is disapprov'd; 
 That only makes superior sense belov'd. Pope. 
 
 Tutor. Proper One. 
 Behold that figure, neat, though plainly clad; 
 His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad; 
 Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then 
 Heard to articulate like other men; 
 Ts T o jester, and yet lively in discourse, 
 His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force; 
 And his address, if not quite French in ease, 
 Not English stiff, but frank and form'd to please. 
 Low in the world, because he scorns its arts; 
 A man of letters, manners, morals, parts: 
 Unpatroniz'd, and therefore little known; 
 Wise for himself and his few friends alone. Cowper. 
 
 Tutor. Advice to One. 
 
 John, thou 'rt a genius; thou hast some pretence, 
 I think, to wit, but hast thou sterling sense? 
 That which, like gold, may thro' the world go forth; 
 And always pass for what 'tis truly worth? 
 Whereas this genius, like a bill, must take 
 Only the value our opinions make. 
 
 Men famed for wit, of dangerous talents vain, 
 Treat those of common parts with proud disdain; 
 The powers that wisdom would, improving, hide, 
 They blaze abroad with inconsid'rate pride: 
 While yet but mere probationers for fame, 
 They seize the honour they should then disclaim: 
 Honour so hurried to the light must fade, 
 The lasting laurels flourish in the shade. 
 
 Genius is jealous; I have heard of some 
 Who, if unnoticed, grew perversely dumb; 
 Nay, different talents would their envy raise^ 
 Poets have sicken'd at a dancer's praise; 
 And one, the happiest writer of his time, 
 Grew pale at hearing Reynolds was sublime: 
 x 2 
 
£46 TUTOR. 
 
 That Rutland's Dutchess wore a heavenly smile— 
 And I, said he, neglected all the while! 
 
 A waspish tribe are these, on gilded wings, 
 Humming their lays, and brandishing their stings; 
 And thus they move their friends and foes among, 
 Prepared for soothing or satiric song. 
 
 Hear me, my boy; thou hast a virtuous mind- 
 But be thy virtues of the sober kind; 
 Be not a Quixote, ever up in arms 
 To give the guilty and the great alarms: 
 If never heeded, thy attack is vain; 
 And if they heed thee, they'll attack again; 
 Then too in striking at that heedless rate, 
 Thou in an instant may'st decide thy fate. 
 
 Leave admonition — let the vicar give 
 Rules how the nobles of his flock should live; 
 Nor take that simple fancy to thy brain, 
 That thou canst cure the wicked and the vain. 
 
 Strive not too much for favour; seem at ease, 
 And rather please thyself, than bend to please: 
 Upon thy Lord with decent care attend, 
 But not too near; thou canst not be a friend; 
 And favourite be not, 'tis a dangerous post — 
 Is gain'd by labour, and by fortune lost: 
 Talents like thine may make a man approved, 
 But other talents trusted and beloved. 
 Look round, my son, and thou wilt early see 
 The kind of man thou art not form'd to be. 
 
 The real favourites of the great are they 
 Who td Iheir views and wants attention pay, 
 And pay it ever; who, with all their skill, 
 Dive to the heart, and learn the secret will; 
 If that be vicious, soon can they provide 
 The favourite ill, and o'er the soul preside. — — - 
 
 These arts, indeed, my son must not pursue; 
 Nor must he quarrel with the tribe that do: 
 It is not safe another's crimes to know, 
 Nor is it wise our proper worth to show: — 
 ' My lord,' you say, ' engaged me for that worth;' 
 True, and preserve it ready to come forth: 
 
TUTOR. Z47 
 
 If question'd, fairly answer — and that done, 
 Shrink back, be silent, and thy father's son; 
 For they who doubt thy talents scorn thy boast, 
 But they who grant them will dislike thee most: 
 Observe the prudent; they in silence sit, 
 Display no learning, and affect no wit: 
 They hazard nothing, nothing they assume, 
 But know the useful art of acting dumb. 
 Yet to their eyes each varying look appears, 
 And every word finds entrance at their ears. 
 
 Thou art religion's advocate — take heed, 
 Hurt not the cause, thy pleasure 'tis to plead; 
 With wine before thee, and with wits beside, 
 Do not in strength of reas'ning powers confide; 
 What seems to thee convincing, certain, plain, 
 They will deny, and dare thee to maintain; 
 And thus will triumph o'er thy eager youth, 
 While thou wilt grieve for so disgracing truth. 
 
 With pain I 've seen, these wrangling wits among. 
 Faith's weak defenders, passionate and young; 
 Weak thou art not, yet not enough on guard, 
 Where wit and humour keep their watch and ward; 
 Men gay and noisy will o'er whelm thy sense, 
 Then loudly laugh at truth's and thy expense; 
 While the kind ladies will do all they can 
 To check their mirth, and cry, ( Tke good young man.' 
 
 Prudence, my boy, forbids thee to commend 
 The cause or party of thy noble friend; 
 What are his praises worth, who must be known 
 To take a patron's maxims for his own- 
 When ladies sing, or in thy presence play, 
 Do not, dear John, in rapture melt away; 
 'Tis not thy part, there will be listeners round, 
 To cr)' divine! and doat upon the sound; 
 Remember too, that though the poor have ears, 
 They take not in the music of the spheres: 
 They must not feel the warble and the thrill, 
 Or be dissolved in ecstasy at will; 
 Beside, 'tis freedom in a youth like thee 
 To drop his awe, and deal in ecstacy ! 
 
£48 VANITY. 
 
 In silent ease, at least in silence, dine, 
 Nor one opinion start of food or wine: 
 Thou know'st that all the science thou canst boast 
 Is of thy father's simple boil'd and roast; 
 Nor always these; he sometimes saved his cash, 
 By interlinear days of frugal hash: 
 Wine hadst thou seldom; wilt thou be so vain 
 As to decide on claret or champagne? 
 Dost thou from me derive this taste sublime, 
 Who order port the dozen at a time ! 
 "When (every glass held precious in our eyes) 
 "We judged the value by the bottle's size: 
 Then never merit for thy praise assume, 
 Its worth well knows each servant in the room. 
 
 Crabbe, 
 Vanity. Of all Things. 
 
 These our actors, 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air: 
 And like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cloud capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit shall dissolve, 
 And like this unsubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep. Shakspeare. 
 
 \ anity. Of human Wishes. 
 
 Enlarge my life with multitude of days; 
 In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays; 
 Hides frcm himself his state, and shuns to know, 
 That life protracted is protracted wo. 
 Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, 
 And shuts up all the passages of joy: 
 In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, 
 The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r — 
 With listless eyes the dotard views the store, 
 He views, and wonders that they please no more; 
 Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless wines.. 
 And luxury with sighs her slave resigns. 
 
VANITY. £49 
 
 Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain, 
 Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain: 
 No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear, 
 Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near; 
 Nor lute nor lyre his feeble pow'rs attend, 
 Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend: 
 But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, 
 Perversely grave, or positively wrong. 
 The still returning tale, and ling'ring jest, 
 Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest, 
 While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring sneer, 
 And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; 
 The watchful guests still hint the last offence, 
 The daughter's petulance, the son's expense, 
 Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill, 
 And mould his passions till they make his will, 
 
 Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, 
 Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade; 
 But unextinguished avarice still remains, 
 And dreaded losses aggravate his pains: 
 He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands, 
 His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands; 
 Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, 
 Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. 
 
 But grant, the virtues of a temp'rate prime 
 Bless with an age exempt from scoin or crime; 
 An age that melts with unperceived decay, 
 And glides in modest innocence away; 
 Whose peaceful day benevolence endears, 
 Whose night congratulating conscience cheers; 
 The gen'ral fav'nte as the gen'ral friend: 
 Such age there is, and who shall wish its end? 
 
 Yet ev'n on this her load misfortune flings, 
 To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; 
 New sorrow rises as the day returns, 
 A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. 
 Now kindred merit fills the sable bier, 
 Now lacerated friendship claims a tear. 
 Year chases year, decay pursues decay, 
 Still drops some joy from with'ring life away; 
 
250 VESSEL. 
 
 New forms arise, and diff'rent views engage, 
 
 Superfluous lags the vet'ran on the stage, 
 
 Till pitying nature signs the Jast release, 
 
 And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. Johnson, 
 
 Vektice. Why endeared to n$. 
 But unto us she hath a spell beyond 
 Her name in story, and her long array 
 Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond 
 Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway ! 
 Ours is a trophy which will not decay 
 With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor, 
 And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away — 
 The keystone of the arch ! tho' all were o'er, 
 For us repeopled were the solitary shore. Byron 
 
 Venis de Medicis. 
 
 There, too, the goddess lives in stone, and fill* 
 The air around with beauty; we inhale 
 The ambrosial aspect, which beheld, instils 
 Part of its immortality; the veil 
 Of heaven is half undrawn; within the pale 
 We stand, and in that form and face behold 
 What mind can make, when nature's self would fail : 
 And to the fond idolaters of old 
 
 Envy the innate flesh which such a soul could mould, 
 VVe gaze and turn away, and know not where, 
 Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart 
 Reels with its fullness; there — for ever there— 
 Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal art, 
 We stand as captives, and would not depart. 
 Away! — there need no words, nor terms precise, 
 The paltry jargon of the marble mart 
 Where pedantry gulls folly — we have eyes: 
 
 Blood, pulse, and breast, confirm the Dardan shep- 
 herd's prise. Byron, 
 
 Vessel. Life compared to one. 
 Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 
 While proudly riding o'er the azure realm 
 In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes; 
 
VILLAGE. 251 
 
 Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm; 
 Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, 
 That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. 
 
 Gray* 
 Vice. Danger of Familiarity with. 
 
 Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
 As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; 
 Yet, seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
 We first e'ndure, then pity, then embrace. Pope, 
 
 Vices. Various kinds of. 
 Some future strain, in which the muse shall tell 
 How science dwindles, and how volumes swell; 
 How commentators each dark passage shun, 
 And hold their farthing candle to the sun; 
 How tortui'd texts to speak our sense are made, 
 And every vice is to the Scripture laid; 
 How misers squeeze a young voluptuous peer, 
 His sins to Lucifer not half so dear; 
 How Versus is less qualified to steal 
 "With sword and pistol, than with wax and seal; 
 How lawyers' fees to such excess are run, 
 That clients are redress'd till they 're undone: 
 How one man's anguish is another's sport, 
 And ev'n denials cost us dear at court; 
 How man eternally false judgments makes, 
 And all his joys and sorrows are mistakes. Young 
 
 Village. Auburn, its Beauties. 
 Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain, 
 Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain, 
 Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 
 And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd: 
 Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
 Seats of my youth, when ev'ry spot could please; 
 How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, 
 Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! 
 How often have I paus'd on every charm, 
 The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, 
 The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
 The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill. 
 
