« הקודםהמשך »
Beneath the plume that fames with glancing rayo,
Be Care's deep engines on the soul imprels'd; Beneath the helmet's keen refulgent blaze,
Let Grief sit pining in the canker'd breast.
Let Love's gay sons, a smiling train, appear,
With Beauty pierc’d-yet heedless of the dart: While closely couch'd, pale fick’ning Envy near,
Whets her fell sting, and points it at the heart.
Perch'd like a raven on some blasted yew, •
Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting sin; Scar'd-while her eyes farvey th' etherial blue,
Left heav'n's strong lightning burst the dark within.
Then paint-impending o'er the madd’ning deep
That rock, where heart-struck Sappho, vainly brave, Stood firm of foul--then from the dizzy steep
Impetuous sprung, and dath'd the boiling wave.
Here, rapt in studious thought, let Fancy rove,
Still prompt to mark Suspicion's secret snare ; To see where Anguilh nips the bloom of Love,
Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care.
Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame,
Let judging Reason draw the veil aside ; Or fir'd with envy at some mighty name,
Read o’er the monument that tells--He dy'd!
What are the ensigns of imperial sway?
What all that Fortune's lib'ral hand has brought? Teach they the voice to pour a sweeter lay?
Or rouze the soul to more exalted thought?
When bleeds the heart as Genius blooms unknown;
When melts the eye o'er Virtue's mournful bier : Not wealth, but Pity, swells the bursting groan;
Not pows, but whispering Nature, prompts the teař:
Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault;
Where the worm fattèns on some scepter'd brow; Beneath that roof with sculptur'd marble fraught,
Why sleeps unmov'd the breathless duft below:
Sleeps it more sweetly than the fimple fwain,
Beneath fome moffy turf that refts his head; Where the lone widow tells the night her pain;
And eve with dewy tears embalms the dead
The lily, screen'd from ev'ry ruder gale,
Courts not the cultur'd spot where roses spring ; But blows neglected in the peaceful vale,
And scents the zephyrs balmy breathing wing:
The bufts of grandeur, and the pomp of pow'r,
Can these bid Sorrow's gushing tears fubfide ? Can these avail, in that tremendous hour,
When Death's cold hand congeals the purple tide?
Ah, no!-the mig
Pride's though Serve but to spr
And swell w
mes are heard no more:
and Beauty's kindling bloom,
Nor be tr Let Wealt
O guard me fafe from Joy's enticing snare,
With each extreme that Pleasure tries to hide; The poison’d breath of flow-consuming Care,
The noise of Folly, and the dreams of Pride!
But oft, when midnight's fadly solemn knell
Sounds long and distant from the sky-topp'd tower ; Calm let me fit in Prosper's lonely cell*,
Or walk with Milton thro' the dark obscure.
Thus, when the transient dream of life is filed,
May some sad friend recal the former years ; Then, stretch'd in silence o'er my dusty bed,
Pour the warm gulh of sympathetick tears.
P H I L L I S;
OR, THE PROGRESS OF LOVE,
BY DEAN SWIFT.
ESPONDING Phillis was endu'd
With ev'ry talent of a prude:
waift: She'd rather take you to her bed, Than let
fee her dress her head.
See Shakespeare's Tempeft.
There practis'd how to place her head,
Suppose all parties now agreed,
Where can this idle wench be hid ?
Now John the butler must be sent
See here again, the devil to do!
Old Madam, who went up to find
Phil had left behind,
Fill'd with the choiceft common places, .
Fair maidens all, attend the Muse,