To Him is known, who first infus'd
your breath,
Who keeps the issues of your life and death;
But, act it well, whate'er may be your task;
And never stoop, to act beneath a mask :
With generous scorn the sordid throngs behold,
Who sell their honour, and their peace for gold.
You do not issue, from the cells obscene,
Of sordid parentage, and prospects mean.→→→
You shall not need to join the reptile brood,
Of aims as base and lowly as their blood;
That win their crooked way, by many a wile,
And bask and wriggle in a great man's smile.
You shall not beg, in Alma's learn'd retreat,
The scraps of Science, with the scraps of meat.
Tho' some the Bar, and some the Bench may own,
That pertly smirk, or supercilious frown;
And some may loudly in the Senate prate,
With self-importance swell'd, with hope elate;
Who nurst in hovels, smoaking by the road,
With brother pigs, and vermin crept abroad:
Like their own curs, importunate and loud,
For noise and rancour, mark'd among the croud; 280
Forget the time, when Alma wont to deal,
On greazy trenchers the cold offal meal.
Far other documents shall form your youth,
To chaste regard of order, and of truth.-
With jealous care, from you parental love
Shall sordid thing, unseemly sound remove;
As priests that tend some temple's hallow'd space,
Irrev'rent sound, polluted object chace;
And shame and guilt are banish'd from the cells,
Where Heav'n is open'd, and the Godhead dwells. 290
And still preserve the temple of the mind,
A pure recess, where Godhead dwells enshrin'd.
And ever be the generous bosom fraught,
With every virtuous aim, and noble thought;
The laws and sanctions on the soul imprest,
The just tribunal of the conscious breast:
Prepar'd to stem the waves of civil strife,
And pass with dignity thro' varied life,
0 may my Sons, with modest worth endued,
With virtuous pride, and temp'rate fortitude;
Behold poor greatness with undazzled ken,
And keep their station in a race of men.
Born in the dregs of this unworthy age,
Too cold my bosom, for the noble rage,
That times corrupt, and public wrongs demand,
That dares to vindicate a suff'ring land.—
The Patriot's flame lies dormant in my mind,
To silent pray'rs, and fruitless sighs confin'd.
But, well I know it, for your youthful prime,
Events are ripening in the womb of time.
Then, Reason shalt exult in giant strength;
And Prejudice extend her mazy length.-
Subdued, exhausted, by full many a wound,
The Hydra falls-the victors shout around.-
From all the train loud Io-Pœans rise;
Loud gratulations fill the gladsome skies.
The voice of Freedom runs from shore to shore;
And Bigotry and Discord are no more.
The guilty genius, that delighted dwells,
In statesmens' conclaves, or in monkish cells;
Deserts the shore, with more than mortal pangs,
And breaks his serpent scourge, and iron fangs.
ON MISS A-N BEING AFFLICTED WITH AN INFLAMMATION OF THE EYES.
ОH leave awhile thy fairy bowers,
Where Beauty tints her Summer flowers,
With many a bright and vivid hue,
That glowing thro' the crystal dew,
Perfumes the zephyrs airy wing,
That fans at eve the Elfin ring;
Oh Oberon! hear Friendship's prayer,
If youthful Virtue be thy care;
And from thy moon-light island come,
Across the ocean's silver foam;
Thy light bark form'd of tendrils fine,
Which curl around the purple vine,
Floats as the whispering billow heaves,
Around thy sails of wild-rose leaves:
Ah urge it o'er the heaving deep,
When soft the gales of Twilight sweep,
And if in Fairy-land there be
On opening bud or blossom'd tree,
The sparkling drops of charmed dew,
Distilled thro' Evening's concave blue,
Whose silver showers can cure the pain,
That fires the fibres of the brain,
Then bring, oh bring the hallowed bough,
And bind it upon Anna's brow!
Oh bid thy gentle spirits fly
Along the blue vaults of the sky,
To hover o'er Elysian bowers,
Where Health immortal rears her flowers,
Waving in amaranthine bands,
From cliffs that shadow golden sands;
Her snowy feet bath'd in the stream,
Illumin'd by the lunar beam,
With humid steps imprints the vale,
Where Twilight breathes her purest gale;
Her golden locks, in wreaths of light,
Dew'd in the falling tears of Night,
Bright floating o'er the beaming star,
That burns on Evening's azure car;
And as they hail her angel form,
Her cheek in heaven's own blushes warm,
Oh bid them lave their fluttering wing,
Where her eternal fountains spring;
While laughing 'mid the dimpling wave,
The seraph-forms of childhood lave.
O bid them cull the myrtle green,
Whose deathless bowers adorn the scene,
That round her humid cell appear,
Saved from the ruins of the year !
And bid the lovely wreaths divine
For ever bloom on Friendship's shrine!
And when my friend again shall tread
The mazes of the woodland shade,
To hear the minstrelsy of Heaven
Float on the breezes of the even,
Oh may thy train, from Health's gay bowers,
Bestrew her path with early flowers;
While round her steps their leaves exhale,
The odours of their native vale;
And when her eye again shall trace
The lineaments of Nature's face,
When soft the streams of Twilight heave
The mirror of the blushing eve,
O bid the soothing cadence die,
Amid the echoes of the sky,
That lunar spirits round thy shrine
Chaunt to their heaven-strung harps divine;
And bid it charm her tranquil breast,
Waking the holiest dreams of rest.
YOUR Comedy I've read, my Friend,
And like the half you pilfer'd best;
But sure the Piece you yet may mend?→→
Take courage Man, and steal the rest.
|