252 VILLIERS. 
 
 The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade. 
 For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made! 
 How often have I blest the coming day, 
 When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 
 And all the village train, from labour free, 
 Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree! 
 While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
 The young contending as the old survey'd; 
 And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, 
 And sleights of art and feats of strength went round; 
 And still, as each repeated pleasure tir d, 
 Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd; 
 The dancing pair that simply sought renown, 
 By holding out to tire each other down; 
 The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 
 While secret laughter titter'd round the place; 
 The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love, 
 The matron's glance that would these looks reprove; 
 These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like 
 
 these 
 With sweet succession taught ev'n toil to please; 
 These round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence shed; 
 These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled. 
 
 Goldsmith, 
 
 Villain. Sight of, Tempting to Evil. 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, 
 Makes deeds ill done ! Hadst not thou b$en by, 
 A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, 
 Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deal of shame, 
 This murder had not come into my mind. 
 Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, 
 When I spake darkly what I purposed; 
 Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, 
 As bid me tell my tale in express words; 
 Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, 
 And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 VillIers. End Of. 
 
 In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung? 
 The floor of plaister, and the walls of dung, 
 
war. 238 
 
 On once a flock-bed, but repair'd with straw. 
 
 With tape-tied curtains, never meant to diaw, 
 
 The George and Garter dangling from that bed 
 
 Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red, 
 
 Great Villiers lies — alas how chang'd from him 
 
 That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim! 
 
 Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove, 
 
 The bow'r of wanton Shrewsbury and love; 
 
 Or just as gay, at council, in a ring 
 
 Of mimic statesmen, and their merry king, 
 
 xS T o wit to flatter left of all his store ! 
 
 No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. 
 
 There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, 
 
 And fame — this lord of useless thousands ends. Pope, 
 
 Virtue . Its prize. 
 What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, 
 The soul's calm sunshines, and the heart-felt joy 3 
 Is virtue's prize: a better would you fix? 
 Then give humility a coach and six, 
 Justice a conqu'ror's sword, or truth a gown, 
 Or public spirit its great cure, a crown. Pope. 
 
 War. Beacon Blaze of. 
 So pass'd the day — the evening fell, 
 'Twas near the time of curfew bell; 
 The air was mild, the wind was calm, 
 The stream was smooth, the dew was balm; 
 E'en the rude watchman, on the tower, 
 Enjoyed and bless'd the lovely hour. 
 Far more fair Margaret lov'd and bless'd 
 The hour of silence and of rest, 
 On the high turret sitting lone, 
 She waked at times the lute's soft tone; 
 Touch'd a wild note, and, all between, 
 Thought of the bower of hawthorns green. 
 Her golden hair stream'd free from band, 
 Her fair cheek rested on her hand, 
 Her blue eyes sought the west afar, 
 For lovers love the western star. 
 Y 
 
£54 war. 
 
 Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 
 
 That rises slowly to her ken, 
 
 And spreading broad its wavering lights 
 
 Shakes its loose tresses on the night? 
 
 Is yon red glare the western star? — 
 
 O, 'tis the beacon blaze of war! 
 
 Scarce could she draw her tighten'd breathy 
 
 For well she knew the fire of death! 
 
 The warder view'd it blazing strong, 
 
 And blew his war-note loud and long: 
 
 Till at the high and haughty sound, 
 
 Rock, wood, and river, rang around. 
 
 The blast alarmed the festal hall, 
 
 And startled forth the warriors all; 
 
 Far downward in the castle-yard, 
 
 Full many a torch, and cresset glar'd; 
 
 And helms, and plumes, confusedly toss'd. 
 
 Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost; 
 
 And spears in wild disorder shook, 
 
 Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 
 
 The seneschal, whose silver hair 
 
 "Was redden'd by the torches' glare, 
 
 Stood in the midst, with gesture proud, 
 
 And issued forth his mandate loud — 
 
 " On Penchryst glows a ball of fire, 
 
 And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire." ScotL 
 
 War. Its Desolation. 
 Prostrate in the dust 
 Those walls were laid, and towns and temples stood 
 Tottering in frightful ruins, as the flame 
 Had left them, black and bare; and through the streets, 
 All with the recent wreck of war bestrewn, 
 Helmet and turban, scimitar and sword, 
 Christian and Moor in death promiscuous lay, 
 Each where they fell; and blood flakes, parch'd and 
 
 crack'd, 
 Like the dry slime of some receding flood; 
 And half-burnt bodies, which allur'd from far 
 The wolf and raven, and to impious food 
 
WAR. 9.55 
 
 Tempted the houseless dog. 
 
 A thrilling; pang, 
 A sweat like death, a sickness of the soul 
 Came over Roderick. Soon they past away, 
 And admiration in their stead arose, 
 Stern joy, and inextinguishable hope, 
 With wrath,, and hate, and *acred vengeance now 
 Indissolubly link'd O valiant race, 
 O people excellently brave, he cried, 
 True Goths ye fell, and faithful to the last; 
 Though overpower'd. triumphant and in death 
 Unconquerd! Holy be your memories! 
 Blessed and glorious now and evermore 
 Be your heroic names! — Led by the sound, 
 A? thus he cried aloud, a woman came 
 Toward him from the ruins, For the love 
 Of Christ, she said, lend me a little while 
 Thy charitable help! — Her words, her voice, 
 Her look, more horror to his heart convey'd 
 Than all the havoc round: for though she spake 
 With the calm utterance of despair, in tones 
 Deep breathed and low, yet never sweeter voice 
 Ponr'd forth its hymns in ecstacy to heaven. 
 Her hands were bloody, and her oarments stain'd 
 With blood, her face with blood and dust defiled. 
 Beauty and youth, and grace and majesty, 
 Had every charm of form and feature given; 
 But now, upon her rigid countenance 
 Severest anguish set a fixedness 
 Ghastlier than death. 
 
 She led him through the streets 
 A little way along, where four low walls, 
 Heapt rudely from the ruins round, inclosed 
 A narrow space; and there upon the ground 
 Four bodies, decently composed, were laid, 
 Though horrid all with wounds and clotted gore: 
 A venerable ancient; by hi« side 
 A comely matron, for whose middle age 
 (If ruthless slaughter had not intervened) 
 
 re it seemM, and gentle time, might well 
 
2.56 WARNING. 
 
 Have many a calm declining year in store; 
 
 The third an armed warrior, on his breast 
 
 An infant, over whom his arms were ciost. 
 
 There with firm eye and steady countenance, 
 
 Unfaultering. she address'd him— there they lie 
 
 Child, husband, parents — Adosinda's all! 
 
 I could not break the earth with these poor hands, 
 
 Nor other tombs provide — but let that pass — 
 
 Auria itself is now but one wide tomb 
 
 For all its habitants — what better grave? 
 
 "What worthier monument? — Oh cover not 
 
 Their blood, thou earth! nor ye, ye blessed souls 
 
 Of heroes and of murderd innocents, 
 
 O never let your everlasting cries 
 
 Cease round the eternal throne, till the Most High, 
 
 For all these unexampled wrongs, hath given 
 
 Full, overflowing vengeance. Southey. 
 
 War. Signs of. 
 
 The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, 
 And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; 
 The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, 
 And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; 
 Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap. 
 
 Shakspeare, 
 War. Othello's Farewell to. 
 
 Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
 That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! 
 Farewell the neighing steed, and the thrill trump, 
 The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
 The royal banner: and all quality, 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! 
 And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
 The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
 Farewell! Othello's occupation 's gone. Shakspeare. 
 
 "Warnings. Foreboding the Fate of Rosabelle. 
 O listen, listen, ladies gay! 
 
 No haughty feat of arms I tell: 
 Soft is the note and sad the lay, 
 
 That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 
 
WABNItfGS. Z5i 
 
 — <: Moor, moor the barge, ye gallent crew: 
 
 And. gentle larlye, deign to stay! 
 Re-t thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 
 
 Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 
 
 rkening wave is edged with white; 
 To in ck the sea-mews fly; 
 
 The fishers have heard the water-sprite, 
 
 Whose screams forbode that wreck, is nigh. 
 • ; Last night 'he gifted seer did view 
 
 A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay; 
 Then stay thee. Fair, in Rarenseheuch: 
 
 Why cress the gloomy firth to-day? M — 
 i; 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
 
 To-night at Rosiin leads the ball. 
 But that my ladye-mother lij 
 
 Sits lonely in her castle-;/ 
 ' ; ; Tis no: because the ring they ride, 
 
 And Lindesay at the ring ride- 
 But that mv sire the wine will chide, 
 
 If 'tis not filFd by Ro-abelle."— 
 O'er Rosiin all that dreary night 
 
 A wondhous blaze was seen to glei 
 'Twas broader than tl ght 3 
 
 And redder than the bright moon beam. 
 It glared on Roslin's castled rock, 
 
 It ruddied all the copse- wood glen; 
 'Twas seen from Drydems grove- of oak. 
 
 And seen from cavern'* d Haw 
 Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud, 
 
 Where Rosliivs chiefs uneofiin'd lie; 
 Each baron for a sable shroud, 
 
 Sheath'd in his iron panoply. 
 Seenvd all on lire, within, around, 
 
 Deep sacristy and altar's pale; 
 Shone every pillar foliage-bound, 
 
 And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail. 
 Blazed battlement and pinnet high, 
 
 Blazed everv rose-carved buttress fair— 
 v 2 
 
253 WARRIOR. 
 
 So still they blaze, when fate is nigh, 
 The lordly line of high St Clair. 
 
 There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 
 
 Lie within that proud chapelle; 
 Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
 
 But the sea holds lovely Rosabeile! 
 
