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CHAP. XIX.

AGAINST INDOLENCE.

AN EPISTLE TO DR. CORNWALLIS.

IN Frolic's hour, ere serious Thought had birth,
There was a time, my dear Cornwallis, when'
The Muse would take me on her airy wing,
And waft to views romantic; there present
Some motley vision, shade and sun; the cliff
C'erhanging, sparkling brooks, and ruins gray :
Bade me meanders trace, and catch the form
Of various clouds, and rainbows learn to paint.
Sometimes Ambition, brushing by, would twitch
My mantle, and with winning look sublime
Allure to follow. What though steep the track,
Her mountain's top would overpay, when climb'd,
The scaler's toil; her temple there was fine,
And lovely thence the prospects She could tell
Where laurels grew, whence many a wreath anti-

que;

But more advis'd to shun the barren twig,
(What is immortal verdure without fruit?)
And woo some thriving art; her num'rous mines
Were open to the searcher's skill and pains.

Caught by th' harangue, heart beat, and flutt'ring pulse

Sounded irreg'lar marches to be gone

What, pause a moment when Ambition calls?
No, the blood gallops to the distant goal,
And throbs to reach it. Let the lame sit still.
When Fortane gentle, at th' hill's verge extreme,
Array'd in decent garb, but somewhat thin,
Smiling approach'd; and what occasion, ask'd,
Of climbing: She, already provident,
Had cater'd well, if stomach could digest
Her viands, and a palate not too nice.
Unfit she said, for perilous attempt,
That manly limb required, and sinew tough.

She

She took, and laid me in a vale remote,
Amid the gloomy scene of fir and yew,

On poppy beds, where Morpheus strew'd the ground:

Obscurity her curtain round me drew,

And siren Sloth a dull quietus sung.

Sithence no fairy lights, no quick'ning ray,
No stir of pulse, nor objects to entice
Abroad the spirits: but the cloister'd heart
Sits squat at home, like pagod in a niche
Obscure, or grandees with nod-watching eye,
And folded arms, in présence of the throne,
Turk, or Indostan-Cities, forums, courts,
And prating sanhedrims, and drumming wars,
Affect no more than stories told to bed
Lethargic, which at intervals the sick

Hears and forgets, and wakes to doze again.
Instead of converse and variety,

The same trite round, the same stale silent scene:
Such are thy comforts, blessed Solitude !—
But innocence is there, but Peace all kind,
And simple Quiet with her downy couch,
Meads lowing, tune of birds, and lapse of streams,
And saunter with a book, and warbling Muse
In praise of hawthorns-Life's whole business this
Is it to bask i' th' sun? if so, a snail
Were happy crawling on a southern wall.
Why sits Content upon a cottage sill
At eventide, and blesses the coarse meal
In sooty corner? Why sweet Slumber wait
Th' hard pallet? Not because from haunt remote
Sequester'd in a dingie's bushy lap:

'Tis Labour sav ry makes the peasant's fare,
And works out his repose: for Ease must ask
The leave of Diligence to be enjoy'd.

Q! listen not to that enchantress Ease
With seeming smile; her palatable cup
By standing grows insipid; an.. beware
The bottom, for there's poison in the jees.

What health impair'd, and crowds i.active maim'd!
What daily martyrs to her sluggish cause!

L

Less

Less strict devoir the Russ and Persian claim
Despotic; and as subjects long inur'd
To servile burden grow supine and tame,
So fares it with our sov'reign and her train.
What though with lure fallacious she pretend
From worldly bondage to set free, what gain
Her vot'ries? What avails from iron chains
Exempt, if rosy fetters bind as fast?

Bestir, and answer your creation's end.
Think we that man, with vig'rous pow'r endow'd
And room to stretch, was destin'd to sit still?
Sluggards are Nature's rebels, slight her laws,
Nor live up to the terms on which they hold
Their vital lease. Laborious terms and hard;
But such the tenure of our earthly state!
Riches and fame are Industry's reward;
The nimble runner courses Fortune down,
And then he banquets, for she feeds the bold.
Think what you owe your country, what your
self.

If Splendour charm not, yet avoid the Scorn,
That treads on lowly stations. Think of some
Assiduous booby mounting o'er your head,
And thence with saucy gran leur looking down :
Think of (Reflection's stab!) the pitying friend
With shouldershrugg'd and sorry. Think that Time
Has golden minutes, if discreetly sciz'd,
And if some sad example, indoleat,

To warn and scare be wanting-think of me.

SNEYD DAVIES

́ELEGY FO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN LEAVING THE
UNIVERSITY.

ERE yet, ingenuous Youth, thy steps retire
From Cams' smooth margin, and the peaceful vale,
Where Science call'd thee to her studious quire,
And met thee musing in her cloisters paie,
D! let thy frien, rand may he boast the name)
Breathe from his artless reed one parting lay!

A lay

A lay like this thy early Virtues claim,
And this let voluntary Friendship pay.
Yet know the time arrives, the dangerous time,
When all those Virtues, opening now so fair,
Transplanted to the world's tempestuous clime.
Must learn each Passion's boist'rous breath to bear
There if Ambition pestilent and pale,

Or Luxury should taint their vernal glow
It cold Self interest, with her chilling gale,

Should blast th' unfolding blossoms ere they blow; If mimic hues, by Art, or Fashion spread.

Their genuine, simple colouring should supply
O! with them may these laureate honours fade,
And with them, (if it can,), my friendship die.
-And do not blame, if tho? thyself inspile,
Cautious I strike the panegyric string;.
The muse full oft pursues a meteor fire,
And, vainly vent'rous, soars on waxen wing,
Too actively awake at Friendship's voice,

The Poet's bosom pours the fervent strain,.
Till sad Reflection blames the hasty choice,.
And oft invokes Oblivion's aid in vain.
Go then, my Friend, nor let thy candid breast.

Condemn me, if I check the plausive string..
Go to the wayward world; complete the rest ;.
Be, what the purest Muse would wish to sing,
Be still thyself; that open path of Truth,

Which led thee here, let Manhood firm pursue Retain the sweet simplicity of Youth,

And, all thy virtue dictates, dare to do.

Still scorn, with conscious pride, the mask of Art ;: On Vice's front let fearful caution low's,

And teach the diffident, discreeter part

Of knaves that plot, and fools that fawn for power. So, round thy brow when Age's honours spread, When Death's cold hand unstrings thy Mason's lyre,

When the green turf lies lightly on his head,.
Thy worth shall some superior band inspire:
He, to the amplest bounds of Time's domain,
On Rapture's plume shall give thy name to fly;

L 2

For

:

For trust, with rev'rence trust this Sabine strain "The Muse forbids the virtuous man to die.”

ON THE MISERIES OF HUMAN LIFE.

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 tumbling 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 retir'd distress: how many stand
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends
And point the parting anguish.-

fond Man

-Thought

Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
That one incessant struggle render life,

One