Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

Ah! how unstable are the joys of life! The pleasures, ah, how few !—Now smile the skies

With aspect mild; and now the thunders shake,
And all the radiance of the heavens deflower.
Thro' the small opening of the mainsail broad,
Lo, Boreas steals, and tears him from the yard,
Where long and lasting he has played his part!
So suffers Virtue. When in her fair form
The smallest flaw is found, the whole decays.
In vain she may implore with piteous eye,
And spread her naked pinions to the blast:
A reputation maimed finds no repair,

Till Death, the ghastly monarch, shuts the

scene.

And now we gain the May, whose midnight light,

Like vestal virgins' offerings undecayed,
To mariners bewildered acts the part
Of social friendship, guiding those that err
With kindly radiance to their destined port.

Thanks, kindest Nature! for those floating gems,

Those green-grown isles, with which you, lavish, strew

Great Neptune's empire. But for thee! the

main

Were an uncomfortable mazy flood.

No guidance, then, would bless the steersman's skill,

No resting-place would crown the mariner's

wish,

When he to distant gales his canvas spreads, To search new wonders.-Here the verdant

shores

Teem with new freshness, and regale our sight With caves, that ancient time, in days of yore, Sequestered for the haunt of Druid lone, There to remain in solitary cell,

Beyond the

power of mortals to disjoin From holy meditation.-Happy now

To cast our eyes around from shore to shore,
While by the oozy caverns on the beach
We wander wild, and listen to the roar
Of billows murmuring with incessant noise.

And now, by Fancy led, we wander wild Where o'er the rugged steep the buried dead Remote lie anchored in their parent mould; Where a few fading willows point the state Of man's decay. Ah, Death! where'er we fly,

Whether we seek the busy and the gay,

The mourner or the joyful, there art thou!
No distant isle, no surly swelling surge,

E'er awed thy progress, or controlled thy sway,

To bless us with that comfort, length of days, By all aspired at, but by few attained.

To Fife we steer; of all beneath the sun The most unhallowed 'mid the Scotian plains! And here (sad emblem of deceitful times!) Hath sad Hypocrisy her standard borne. Mirth knows no residence; but ghastly Fear Stands trembling and appalled at airy sights. Once, only once! Reward it, gracious Powers! Did Hospitality, with open face,

And winning smile, cheer the deserted sight,
That else had languished for the blessed return
Of beauteous day, to dissipate the clouds
Of endless night, and superstition wild,
That constant hover o'er the dark abode.
O happy Lothian! happy thrice thy sons!
Who ne'er yet ventured from the Southern
shore

To tempt Misfortune on the Fifan coast:
Again with thee we dwell, and taste thy joys,
Where sorrow reigns not, and where every

gale

Is fraught with fulness, blessed with living

hope,

That fears no canker from the year's decay.

TO SIR JOHN FIELDING,

On his Attempt to suppress the Beggar's Opera.

When you censure the age,

Be cautious and sage,

Lest the courtiers offended should be;

When you mention vice or bribe,

'Tis so pat to all the tribe,

Each cries, It was levelled at me.

GAY.

'Tis woman that seduces all mankind.

FILCH.

BENEATH what cheerful region of the sky

Shall Wit, shall Humour, and the Muses fly? For ours, a cold, inhospitable clime,

Refuses quarter to the Muse and rhyme.

If on her brows an envied laurel springs,
They shake its foliage; crop her growing wings,
That with the plumes of virtue wisely soar,
And all the follies of the age explore:
But should old Grub her rankest venom pour,
And every virtue with a vice deflower,
Her verse is sacred, Justices agree;
Even Justice Fielding signs the wise decree.

Let fortune-dealers, wise predictors! tell From what bright planet Justice Fielding fell. Augusta trembles at the awful name; The darling tongue of Liberty is tame, Basely confined by him in Newgate chains, Nor dare exclaim how harshly Fielding reigns.

In days when every mercer has his scale,
To tell what pieces lack, how few prevail !
I wonder not the low-born menial trade,
By partial Justice has aside been laid;
For she no discount gives for Virtue worn;
Her aged joints are without mercy torn.

Of

In vain, O Gay! thy Muse explored the way

yore, to banish the Italian lay;

Gave homely numbers sweet, tho' warmly

strong;

The British chorus blessed the happy song:

« AnteriorContinuar »