 And each St. Clair was buried there, 
 
 With candle, with book, and with knell, 
 
 But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung, 
 The dirge of lovely Rosabel] e. ScotL 
 
 Warrior. Charles of Sweden, his Fate. 
 On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, 
 How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; 
 A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 
 No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; 
 O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 
 Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain; 
 No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, 
 War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; 
 Behold surrounding kings their pow'r combine, 
 And one capitulate, and one resign; 
 Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; 
 "Think nothing gain'd," he cries, "till noughtremain, 
 On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, 
 And all be mine beneath the polar sky." 
 The march begins in military state, 
 And nations on his eye suspended wait; 
 Stern famine guards the solitary coast, 
 And winter barricades the realms of frost; 
 He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay; — 
 Hide blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day: 
 The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands, 
 And shows his miseries in distant lands, 
 Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, 
 While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 
 But did not chance at length her error mend? 
 Did not subverted empire mark his end? 
 Did rival monarchsgive the fatal wound? 
 Or hostile millions press him to the ground? 
 
WATERLOO. £59 
 
 His fall was destin'd to a barren strand, 
 
 A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; 
 
 He left the name, at which the world grew pale, 
 
 To point a moral, or adorn a tail. Johnson, 
 
 Waterloo. Preparations for the Battle of. 
 There was a sound of revelry by night, 
 And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
 Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 
 The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; 
 A thousand hearts beat happily: and when 
 Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
 Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, 
 And all went merry as a marriage- bell; 
 
 But hush ! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! 
 Did ye not hear it? — No, 'twas but the wind, 
 Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 
 On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; 
 No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — 
 But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
 As if the clouds its echo would repeat. 
 And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! 
 
 Arm! arm! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar! 
 Within a window'd niche of that high hall, 
 Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear 
 That sound the first amidst the festival, 
 And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear; 
 And when they smiled because they deem'd it near, 
 His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
 Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 
 And roused the vengeance blood alone can quell: 
 
 He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. — 
 Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
 And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
 Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; 
 And there were sudden partings, such as press 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 Which ne'er might be repeated: — who could guess 
 
260 WATERLOO. 
 
 If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 
 Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ? 
 
 And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed. 
 The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
 Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 
 And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; 
 And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
 Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; 
 While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, 
 Or whispering, with white lips — "The foe! They 
 come! they come!" 
 
 And wild and high the "Carnerons' gathering" rose ! 
 The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
 Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: — 
 How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
 Savage and shrill! But, with the breath which fills 
 Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
 With the tierce native daring which instils 
 The stirring memory of a thousand years; 
 
 And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's 
 ears! 
 And Ardennes w r aves above them her green leaves, 
 Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
 Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
 Over the unreturning brave, — alas! 
 Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
 Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
 In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
 Of living valour, rolling on the foe 
 
 And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and 
 low. 
 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
 Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay, 
 The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, 
 The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day, 
 Battle's magnificently-stern array! 
 The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, 
 
WHARTON. 261 
 
 The earth is cover'd thick with other day, 
 Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, 
 Rider and horse, — friend, foe — in one red burial blent ! 
 
 Byron, 
 
 Wealth. Vanity of 
 Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, 
 Or, what is worse, be left by it? 
 Why dost thou load thyself when thou 'rt to fly, 
 Oh, man! ordain d to die? 
 
 Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, 
 Thou who art under ground to lie? 
 Thou sow'st and plantest, but no fruit must see, 
 For death, alas! is reaping thee. 
 
 Suppose thou fortune eouldst to tameness bring, 
 And clip or pinion her wing; 
 Suppose thou couldst on fate so far prevail, 
 As not to cut off thy entail; 
 
 Yet death at all that subtilty will laugh; 
 
 Death will that foolish gard'ner mock, 
 Who does a slight and annual plant ingralF 
 
 Upon a lasting stock. 
 
 Thou dost thyself wise and industrious deem; 
 A mighty husband thou wouldst seem; 
 Fond man! like a bought slave, thou all the while 
 Dost but for others sweat and toil. 
 
 Officious fool ! that needs must meddling be 
 
 In bus'ness that concerns not thee; 
 
 For when to future years thou extend 'st thy cares, 
 
 Thou deal'st in other men's affairs. 
 
 Ev'n aged men, as if they truly were 
 
 Children again, for age prepare; 
 
 Provisions for long travel they design, 
 
 In the last point of their short line. Cowley. 
 
 Wharton. Duke of, his Character. 
 Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, 
 Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise: 
 
262 WINTER. 
 
 Born with whate'er could win it from the wise. 
 Women and fools must like him, or he dies: 
 Tho' wondering senates hung on all he spoke, 
 
 The club must hail him master of the joke. • 
 
 Shall parts so various aim at nothing new? 
 
 He '11 shine a Tully and a Wilmot too; 
 
 Then turns repentant, and his God adores 
 
 With the same spirit that he drinks and whores; 
 
 Enough if all around him but admire, 
 
 And now the punk applaud, and now the friar. 
 
 Thus with each gift of nature and of art, 
 
 And wanting nothing but an honest heart; 
 
 Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt; 
 
 And most contemptible to shun contempt: 
 
 His passion still to covet gen'ral praise. 
 
 His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways; 
 
 A constant bounty which no friend has made: 
 
 An angel tongue, which no man can persuade; 
 
 A fool, with more of wit than half mankind: 
 
 Too rash for thought, for action too refin'd: 
 
 A tyrant to the wife his heart approves; 
 
 A rebel to the very king he loves; 
 
 He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, 
 
 And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great. 
 
 Ask you why Wharton broke thro' ev'ry rule? 
 
 'Twas all for fear the knaves should call him fool. 
 
 Pope, 
 Winter. 
 'Tis done: dread winter spreads his latest glooms. 
 And reigns tremendous o"er the conquer'd year. 
 How dead the vegetable kingdom lies! 
 How dumb the tuneful! horror wide extends 
 His desolate domain. Behold, fond man! 
 See here thy pic turd life: pass some few years, 
 Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength. 
 Thy sober autumn fading into age, 
 And pale concluding winter comes at last, 
 And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled 
 Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes 
 Of happiness? those longings after fame; 
 Those restless cares? those busy bustling days : 
 
wisdom. £63 
 
 : gay-spent, festive nights? those veering tho'ts. 
 Lost between good and ill, that shard thy liie? 
 All now are vanish'd! Virtue sole survives, Thomson 
 
 Wisdom. Address to. 
 
 O Wisdom] if thy soft control 
 Can sooth the sickness oi the soul, 
 Can bid the warring pas-ions cease, 
 And breathe the cairn of tender pea- 
 Wisdom! I Mess thy gentle sway, 
 And ever, ever trill obey. 
 
 But if thou com'st with frown austere 
 To nurse the A care and fear; 
 
 To bid our sweetest passions die, 
 And - in their room a sigh: 
 
 Or if thine aspect stern have pow'r 
 To wil sienl rlow'r 
 
 That cheei ^rimage of wo, 
 
 And d <uld flow: 
 
 Wisd 
 
 name: 
 In gloomy -hade of cloisters dwell, 
 But never haon - : f u 1 cell. 
 
 Hail to pleasure's irolie ti 
 Haii to fancy's golden reign 1 
 Festive mirth anc 
 Free and sportful as the cl 
 Hope with eager sparkling eyes, 
 And easy faith and fond surprise! 
 Let these, in fairy colours direst, 
 For ever -hare my careless breast: 
 Then, tho' wi^c 1 may not be, 
 The wise themselves shall envy me. BarbauUl 
 
 Wisdom, Gruj. Best School of. 
 If wisdom is our lesson, (and what else 
 Ennot what else have angels learnt?) 
 
 Grief, more proficients in thy school are made, 
 Tnan geni md learning, ere could boast; 
 
 lung, often over-fed, 
 Digests net into sense her motley meal 
 
264 wisdom. 
 
 This forager on others' wisdom leaves 
 
 Her native farm, her reason quite untiil'd: 
 
 With mixt manure she surfeits the rank soil, 
 
 Dung'd, but not drest; and rich to beggary: 
 
 A pomp untameable of weed prevails. Young. 
 
 Wisdom. Lessons of. 
 
 How to live happiest; how avoid the pains, 
 The disappointments, and disgusts of those 
 Who would in pleasure all their hours employ; 
 The precepts here of a divine old man 
 I could recite. Tho' old, he still retain'd 
 His manly sense, and energy of mind: 
 Virtuous and wise he was, but not severe; 
 He still remember'd that he once was young; 
 His easy presence check'd no decent joy. 
 Him ev'n the dissolute admir'd; for he 
 A graceful looseness when he pleas'd put on, 
 And laughing could instruct. Much had he read, 
 Much more had seen; he studied from the life, 
 And in th' original perus'd mankind. 
 
 Vers'd in the woes and vanities of life, 
 He pitied man: and much he pitied those 
 Whom falsely smiling fate has curs'd with means 
 To dissipate their days in quest of joy. 
 Our aim is happiness: 'tis yours, 'tis mine, 
 He said, 'tis the pursuit of all that live; 
 Yet few attain it, if 'twas ere attain'd. 
 But they the widest wander from the mark, 
 Who thro' the flow'ry paths of saunt'ring joy 
 Seek this coy goddess; that from stage to stage 
 Invites us still, but shifts as we pursue. 
 For, not to name the pains that pleasure brings 
 To counterpoise itself, relentless fate 
 Forbids that we thro 5 gay voluptuous wilds 
 Should ever roam: and were the fates more kind, 
 Our narrow luxuries would soon be stale. 
 Were these exhaustless, nature would grow sick, 
 And, cloy'd with pleasure, squeamishly complain 
 That all was vanity, and life a dream. 
 Let nature rest: be busy for yourself, 
 
WIT. 
 
 £65 
 
 :; your friend; be busy ev'n in vain, 
 . tease her sated app ■■:- 
 
 Is, no banquet e'er enjoys; 
 - toils or watches, never sleeps, 
 •est: and when the taste of joy 
 een, indulg- 
 T.- not for morts 
 
 the least :: painful h 
 
 _ press, whom sober sense t 
 • And virtue, thro 
 V :uea 
 
 Virtue an he 
 
 Who has not virtue, is n : 
 
 are good-na- : ol) 
 
 : jnfounds; 
 Ks t ;:tive. but in vengeance just. 
 
 Knaves bin would laugh a zreat ones dare; 
 
 Bnf il bos heart the most . 
 CM fori :: . i name and aw: I 
 
 Tc n: :1c: 
 
 Tn.s a the solid pomp of pi 
 The peace and a 
 And if you pant for glory, build 
 
 teeret shock 
 thne. 
 The gaudy gloss of kcs 
 
 The " the wise, 
 
 Hie . ::n. is attain'd 
 
 mind. 
 
