Our easy bliss, when each thing joy supplied; The woods, the mountains, and the warbling maze Of the wild brooks!-But fondly wandering wide, My Muse, resume the task that yet doth thee abide. One great amusement of our household was, Run bustling to and fro with foolish haste, In search of pleasure vain that from them fly, "Of vanity the mirror" this was call'd. Firm to this scoundrel maxim keepeth he, Till it has quench'd his fire, and banished his pot. Straight from the filth of this low grub, behold! Comes fluttering forth a gaudy spendthrift heir, All glossy gay, enamel'd all with gold, The silly tenant of the summer-air, In folly lost, of nothing takes he care; Pimps, lawyers, stewards, harlots, flatterers vile, And thieving tradesmen him among them share : His father's ghost from limbo-lake, the while, Sees this, which more damnation doth upon him pile. This globe portray'd the race of learned men, Still at their books, and turning o'er the page Backwards and forwards: oft they snatch the pen, As if inspir'd, and in a Thespian rage; Then write, and blot, as would your ruth engage. Why, authors, all this scrawl and scribbling sore? To lose the present, gain the future age, Praised to be when you can hear no more, And much enrich'd with fame, when useless worldly store. Then would a splendid city rise to view, With carts, and cars, and coaches, roaring all: Wide pour'd abroad behold the giddy crew; See how they dash along from wall to wall! At every door, hark how they thundering call! Good Lord! what can this giddy rout excite ? Why, on each other with fell tooth to fall; A neighbor's fortune, fame, or peace to blight, And make new tiresome parties for the coming night. The puzzling sons of party next appear'd, Th' important shoulder; then, as if to get But what most show'd the vanity of life. Was to behold the nations all on fire, In cruel broils engag'd, and deadly strife: Most Christian kings, inflam'd by black desire, With honorable ruffians in their hire, Cause war to rage, and blood around to pour : Of this sad work when each begins to tire, They sit them down just where they were before, Till for new scenes of woe peace shall their force restore. To number up the thousands dwelling here, But these I passen by, with nameless numbers moe. Of all the gentle tenants of the place, There was a man of special grave remark: A certain tender gloom o'erspread his face, Pensive, not sad, in thought involv'd, not dark; As soot this man could sing as morning-lark, And teach the noblest morals of the heart: But these his talents were yburied stark; Of the fine stores he nothing would impart, Which or boon Nature gave, or Nature-painting Art. To noontide shades incontinent he ran, Sauntering and slow. So had he passed many a day! Yet not in thoughtless slumber were they past: But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind. With him was sometimes join'd, in silent walk, New light, their twinkling eyes were inward set. The glittering star of eve-"Thank Heaven! the No sooner Lucifer recalls affairs, Than forth they various rush in mighty fret; When, lo! push'd up to power, and crown'd their cares, In comes another set, and kicketh them down stairs. day is done." Here lurk'd a wretch, who had not crept abroad Through secret loop-holes, that had practis'd been Near to his bed, his dinner vile he took; Unkempt, and rough, of squalid face and mien, Our castle's shame! whence, from his filthy nook, We drove the villain out for fitter lair to look. One day there chaunc'd into these halls to rove A joyous youth, who took you at first sight; Him the wild wave of pleasure hither drove, Before the sprightly tempest-tossing light: Certes, he was a most engaging wight, Of social glee, and wit humane, though keen, Turning the night to day, and day to night: For him the merry bells had rung, I ween, If in this nook of quiet bells had ever been. But not ev'n pleasure to excess is good: What most elates then sinks the soul as low : When spring-tide joy pours in with copious flood, The higher still th' exulting billows flow, The farther back again they flagging go, And leave us grovelling on the dreary shore: Taught by this son of joy, we found it so: Who, whilst he staid, kept in a gay uproar Our madden'd castle all, th' abode of sleep no more. As when in prime of June a burnish'd fly, Sprung from the meads, o'er which he sweeps along, Cheer'd by the breathing bloom and vital sky, Then out again he flies, to wing his mazy round. Another guest there was, of sense refin'd, And sometimes would he make our valley glad; When as we found he would not here be pent, To him the better sort this friendly message sent. 44 Come, dwell with us! true son of virtue, come! Here whilom ligg'd th' Esopus of the age; Yet quits not Nature's bounds. He knows to keep Each due decorum: now the heart he shakes, And now with well-urg'd sense th' enlighten'd judg ment takes. * Mr. Quin. Alas! the change! from scenes of joy and rest, To this dark den, where Sickness toss'd alway. Here Lethargy, with deadly sleep opprest, Stretch'd on his back, a mighty lubbard, lay, Heaving his sides, and snored night and day; To stir him from his traunce it was not eath, And his half-open'd eyne he shut straightway: He led, I wot, the softest way to death, I care not, Fortune, what you me deny : And taught withouten pain and strife to yield the Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. breath. |