 . - . 
 - 
 
 es and frows 
 ties: a wealth 
 mbers, nor to baser h 
 C n be : . . good 
 
 Man justly boasts of, or can call his own. Armstrong, 
 
 Parts may be | :d nature is 
 
 Ther. 
 
 Z 
 
266 wit. 
 
 And never on the weak; or you 11 appear 
 
 As there no hero, no great genius here. 
 
 As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, 
 
 So wit is by politeness sharpest set. 
 
 Their want of edge from their offence is seen; 
 
 Both pain us least when exquisitely keen. Young. 
 
 Wit. Fashions in. 
 
 Some praise at morning what they blame at night: 
 But always think the last opinion right. 
 A muse by these is like a mistress us'd: 
 This hour she 's idolizM, the next abus'd; 
 While their weak heads, like towns unfortined, 
 'Twixt sense and nonsense daily change their side 
 Ask them the cause; they "re wiser still they say: 
 And still to-morrow 5 s wiser than to-day. 
 We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow: 
 Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so. 
 Once school divines this zealous isle o'erspread; 
 Who knew most sentences was deepest read: 
 Faith, gospel, all seem'd made to be disputed, 
 And none had sense enough to be confuted: 
 Scotists and Thomists now in peace remain 
 Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck-lane, 
 If faith itself has diff 'rent dresses vrorn, 
 What wonder modes in wit should take their turn! 
 
 Pepz> 
 
 Wit. Unhcfpiness of. 
 
 Unhappy wit, like most mistaken dungs. 
 Atones not for that envy which it brings. 
 In youth alone its empty praise we boast: 
 But soon the short-lived vanity is lost; 
 Like some fair rlow'r the early spring supplies 
 That gayly blooms, but ev'n in blooming dies. 
 What is this wit, which must our cares employ? 
 The owner's wife, that other men enjoy; 
 Then most our trouble still when most admir'd; 
 And still the more we give, the more required; 
 Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease. 
 "Sure some to vex, but never all to please: 
 
I 
 
 By fools *tis bated, and by knaves undone ! Pop* 
 True, Defined. 
 Some to conceit alone their taste confine, 
 And glittering thoughts struck c 
 Pleased with a work where note;: ■ *a just or fit; 
 0.i f £>..-. .ir :li2:s ?.~: ^:'.: 1^1 ::' ".:. 
 Poets, like painters, thus, unskill'd to trace 
 The naked nature and the living grace, 
 With gold and jewels cc ' part, 
 
 And bide with ornaments their want of art 
 T:.:e •*-;: is ii:.::r :: ;.iv-:i:-..rr i:-=5s ? d: 
 What oft was thought, but ne'er so w b s ? d ; 
 
 Something, whose truth convinc e igh I w e 
 
 That gives us back the image of our mind. 
 As shades more sweetly recommend the light, 
 >■: i::-:rs: z'. m ~:zzzii = -=1= :z spitghtfy *^:: 
 For works may have more wit than does 'em good, 
 As bodies perish thro' excess of blood. Pope. 
 
 V.'; 7 Parties ia. 
 Some valuing those of their own side of mind, 
 Still make themselves the measure of mankind! 
 Fondly we think we honour merit t . 
 When we bat praise ourselves in other men, 
 Parties in wit attend on those 1 
 A:: : ..:..: ::■.::: :z :.;:'■'.-? _: ::'• ■ :■:- '..:,:-_ 
 
 In various shapes of parsons, critics, be: 
 
 B-: :::^ fj.-riv'i ~-'..zz ~:-.:"~ .r- —■::-. past, 
 For rising merit will buoy up at last. F 
 
 Woolset. His Farewell to Greatness. 
 
 So farewell to the little good you bear m e 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatn 
 This is the state of man: To-day Jrth 
 
 The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow bl osse no 1 
 And bears his blushing hoi : jpon him; 
 
 The third day, com : 1 killing fi 
 
 And, when he thinks, good eas 
 
268 WOMEN. 
 
 His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 This many summers in a sea of glory; 
 But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride 
 At length broke under me; and now has left me, 
 "Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye; 
 I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched 
 Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have; 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again. Shakspeare. 
 
 Women. Dressed for Show. 
 Her women, insolent and self-caress'd, 
 By vanity's unwearied finger dress'd, 
 Forgot the blush, that virgin fears impart 
 To modest cheeks, and borrow'd one from artj 
 "Were just such trifles, without worth or use, 
 As silly pride and idleness produce; 
 Curl'd, scented, furbelow'd, and flounc'd around, 
 With feet too delicate to touch the ground, 
 They streteh'd the neck, and roll'd the wanton eye, 
 And sigh'd for ev'ry fool that flutter'd by. Cowper. 
 
 Women. One impertinence expels another. 
 Oft, when the world imagines women stray, 
 The sylphs thro' mystic mazes guide their way; 
 Thro' all the giddy circle they pursue, 
 And old impertinence expel by new. 
 What tender maid but must a victim fall 
 To one man s treat, but for another's ball ? 
 When Florio speaks, what virgin could withstand, 
 If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand? 
 With varying vanities, from ev'ry part, 
 They shift the moving toy-shop of their heart; 
 
WORLD. 2o9 
 
 "Wnere w;gs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots 
 
 strive, 
 Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive. 
 This erring mortals levity may call: 
 Oh blind to truth! the sylphs contrive it all. Pope. 
 
 Words. Affectation in. 
 
 O dear discretion, how his words are suited! 
 The fool hath planted in his memory 
 An army of good words: and I do know 
 A many fools, that stand in better place, 
 Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
 Defy the matter. Shakspeare. 
 
 Words. Satire on excessive Study of. 
 Since man from beast by words is known, 
 Words are man's province, words we teach alone. 
 When reason doubtful, like the Samian letter, 
 Points him two ways, the narrower is the better. 
 Plac'd at the door of learning, youth to guide, 
 We never suffer it to stand too wide. 
 To ask, to guess, to know, as they commence, 
 As fancy opens the quick springs of sense, 
 Wc ply the memory, we load the brain, 
 Blind rebel wit, and double chain on chain, 
 Confine the thought, to exercise the breath; 
 And keep them in the pale of words till death. 
 Whate er the talents, or howe'er designed, 
 We hang one jingling padlock on the mind; 
 A poet the first day he dips his quill; 
 And what the last: a very poet still. Pope. 
 
 World. False Confidence of. 
 Retort the charge, and let the world be told 
 She boasts a confidence she dees not hold; 
 That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead 
 A cold misgiving, and a killing dread: 
 That while in health the ground of her support 
 Is madly to forget that life is short: 
 z 2 
 
270 WORLD. 
 
 That sick she trembles, knowing she must die, 
 
 Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie; 
 
 That while she dotes, and dreams that she believes. 
 
 She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives, 
 
 Her utmost reach, historical assent, 
 
 The doctrines warp'd to what they never meant; 
 
 The truth itself is in her head as dull 
 
 And useless as a candle in a scull, 
 
 And all her love of God a groundless claim, 
 
 A trick upon the canvass, painted flame. Cowper. 
 
 W o rld . Infectious. 
 
 The world 's infectious; few bring back at eve 
 Immaculate the manners of the morn. 
 Something we thought, is blotted; we resolv'd, 
 Is shaken; we renounc'd, returns again. 
 Each salutation may slide in a sin 
 Unthought before , or fix a former flaw. 
 Nor is it strange, light, motion, concourse, noise, 
 All scatter us abroad; though outward bound, 
 Neglectful of our home affairs, flies off 
 In fume and dissipation, quits her charge, 
 And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe. Young. 
 
 World. Our Embarking in. 
 Self-flatterM, inexperienc'd, high in hope, 
 When young, with sanguine cheer and streamers gay, 
 We cut our cable, lanch into the world, 
 And fondly dream each wind and star our friend; 
 All in some darling enterprise embark'd: 
 But where is he can fathom its event? 
 Amid a multitude of artless hands, 
 Ruin's sure perquisite ! her lawful prize ! 
 Some steer aright: but the black blast blows hard, 
 And puffs them wide of hope: with hearts of proof 
 Full against wind and tide, some win their way; 
 And when strong effort has deserv'd the port, 
 And tugg'd it into view, 'tis won! 'tis lost! 
 They strike; and, while they triumph, they expire. 
 In stress of weather, most: some sink outright; 
 O'er them and o'er their names the billows close; 
 
WORTH. 271 
 
 To-morrow knows not they were ever born: 
 
 Others a short memorial leave behind; 
 
 Like a flag floating, when the bark 's ingulf 'd, 
 
 It floats a moment, and is seen no more; 
 
 One Caesar lives, a thousand are forgot. 
 
 How few beneath auspicious planets born, 
 
 With swelling sails make good the promis'd port, 
 
 With all their wishes freighted! yet even these, 
 
 Freighted with all their wishes, soon complain: 
 
 They still are men; and when is man secure? 
 
 As fatal time as storm! the rush of years 
 
 Beats down their strength: their numberless escapes 
 
 In ruin end: and now their proud success 
 
 But plants new terrors on the victor's brow: 
 
 What pain to quit the world just made their own, 
 
 Their nest so deeply down'd, and built so high! 
 
 Too low they build, who build beneath the stars. 
 
 Young, 
 World. Satan 9 s First Discovery of. 
 As when a scout, 
 Through dark and desert ways with peril gone 
 All night, at last, by break of cheerful dawn, 
 Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill, 
 Which to his eye discovers unaware 
 The goodly prospect of some foreign land 
 First seen, or some renown'd metropolis 
 With glist'ring spires and pinnacles adorn'd, 
 Which now the rising sun gilds with his beams: 
 Such wonder seized, though after heaven seen, 
 The Sp'rit malign, but much more envy seiz ; d 
 At sight of ail this world beheld so fair. Milton. 
 
 Worth. Often distressed. 
 Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, 
 Confounded in the dust, adore that Power 
 And wisdom oft arraigned: see now the cause, 
 Why unassuming worth in secret liv'd, 
 And died, neglected! why the good man's share 
 In life was gall and bitterness of soul : 
 Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd 
 In starving solitude; while luxury, 
 
l Z t 2 WRITING. 
 
 In palaces, lay straining her low thought, 
 
 To form unreal wants; why heaven-born truth. 
 
 And moderation fair, wore the red marks 
 
 Of superstition's scourge: why licensed pain, 
 
 That cruel spoiler, that embosomed foe, 
 
 Embitter d all our bliss. Ye good distressed ! 
 
 Ye noble few! who here unbending stand 
 
 Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile, 
 
 And what your bounded view, which only saw 
 
 A little part, deem'd evil, is no more: 
 
 The storms of wintry time will quickly pass, 
 
 And one unbounded spring encircle all. Thomson. 
 
 Writing. Little Novelty in. 
 The shelves are full, all other themes are sped; 
 Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread, 
 Satire has long since done his best; and curst 
 And loathsome ribaldry has done his worst; 
 Fancy has sported all her powers away 
 In tales, in trifles, and in children's play: 
 And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true, 
 Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. 
 
 Coii'per 
 
 Writers. Mutual Jealousy of. 
 Now, they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown 
 Employ their pains to spurn some others down; 
 And while self-love each jealous writer rules, 
 Contending wits become the sport of fools; 
 But still the worst with most regret commend, 
 For each ill author is as bad a friend. 
 To what base ends, and by what abject ways, 
 Are mortals urg^d "through sacred lust of praise I 
 Ah! ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, 
 Nor in the critic let the man be lost. 
 Good nature and good sense must ever join: 
 To err is human; to forgive, divine. I 3 ope. 
 
 Writings. How to be Judged of. 
 A perfect judge will read each work of wit 
 With the same spirit that its author writ; 
 
YOUTH. %I\S 
 
 Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find, 
 
 Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind; 
 
 Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, 
 
 The gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with wit. 
 
 But in such lays as neither ebb nor flow, 
 
 Correctly cold, and regularly low; 
 
 That shunning faults, one quiet tenor keep; 
 
 "We cannot blame indeed — but we may sleep. 
 
 In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts 
 
 Is not th' exactness .of peculiar parts; 
 
 'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, 
 
 But the joint force and full result of all. Pope, 
 
 Youth. Contrasted with Jlge. 
 
 And to say truth, though in its early prime, 
 And when unstain'd with any grosser crime, 
 Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast. 
 That in the valley of decline are lost, 
 And virtue with peculiar charms appears, 
 Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years; 
 Yet age, by long experience well inform'd, 
 Well read, well temper'd, with religion warm'd, 
 That fire abated, which impels rash youth, 
 Proud of his speed, to overshoot the truth, 
 As time improves the grape's authentic juice, 
 Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use, 
 And claims a rev'rence in its short'ning day, 
 That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay. Cowper* 
 
 Youth. Uncertain Pleasures of. 
 
 What are all thy boasted treasures, 
 Tender sorrows, transient pleasures? 
 Anxious hopes and jealous fears, 
 Laughing hours, and mourning years! 
 Deck'd with brightest tints at morn, 
 At twilight, with'ring on a thorn; 
 Like the gentle rose of spring, 
 Chill'd by every zephyr's wing: 
 Ah ! how soon its colour flies, 
 Blushes, trembles, falls, and dies. 
 
 What is youth? — a smiling sorrow, 
 
£74 YOUTH. 
 
 Blithe to-daj, and sad to-morrow; 
 
 Never fix'd, for ever ranging, 
 
 Laughing, weeping, doating, changing; 
 
 Wild, capricious, giddy, vain, 
 
 Cloy'd with pleasure, nurs'd with pain: 
 
 Age steals on with wintry face, 
 
 Ev'ry rapt'rous hope to chase, 
 
 Like a wither'd, sapless tree, 
 
 Bow'd to chilling fate's decree; 
 
 Stripp'd of all its foliage gay, 
 
 Drooping at the close of day: 
 
 What of tedious life remains? 
 
 Keen regrets and cureless pains; 
 
 Till death appears, a welcome friend, 
 
 To bid the scene of sorrow end. Mrs, Robinson 
 
 Youth. Pleasures of, Recalled. 
 Ah happy hills ! ah pleasing shade ! 
 Ah fields belov'd in vain! 
 Where once my careless childhood stray'd, 
 A stranger yet to pain ! 
 I feel the gales that from you blow 
 A momentary bliss bestow; 
 As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
 My weary soul they seem to sooth, 
 And, redolent of joy and youth, 
 To breathe a second spring. 
 
 Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen 
 
 Full many a sprightly race, 
 
 Disporting on thy margent green, 
 
 The paths of pleasure trace; 
 
 Who foremost now delight to cleave. 
 
 With pliant arms, thy glassy wave? 
 
 The captive linnet which enthral? 
 
 What idle progeny succeed 
 
 To chase the rolling circle's speed, 
 
 Or urge the flying ball? 
 
 While some on earnest business bent, 
 
 Their murmuring labours ply 
 
 'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint 
 
YOUTH. 
 
 To sweet liberty: 
 Some bold adventurers disdain 
 The limits of their little reign, 
 And unknown regions dare descry: 
 Still as they run they look behind, 
 They hear a voice in ev'ry wind, 
 And snatch a fearful joy. 
 
 Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, 
 Less pleasing when possest; 
 The tear forgot as soon as shed, 
 The sunshine of the breast: 
 Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, 
 Wild wit, invention ever new, 
 And lively cheer, of vigour born; 
 The thoughtless day, the easy night, 
 The spirits pure, the slumbers light, 
 That fly the approach of morn. 
 
 Alas! regardless of their doom, 
 
 The little victims play! 
 
 JSo sense have they of ills to come, 
 
 Nor care beyond to day; 
 
 Yet see. how all around 'em wait 
 
 The ministers of human fate, 
 
 And black misfortune's baleful train! 
 
 Ah, show them where in ambush stand, 
 
 To seize their prey, the murd'rous bandi 
 
 Ah, tell them they are men ! Gray* 
 
 Youth. Pleasures of Teaching. 
 Delightful task! to rear the tender thought, 
 To teach the young idea how to shoot, 
 To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, 
 To breathe th 5 enlivening spirit, and to fix 
 The generous purpose in the glowing breast. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 Youth. Remembrances of. 
 Alas! the hospitable hall, 
 Where youth and friendship play'd, 
 Wide to the winds a ruin'd wall- 
 
276 ZELICA. 
 
 Projects a death-like shade! 
 The charm is vanish'd from the vales. 
 No voice with virgin-whisper hails 
 
 A stranger to his native bow'rs; 
 No more Arcadian mountains bloom, 
 Nor Enna valleys breathe perfume, 
 
 The fancied Eden fades with all its flowers! 
 
 Companions of the youthful scene, 
 
 Endeard from earliest day*! 
 With whom I sported on the green. 
 
 Or 1 ov'd the woodland maze ! 
 Long exil'd from your native clime, 
 Or by the thunderstroke of time, 
 
 Snatch'd to the shadows of despair: 
 I hear your voices in the wind, 
 Your forms in every walk I find, 
 
 I stretch my arms: ye vanish into air ! 
 
 My steps, when innocent and young, 
 
 These fairy paths pursu'd; 
 And wand'ring o'er the wild, I sung 
 
 My fancies to the wood. 
 I mourn'd the linnet-lover's fate, 
 Or turtle, from her murder'd mate, 
 
 Condemn' d the widow'd hours to wail ; 
 Or while the mournful vision rose, 
 I sought to weep for imag'd woes, 
 
 Nor real life believ'd a tragic tale I Logan 
 
 Zelica. Mature of her Grief. 
 Oh grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate 
 First leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
 In the wide world, without that only tie 
 For which it lov'd to live or fear'd to die; — 
 Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken 
 Since the sad day its master-chord was broken! 
 Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, 
 Ev'n reason sunk blighted beneath its touch; 
 
ZEPHON. 277 
 
 And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose 
 Above the first dead pressure of its woes, 
 Tho' health and bloom return'd, the delicate chain 
 Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. 
 Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, 
 The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray; — ■ 
 A wandering ba*k, upon whose path-way shone 
 All stars of heav'n, except the guiding one! 
 Again she smil'd, nay, much and brightly smil'd, 
 But 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild; 
 And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 
 'Twas like the notes, half ecstacy, half pain, 
 The bulbul utters, ere her soul depart, 
 "When vanquish'd by some minstrel's powerful art, 
 She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her 
 heart ! Moore, 
 
 Zephon. His rebuke to Satan. 
 
 " Know ye not then," said Satan fill'd with scorn, 
 " Know ye not me? ye knew me once no mate 
 For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar: 
 Not to know me argues yourselves unknown, 
 The lowest of your throng; or, if ye know, 
 "Why ask ye, and superfluous begin 
 Your message, like to end as much in vain?'' 
 
 To whom thus Zephon, answ'ring scorn with scorn: 
 " Think not, revolted Spirit, thy shape the same, 
 Or undiminish'd brightness, to be known 
 As when thou stood'st in Heav'n upright and pure; 
 That glory then, when thou no more wast good, 
 Departed from thee; and thou resemblest now 
 Thy sin and place of doom, obscure and foul." 
 
 So spake the cherub: and his grave rebuke, 
 Severe in youthful beauty, added grace 
 Invincible: abash'd the Devil stood, 
 And felt how awful goodness is, and saw 
 Virtue in her shape how lovely; saw and pin'd 
 His loss. ' Milton. 
 
 A a 
 
%78 ZONE. 
 
 Zimri. Character of. 
 In the first rank of these did Zimri stand: 
 A man so various that he seemed to be 
 Not one, but all mankind's epitome: 
 Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong; 
 "Was ev'ry thing by starts, and nothing long; 
 But in the course of one revolving moon 
 Was chymist, fidler, statesman, and buffoon; 
 Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, 
 Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. 
 Blest madman! who could ev'ry hour employ, 
 With something new to wish, or to enjoy. 
 Railing and praising were his usual themes: 
 And both, to show his judgment, in extremes: 
 So over-violent, or over-civil, 
 That ev'ry man with him was god or devil. 
 In squandering wealth was his peculiar art; 
 Nothing went unrewarded, but desert; 
 Beggar'd by fools, whom still he found too late: 
 He had his jest, and they had his estate. Pcp&, 
 
 Zone. Torrid, Described. 
 Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
 And fiercely shed intolerable day; 
 Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 
 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling: 
 Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd; 
 Where the dark scorpion gathers death around; 
 "Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 
 The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; 
 "Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 
 And savage men, more murd'rous still than they; 
 "While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 
 Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Abbey, Melrose Abbey 
 
 Acliitophel, Character of . 
 
 Action, In Defiance of Fvil Tongues 
 
 Actions, Do not always show the Man 
 
 Actions, Springs of Lost 
 
 Actors, Of Last Year Gone 
 
 Actors, Traits of . . • 
 
 Adversity, Address to . . 
 
 Affectation, Clerical exposed . 
 
 Affectation, Female 
 
 Age, Should retire from the World . 
 
 Aged, Folly of their Love of Life 
 
 Ages, The Seven Ages . . 
 
 Alehouse, Village . 
 
 Amusements, Tiresome 
 
 Angelo, Character of , 
 
 Angels, Fallen, their Amusements • 
 
 Annihilation, Horror of . 
 
 Animals, Feasted by Man 
 
 Animals, Their Happiness 
 
 Appearances, Deceitful 
 
 Apollo, The Vatican . , 
 
 Apothecary, Wretchedness of one . 
 
 Apothecary Visit of to the Parish Poor 
 
 Army, Character of one 
 
 Aits, Views extend with our Progress in 
 
 Aspasia, Character of 
 
 Atticus, Character of . 
 
 Atossa, Character of 
 
 Authority, The Abuse of • 
 
 Bard, A Bard's Epitaph . . 
 
 Bashfulness . . , 
 
 Beauty, A Satirical one 
 
 Beauty, Moral and Natural compared 
 
 Being, Pangs at our resigning 
 
 Belial, His Character . 
 
 Belinda, Character of 
 
 Beelzebub, His Character 
 
 Beppo and Laura, Humorous Rencontre 
 
 tween 
 Blindness, Milton's Complaint of 
 Bliss, Human, small . 
 Bluutness, Affected , , 
 
 Boasting, Of Youth 
 Bodies, Heavenly, Regularity of « 
 Brothers, Affection for 
 Bufo, Character of , 
 
 Burke, Character of , , 
 
 . Scott 
 
 rage. 
 5 
 
 Dryden 
 
 ib. 
 
 , Shakspeare 
 
 6 
 
 Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Ibid. 
 
 7 
 
 Young 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Churchill 
 
 ib. 
 
 Gray 
 
 10 
 
 . Coxvper 
 
 11 
 
 Pope 
 
 12 
 
 . Young 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib- 
 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 13 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 14 
 
 . Young 
 
 ib, 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 15 
 
 . Milton 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 , Pope 
 
 16 
 
 Coxvper 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Shakspeare ■ 
 
 17 
 
 Byron 
 
 13 
 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Crabbe 
 
 19 
 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 19 
 
 i Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 Young 
 
 20 
 
 . Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 Jbid. 
 
 21 
 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Burns 
 
 22 
 
 , Coxvper 
 
 23 
 
 , Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Akenside 
 
 24 
 
 • Gray 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Milton 
 
 24 
 
 Pope 
 
 25 
 
 . Milton 
 
 ib. 
 
 tre be- 
 
 
 . Byron 
 
 25 
 
 Milton 
 
 26 
 
 . Goldsmith 
 
 27 
 
 , Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Young 
 
 28 
 
 . Goldsmith 
 
 ib. 
 
 , Pope 
 
 ill. 
 
 , Goldsmith 
 
 29 
 
280 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Caliban, His Curses 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Camp, Night in a Camp 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Cassius, Caesar's dislike of . . 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Cataract of Velino . 
 
 Byron 
 
 Censure, Who Deserve 
 
 Toung 
 
 Ceremony, Bigot's Regard for 
 
 Covjper 
 
 Chaos, Satan's Meeting with 
 
 Milton 
 
 Chatham, Lord, Characterof • • 
 
 Coivper 
 
 Cheerfulness .... 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Chloe, Character of , 
 
 Pope 
 
 Chremes, Character of 
 
 Toung 
 
 Christmas, Hallowed Time . . , 
 
 Simkspeare 
 
 Clelia, Her Vanity in the Alms House 
 
 Crabbe 
 
 Cleopatra, Sailing . . , s 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Clergyman, Petit Maitre . 
 
 Coivper 
 
 Clown, Turned Soldier 
 
 Ibih 
 
 Coliseum, The .... 
 
 Byron 
 
 Contradiction ; 
 
 C oivper 
 
 Conversation, Common, Satirized 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Corruption , 
 
 Pope 
 
 Cottager, Simplicity of contrasted 
 
 Cowper 
 
 Cotter's Saturday Night 
 
 Burns 
 
 Counsel vain in Misery 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Courtier, Finical one described 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Courtiers ..... 
 
 Toung 
 
 Cranmer, His Prophecy 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Crazy Kate. .... 
 
 Coivper 
 
 Critics, Few judge right 
 
 Pope 
 
 Critics Servile • 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Cromwell, Age of Characterised 
 
 Cowper 
 
 Curate, Distress of a Poor One . 
 
 Crabbe 
 
 Curiosity effects of . • 
 
 Akenside 
 
 Curse, Pronounced on Adam • » 
 
 Milton 
 
 Darkness . 
 
 Toung 
 
 Dead, The Mighty Recalled 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Death, Fancy adds to the Horrors of . 
 
 Ibid 
 
 Death, Hamlet's Soliloquy on . • 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Death, Lurks in Pleasures 
 
 Toung 
 
 Death, Ruling Passion, Strong in . 
 
 Pope 
 
 Death, The Caprice and universal Power of 
 
 Toung 
 
 Death, The Terrors of 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Delay, The Folly of . 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Delicacy, False '. • . 
 
 Toung 
 
 Despondency . . . . . 
 
 Burns 
 
 Dignity, Preserved by Distance . 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Dinner's, State, tiresome 
 
 Pope 
 
 Discontent ..... 
 
 Toung 
 
 Dislike. From Prejudice - 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Distinction, General Desire of . . 
 
 Toung 
 
 Doeg, Character of 
 
 Dryden 
 
 Dover Ciitf, Description of 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Dream, Clarence's , . . , 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Dreams • . . 
 
 Toung 
 
INDEX. 
 
 £81 
 
 Dream, The Soldier's - 
 Dreams, Waking • 
 Drinking - 
 Drinking, Effects of - 
 Dull, Charity to their Vanity 
 Duty, Modest Duty • 
 
 Eagle - 
 
 Earth, Has been all alive 
 
 /Education - - - - - 
 
 Egeria ------ 
 
 England, Climate of - 
 
 England, Freedom makes her happy 
 
 England, Love of - 
 
 English, Character of . 
 
 Entry, Public one described 
 
 Eternity - 
 
 Eve, Form of, described - - ' 
 
 Eve, Impression made by 
 
 Eve, Speech of, to Adam - 
 
 Evening - 
 
 Evening - - - - - 
 
 Example, Power of - 
 
 Excess, Effects of 
 
 Exertion, Advantages of . 
 
 Expectation, More than Enjoyment 
 
 Expedition - 
 
 Expression, True, and False - 
 
 Extremes, In Judging, to be avoided 
 
 Faith, Limits of - - 
 
 Faith 
 
 Fair, Disasters of 
 Fairies, Effects of their Jealousy • 
 Fame, Difficulty of attaining 
 Fame - 
 
 Fate, Hid from all - 
 Fate, Power of - - 
 
 Fears, A Woman's - 
 Felicity, To be found underevery Government 
 Females, Cautions to Young 
 Folly, Danger of Disturbing - 
 Fool, His Liberty of Speech 
 Fool, His Moralizing on Time 
 Fortune, Forms our Judgment - 
 Fortune-teller, Description of one - 
 Frailties, Happy ones 
 Frailty, All exposed to 
 France, Character of 
 Frenchman, Character of - 
 Fribble, Critical one, described - 
 Friend, A Convenient one - 
 Friendship Female, in their Early Days 
 A a2 
 
 Campbell 
 
 53 
 
 Young 
 
 59 
 
 Thomson 
 
 ib. 
 
 Armstrong 
 
 60 
 
 Pope 
 
 61 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Thomson 
 
 62 
 
 Toung 
 
 ib. 
 
 Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 Byron 
 
 ib. 
 
 Cotvper 
 
 63 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 64 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 65 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 66 
 
 Toung 
 
 ib. 
 
 Milton 
 
 67 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 68 
 
 Gray 
 
 68 
 
 Milton 
 
 69 
 
 Toung 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Toung 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 70 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Dryden 
 
 71 
 
 Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 72 
 
 Beattie 
 
 73 
 
 Pope 
 
 73 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Butler 
 
 74 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 75 
 
 Coivper 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 75 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid, 
 
 ib. 
 
 Pope 
 
 77 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 ib. 
 
 Coivjier 
 
 78 
 
 Pope 
 
 79 
 
 Coxvper 
 
 80 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
£82 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Friendship, School Friendship . 
 Friendship, Uncertainty of • . 
 
 Futurity ..... 
 
 Gabriel, Descries Satan . . . 
 
 Gay, Who rightly called . 
 
 Gehenno, Character of 
 
 Genius, Repressed by Penury 
 
 Genius, Without Heart 
 
 Ghost, Hamlet's Address to his Father's 
 
 Ghost, What it might tempt to 
 
 Gladiator, The dying . • • 
 
 Golden Age, a Poet's Dream . 
 
 Grave 
 
 Grave .... 
 
 Grave, of the Renowned - 
 
 Gravity, Affected 
 
 Greatness, Subject to Censure 
 
 Greece, Clime of . . 
 
 Greece, Compared . 
 
 Hamlet, Church-yard of the . 
 
 Happiness, A Sad Sight 
 
 Happiness, Domestic . . 
 
 Happiness . 
 
 Harvest, Gathered in . 
 
 Hearse 
 
 Hell, Satan's Address to 
 
 Henry V, His Character . 
 
 Heroes. True and False 
 
 Hilario, Character of 
 
 Hippolitus, Character of 
 
 Home, Regard for . , 
 
 Honesty, A Knave's dispraise of 
 
 Honour, The Word often abused 
 
 Honour, Must be active 
 
 Honour, True, from what . 
 
 Hope, blessings of . ' 
 
 Hope, Deceitful, how recalled 
 
 Hope, Effects of the Sceptical Philosophy on 
 
 Hope, The Influence of, at the Close of Life 
 
 Human Life .... 
 
 Hypocrisy . 
 
 Hypocrisy, Of Angelo described 
 
 Idle, Who falsely called, by the World 
 Imagination, The Power of . 
 Inconsistency, Of Man 
 Indian, Heaven of . • 
 
 Indolence, Castle of . • 
 
 Indolence, Wizard's Invitation to 
 Innocence, Youthful . . 
 
 Instict ..... 
 Irresolution 
 
 Cowper 
 
 81 
 
 • Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Byron 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Milton 
 
 82 
 
 Cowper 
 
 ib, 
 
 . Young 
 
 83 
 
 Gray 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Young 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Ibid, 
 
 84 
 
 Byron 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Cowper 
 
 85 
 
 Young 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Gray 
 
 86 
 
 Young 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 87 
 
 . Byron 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Gray 
 
 88 
 
 Young 
 
 S9 
 
 . Cowper 
 
 ib. 
 
 Armstreng 
 
 90 
 
 . Thomson 
 
 ib. 
 
 Blair 
 
 91 
 
 . Milton 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 92 
 
 . Cowper 
 
 ib. 
 
 Young 
 
 93 
 
 • Akenside 
 
 ib. 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 94 
 
 Ibid, 
 
 95 
 
 . Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Ibid. 
 
 96 
 
 Campbell 
 
 ib. 
 
 m Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 fe Ibid. 
 
 97 
 
 . Cowper 
 
 98 
 
 Milton 
 
 99 
 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Coxvper 
 
 ib. 
 
 , Shakspeare 
 
 100 
 
 You-'g 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 Thomson 
 
 101 
 
 . Ibid. 
 
 102 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 105 
 
 . Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 10t) 
 
INDEX 
 
 Italy, Character of 
 Italian Summer Eve 
 
 Jealousy 
 
 Jester «... 
 
 Jestimr. How begot 
 Joys, Departed 
 
 Knowledge, Best kind of 
 Knowledge, Contrasted with "Wisdom 
 
 Ladies .... 
 
 Lady of the Lake, Description of 
 
 Lady, Languid one 
 
 Laughter .... 
 
 Lavinia, Character of . 
 
 Lavinia, Character of 
 
 Learning. Frauds of . 
 
 Learning, Hudibras, his . ^ . 
 
 Learning, Often opposed to Wisdom 
 
 Leisure Not easily managed 
 
 Life, Its fleeting Nature 
 
 Life, A recluse one . 
 
 Life. Miseries of 
 
 Life, Sedentary and Active 
 
 Life, What it is 
 
 Lochitl. t -ochiel's Warning 
 
 Loch Katrine . 
 
 Logic, Hudibras, his Logic 
 
 London, Motives for going to 
 
 Love. Concealed . 
 
 Lott. Connubial 
 
 Love, Dissembled . . 
 
 Love. Fickleness of 
 
 Love, the Power of 
 
 Love, Too aspiring 
 
 Love, True, ever crossed . 
 
 Love, Wedd'-d, Address to 
 
 Love. What it is 
 
 Lovers, Parting interrupted . 
 
 Lowlines, Ambition's Ladder 
 
 Lunar :phere. What found io 
 
 Luxury, Perverts the Taste 
 
 Mab. Queen Mab. her Dreams 
 
 Macbeth, His 1 emper 
 
 Macbeth, Lady, her Inxocatioa 
 
 Madness. Sooth^a by Memory 
 
 Man A merry one 
 
 Man. Accomplished _ , 
 
 Man. Character of his Life 
 
 Man. Fortitude of a noble-minded one 
 
 Man. Strange Extremes meet in 
 
 Man, Strange Nature of . 
 
 Man, Why formed as he is 
 
 £85 
 
 . Goldsmith 
 
 106 
 
 Byron 
 
 107 
 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 103 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 2'oung 
 
 »», 
 
 . Milton 
 
 ib. 
 
 Coxvptr 
 
 109 
 
 . Pope 
 
 110 
 
 Scott 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Young 
 
 Ill 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Thomson 
 
 112 
 
 Young 
 
 113 
 
 . Butler 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 114 
 
 . 2'oung 
 
 ib. 
 
 Cooper 
 
 115 
 
 . Young 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 t Thomson 
 
 116 
 
 Cowper 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 117 
 
 Campbell 
 
 ib. 
 
 . Scott 
 
 118 
 
 Butler 
 
 119 
 
 , Cooper 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 120 
 
 , Campbell 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakipeare 
 
 121 
 
 . Moore 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 132 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 123 
 
 IbkL 
 
 ib. 
 
 • Milton 
 
 124 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 125 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 Coivper 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 126 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 127 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Rogers 
 
 128 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Pope 
 
 129 
 
 
 ib. 
 
 | eare 
 
 ib. 
 
 Young 
 
 130 
 
 
 ib. 
 
 Coii- per 
 
 131 
 
234 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Marathon, Plain of 
 
 Marlborough, Character of - 
 
 Maxims, Abuse of - 
 
 Medium, Not easily hit 
 
 Melancholy Address to - 
 
 Melancholy, Gestures that betoken 
 
 Melancholy, Musing 
 
 Memory, Dwells on the Scenes of our Early 
 
 Days - - - - - . 
 
 Memory, Its Pleasures in recalling the Virtues 
 
 of a departed Friend 
 Mercy, Its Character - 
 Messenger, Post Haste of one _ 
 Mind, Importance of Regulating 
 Mind, Cultivated 
 Mind, depends on the Life 
 Mind, Its Diseases incurable 
 Minds, Happily tempered 
 Minstrel, Described 
 Minstrel, His Retreat ■ • 
 
 Mirth, Address to - 
 Mirth, and Melancholy 
 Mob, Folly of trusting to • 
 Modesty, Described 
 Moonlight - 
 
 Murder, Murdered Person described 
 Muse, Haunts of - 
 Music - - - - 
 
 Narcissus, Character of - 
 
 Nature, Her Bounties 
 
 Nature, Her Charms 
 
 Nature, Her Wants few 
 
 Nature, Kind to all 
 
 Nature, Spoilt by false Learning 
 
 Necessaries, Of Life "few - 
 
 News Btarers - _ - 
 
 Newsmongers, Ridiculed - 
 
 Newspapers, Contents of 
 
 Night - 
 
 Night - 
 
 Nobility, True 
 
 Noon, Noonday Heat - 
 
 Nourmahal, Her Charms - 
 
 Novelists, Satire on 
 
 Novels, Satire on - 
 
 Obstinacy, Who most guilty of 
 Occiduus, Character of - 
 Og, Character of 
 
 Opportunity, Omitted Effects of - 
 Othello, His Speech to the Senate 
 
 Pains of Idleness - Pope 
 
 Byron 
 
 131 
 
 - Addison 
 
 132 
 
 Pope 
 
 133 
 
 - Coxvper 
 
 ib. 
 
 Milton 
 
 ib. 
 
 - Coxvper 
 
 136 
 
 Thomson 
 
 ib. 
 
 our Early 
 
 
 - Rogers 
 
 137 
 
 he Virtues 
 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 139 
 
 - Shakspeare 
 
 139 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Armstrong 
 
 140 
 
 - Rogers 
 
 141 
 
 - Coxvper 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 - Coxvper 
 
 142 
 
 Scott 
 
 ib. 
 
 - Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Milton 
 
 143 
 
 - Shakspeare 
 
 145 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 146 
 
 - Milton 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 1 - Ibid. 
 
 147 
 
 Gray 
 
 ib. 
 
 - Shakspeare 
 
 148 
 
 Young 
 
 143 
 
 - Thomson 
 
 ib. 
 
 Beattie 
 
 149 
 
 - Toung 
 
 ib. 
 
 Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 - Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 150 
 
 - Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 • Coxvper 
 
 151 
 
 Toung 
 
 152 
 
 - Shakspeare 
 
 153 
 
 Pope 
 
 ib. 
 
 - Thomson 
 
 ib. 
 
 Moore 
 
 154 
 
 - Coxvper 
 
 155 
 
 Crabbe 
 
 ib. 
 
 • Coxvper 
 
 157 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 ib. 
 
 - Dryden 
 
 158 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 ib. 
 
 - Ibid. 
 
 159 
 
 160 
 
INDEX. 
 
 185 
 
 Paradise of Fools, What it contains . Milton 
 
 Paradise Lost, subject of the Poem . Ibid. 
 
 Parents, n.ged. Du.\ to | . . . Pope 
 
 Parents, Our First, described . . Milton 
 
 Parlour, twilight . Camper 
 
 Parts. Superior, their Disadvantages ; Pope 
 
 Passions, Disorders of. . . . Tm 
 
 Pastor, Injury done by a Dad one . Cowper 
 
 Pastors, Ungracious ones . . . Shaktpenre 
 
 Patriots. Fulse . . . » & 
 
 Peas jury. Value of . . « . Goldsmith 
 
 PL-rstuinion, Who persecuted by Mary . Cowper 
 
 Pestilence . . . . Th 
 
 Philosophy, Hudibras, his Philosophy . Butler 
 Phcebe Dawson .... Crabbe 
 
 Pity, Tender Appeal to . . Shakspeare 
 
 Plagiary. Character of one . . , Pope 
 
 Plague, Stov\ connected with . . Daman 
 
 Planets Astrologer's Opinion of , . Garth 
 
 Play, Rage for .... Caliper 
 
 Players, General Alnster of . . . Churchill 
 
 Playthings, For every Age . . Pcpe 
 
 Playplaoe Of our early days . . . Camper 
 
 Pleasure, True and False ". . , Toung 
 
 Pleasures, Foreign, Folly of , . . Pope 
 
 Poet, Form of a False One . . Ibid. 
 Poets, True, rare .... Coxvper 
 
 Poetry, Beauties of, not to he taught . Pope 
 
 Poetry. Foliy of straining after . . Cooper 
 
 Praise. Loved by all . .J 
 
 Preacher, The Village . . , Goldsmith 
 
 Raptures, Who enjoys most . . Pope 
 
 Reading. Abuse of . . . Milton 
 
 Recreation, Bad Effects from the want of Shakspeare 
 
 Reapers , Thomson 
 
 Refinement, Cannot clear the Stain of Vice Camper 
 
 Religion. Hudibras, his . . . Butler 
 
 Reputation . ' . . , . Shakspeare 
 
 Resolutions, Vanity of Man's . , Toung 
 
 Respect, Lost, by being too familiar . • Shakspeare 
 
 Retirement, Genera] Wish fin* . . Camper 
 
 Retreat, from the World . , . /lung 
 
 Rhetoric, Hu'libras, his . . Butler 
 
 Rhymers. Feelings excited by . . Shakspeare 
 
 Richard, King, his Character . . Ibid. 
 
 Riches, Their true Vaiue . . . Armstrong 
 
 Rie:ht. Whatever is, is Ri^ht . . Pope 
 
 Romance, General Character of . . Crabbe 
 
 gome .-'-.. . . . Byron 
 Rosalind, Proposing to wear Men's Clothes Shakspeare 
 
 Roses. Bower of Roses . . Moore 
 Royalty, Inborn .... Shakspeare 
 
286 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Ruling Passion - Pope 
 
 Ruling Passion, Clue to Character - - Ibid, 
 
 Sabbath, Stillness of - - - Grahame 
 
 Sabbath, poor Man's Day of Rest - - Ibid. 
 
 Satan, His A ppcarance ... Milton 
 
 Satan, Tempting Eve - Ibid. 
 
 Satire, Often to blame - Corwper 
 
 Satire, Proper Objects of - - - Pope 
 
 Sceptics, Address to Campbell 
 School Divinity, Hudibras, His Divinity - Butler 
 
 Schoolmaster, Country described - Goldsmith 
 
 Science, Man's best - Toung 
 
 Science, Often misleads • ■ - Pope 
 
 Science, To be modestly traced - - Ibid. 
 
 Scenery, Mountain Scenery - - Southey 
 
 Scenes, Of Our Native Land - Scott 
 
 Scenes, Of Infancy - - Leyden 
 
 Scenes, Of Childhood , Coleridge 
 
 Scribbler. Feels little - - - Pope 
 
 Scribblers, Their Impertinence - - Ibid, 
 
 Sense, Value of Common Sense - - Ibid. 
 
 Servant, Old, his Gratitude - Shakspeare 
 
 Service, In an old Cathedral - - Southey 
 
 Shepherd, Blessings of his Life - - Shakspeare 
 
 Shepherd, Going Home at Eve - - Thomson 
 
 Shield, Satan's described - Milton 
 
 Shipwreck, Described - Wilson 
 
 Sin. Satan's Encounter with - Milton 
 
 Skull, Reflections on Byron 
 
 Slavery, its Sufferings - Montgomery 
 
 Slaves, Disgrace of having them - - Coroner 
 
 Sleep, Dreaming of the Joys of Youth • Moore 
 
 Sleep, Forsakes the Wretched - - Toung 
 
 Sleep, Oft Denied to Greatness - - Shakspeare 
 
 Sleep, Restores the Spirits - - Toung 
 
 Snow Storm, Man Sinking under . . Thomson 
 
 Society, Misery of being cut off from - Ibid. 
 
 Soldiers, English, Scottish, and Irish - Scott 
 
 Solicitation, The Season for - - Shakspeare 
 
 Soli ude, Feelings excited by - - - Coivper 
 
 Solitude, Bad Effects of - - - Ibid. 
 
 Solitude, Worst Kind of Byrm 
 
 Solitude, Preferred to" a Court Life - Shakspeare 
 
 Song Of the Young Bard Carodoc ^ . ■ Southey 
 
 Sorrow, deep Female Sorrow Described Ibid, 
 
 Sounds, Rural Coivper 
 
 Sounds, from the Village . . . Goldsmith 
 Spirits, Their Nature .... Milton 
 Spirits, Animal .... Toung 
 
 Spleen, Acts in various Ways . . Pope 
 
 Spleen, Rare in the Country . . Coivper 
 
 Spring, Address to . • • Gray 
 
INDEX 
 
 Spring, Melancholy Reflections on 
 Stag, Wounded • • 
 
 Stars, Their Fate . 
 State, What constitutes one . 
 Statesmen, Fox and Pitt . 
 Station Exalted _ • • 
 
 Storm, an approaching one 
 Studv, Excessive, Folly of 
 Study, Often Trifling , 
 Suicide, The . . • 
 
 Sunshine, Its Power 
 Sunshine, Effects of a Bright Day 
 Swiss, Character of 
 Sycophant, his Subserviency ■ 
 
 Sylphs, their Province • 
 
 Sylphs, Their punishment . 
 Systems, Makers of, Ridiculed 
 
 Talavera, Battle of 
 
 Tale, What it should be 
 
 Talents, Confined , 
 
 Talk, Fashionable 
 
 Tam O'Shanter 
 
 Tears, Different Causes of 
 
 Tents, Of an Army, Their Effect 
 
 Teviot .... 
 
 Thames . . • 
 
 Thames .... 
 
 Theology, The World A System of 
 
 Things, Little, great to Man 
 
 Thought, Its Difference from Reverie 
 
 Thoughts, To be wel! guarded 
 
 Thought, Painful to be avoided 
 
 Thresher . 
 
 Time. Fashionable Way of Spending 
 
 Time, Past and Future 
 
 Time, Ceaseless Sweep of 
 
 Time, Not Regarded 
 
 Time, and Change, On the Effects of 
 
 Toilet , 
 
 To-morrow , . . 
 
 To-morrow, Danger of Procrastination 
 
 Tongues, Their Strife 
 
 Toys, Fondness for, Ridiculed . 
 
 Tragic Muse, Use of . 
 
 Travel, Advice on going to 
 
 Travelling, Effects of, on a Rake 
 
 Travelling, Satire on . , 
 
 Triumph, Triumphant Entry 
 
 Troubles, Of Loiterers . , 
 
 Truths, Blunt, Mischief of , 
 
 Tutor, Proper One , , 
 
 Tutor, Advice to one * , 
 
 237 
 
 Logan 
 , Shakspeare 
 
 Darwin 
 , Jones 
 
 Scott 
 . Young 
 
 Moore 
 . Shakspeare 
 
 Young 
 . Wharton 
 
 Moore 
 - Southeij 
 . Goldsmith 
 
 Young 
 . Pope 
 
 Ibid. 
 . Cowper 
 
 Byron 
 . Cowper 
 
 Pope 
 . Ibid, 
 
 Burns 
 
 • Young 
 . Moore 
 
 Scott 
 . Thomson 
 
 Denkam 
 . Young 
 
 Goldsmith 
 . Cowper 
 
 Young 
 . Armstrong 
 
 Cowper 
 . Ibid. 
 
 Young 
 . Scott 
 
 Young 
 . Beattie 
 
 Pope 
 . Young 
 
 Cotton 
 . Pope 
 
 Young 
 . Pope 
 
 Shakspeare 
 . Pope 
 
 Cowper 
 . Southey 
 
 Pope 
 
 ♦ Ibid. 
 Cowper 
 
 , Crabbe 
 
 220 
 221 
 222 
 
 ib. 
 223 
 
 ib. 
 224 
 
 ib. 
 225 
 
 ib. 
 225 
 
 ib. 
 227 
 228 
 
 ib. 
 229 
 
 ib. 
 
 230 
 331 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 
 232 
 233 
 
 ib. 
 234 
 
 ib. 
 235 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 236 
 
 ib. 
 237 
 
 ib. 
 238 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 239 
 
 ib. 
 240 
 
 ib. 
 241 
 
 ib. 
 242 
 
 ib. 
 
 i!>. 
 2^3 
 244 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 24.; 
 
283 
 
 INDEX, 
 
 Vanity, Of all Things 
 
 Vanity, Of Human Wishes . 
 
 Venice, Why endeared to us 
 
 Venus de Medicis 
 
 Vessel. Life compared to one 
 
 Vice, Danger of Familiarity with 
 
 Vices, Various kinds of . • 
 
 Village, Auburn, Its Beauties 
 
 Villain, Sight of, Tempting to Evil 
 
 Viliiers, End of . 
 
 Virtue, Its Prize . . . 
 
 War, Beacon, Blaze of 
 
 War, Its Desolation . . • 
 
 War, Signs of . . 
 
 War, Othello's Farewell to 
 
 Warnings, Foreboding the Fate of Rosabelle 
 
 Warrior, Charles of Sweden, his Fate . 
 
 Waterloo, Preparations For the Battle of . 
 
 Wealth, Vanity of . 
 
 Wharton, Duke of, his Character 
 
 Winter , 
 
 Wisdom, Address to . 
 
 Wisdom, Grief, best School of 
 
 Wisdom, Lessons of .... 
 
 Wit, Polished .... 
 
 Wit, Fashions in . • . 
 
 Wit, Unhappiness of . . . 
 
 Wit, True Defined .... 
 
 Wit, Parties in 
 
 Woolsey, His Farewell to Greatness 
 
 Woman, Dressed for Show 
 
 Women, One Impertinence expels another 
 
 Words, Affectation in 
 
 Words, Satire on excessive Study of 
 
 World. False Confidence of 
 
 World, Infectious 
 
 World, Our embarking in 
 
 World, Satan's First Discovery of 
 
 Worth, Often Distressed • • 
 
 Writing, Little Novelty in 
 
 Writers, Mutual Jealousy of 
 
 Writings how to be Judged of 
 
 Youth, Contrasted with Age 
 Youth, Uncertain Pleasures of< 
 Youth, Pleasures of, KecaUl " 
 Youth, Pleasures of Teachiil 
 Youth, Remembfikces of 
 Zelica, Natuftof Her Grief 
 Zephon, Mis^buke to Satan 
 Zimri, Character of 
 Zone, Torrid, Described . 
 
 ires of*% 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Johnson 
 
 Byron 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Gray 
 
 Pope 
 
 Young 
 
 Goldsmith 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Pope 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Scott 
 
 Sou they 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Scott 
 
 Johnson 
 
 Byron 
 
 Cowley 
 
 Pope 
 
 Thomson 
 
 Barbauld 
 
 Toung 
 
 Armstrong 
 
 Toung 
 
 Pope 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Shakepeare 
 
 Cowper 
 
 Pope 
 
 Shakspeare 
 
 Pope 
 
 Conper 
 
 Toung 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Milton 
 
 Thomson 
 
 Cowper 
 
 Pope 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 248 
 ib. 
 
 250 
 ib. 
 ib. 
 
 251 
 
 ib. 
 ib. 
 
 252 
 ib. 
 253 
 
 ib. 
 
 254 
 256 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 258 
 259 
 261 
 
 ib. 
 262 
 263 
 
 ib. 
 264 
 265 
 266 
 
 ib. 
 267 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 268 
 
 il). 
 269 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 270 
 
 ib. 
 271 
 
 ib. 
 272 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 
 Cowper 273 
 
 Mrs. Robinson ib. . 
 
 Gray 
 
 Thomson 
 
 Logan 
 
 Moore 
 Milton 
 Pope 
 Goldsmith 
 
 274 
 275 
 
 ib. 
 276 
 277 
 273 
 
 ib 
 

 
 
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