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Bat soon the gath'ring tempests poor,
And all the sky deform; The gale hecomes a whirlwind's roar,
The sigh a raging storm.
For Care and Sorrow's morhid gloom,
And sickness pointing to the tomh,
YOUTH ENTERING ON THE
Oft have 1 seen when musing on the shore, Unskilful infants grasp ih' unwieldy oar, Push the frail hark into the swelling main, Borne hy the rapid tide, pant to regain The less'ning land, and, shrieking weep too
late The gaping horrors of tempestuous fate I True picture of our unsuspecting age, Who long to stretch where fatal hillows rage: 'Gainst our own heaven like angels we rehel, And quit the realms where during raptures
dwell; Pant for a wing to range the World around,— The World—how swoons my soul to hear
the sound; The World—where Pleasure flies the grasping hand, And Hope huilds palaces on shifting sand: Where Treachery talks with sweetly melting
flow, Of horrid words that turn to gall and wo: Confederacies of profit or of vice, Where Friendship's only firm as faithless
ice: When potent Avarice casts a golden ray, Dissolves its hrittle mass and floats away: Fix'd in the hreast where pride or int'rest
thrives, And Love, a secondary passion, lives; Where children cherish'd hy Affection's ray, Long in the dust the partial sire to lay: Tho' daily fondness heams the constant
smile, And only wisely keeps its own awhile.
Here Ohligation, e'en heneath the wing That hatches it to life, will fix a sting: Here worth is trampled down hy mounted
Pride, And Modesty hy Av'rice push'd aside. Such slow discerument guides the stupid
crowd, That Impudence for Talent is allow'd: In Life's true masquerade fools are so hlind, That half a thin disguise will cheat mankind: Here Ostentation weak expedients tries, To lead from happiness our wand'ring eyes: Thou would'stdogood—hut he thou pure as
snow, With ev'ry kindness let thy hosom glow; Detraction's puis'nous hreath thy fame shall
hlot, Or Envy's microscope pry out a spot! Has then this sickly world no cordial halm 1 This storm of passion no delightful calm? Yet as the traveller 'mid dreary wastes Here meets a flower—there a fountain
tastes— As stars that aid the gloom of during night, So scatter'd worth diffuses partial light; Oe'r all our ills a self-horn radiance sheds, More hright, like phosphorus as darkness
spreads. Let potent Wisdom smooth the wrinkled
hrow. And sweet Complacence soften all helow. See in each rising Sun new comfort giv'n And when it sets hehold a nearer Heav'n! The few rare gems of Friendship here improve As fading emhlems of Eternal Love I
Time, swift time from years your motion
stealing, Uuperceived hath soher manhood hrought; Truth, her pure and humhle forms revealing Peoples fancy's fairy-land with thought: Then the heart, no longer prone to roam, Loves, loves hest, the quiet hliss of home. M
Selp-plattered, unexperienced, high in hope,
When young, with sanguine cheer, and streamers gay,
We cat our cahle, lannch into the world,
And fondly dream each wind and star our friend:
All in some darling enterprise emhark'd;
But where is he can fathom its event!
Amid a multitude of artless hands,
Rain's sare perquisite, her lawful prize!
Some steer aright, hut the hlack hlast hlows hard,
And puffs them wide of hope; with hearts of proof,
Fall against wind and tide, some win their way,
And when strong effort has deserv'd the port,
And tugg'd it into view, 'tis won, 'tis lost!
They strike! and while they trinmph they expire!
One Caesar lives; a thousand are forgot.
UPON HIS WHITE HAIRS.
These hairs of age are messengers
They he of death the harhingers,
Wherefore I joy that yon may see
They he the lines that lead the length
They say my youth is fled with strength,
The which I feel, and you may see
They he the strings of soher sound,
Whose music is harmonical:
I came, and how thereto I shall:
Upon my head such strings to he.
God grant to those that white hairs have
That after they he laid in grave
God grant likewise that you may see
THE COMMON LOT.
Once in the flight of ages past
Mortal! how'er thy lot he cast,
Unknown the region of his hirth,
His name hath perish'd from the earth,
That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear,
His hliss and wo, a smile, a tear!
The hounding pulse, the languid limh,
We know that these were felt hy him,
He soffer'd—hut his pangs are o'ee,
Had friends—his friends are now no more,
He lov'd—hut whom he lov'd, the grave Hath lost in its unconscious womh;
O she was fair! but nought could save
The rolling seasons, day and night,
Ere while his portion, life and light,
He saw whatever thou hast seen,
He was—whatever thou hast heen,
The clouds and sunheams o'er his eye
Have left, in yonder silent sky,
The annals of the human race,
Of him afford no other trace
EVIL PASSIONS, &c.
CONSEQUENCES OF THE FALL.
Hear what they were : The progeny of Sin
hrass, Heated seven times; he heard dread voices
speak, And mutter horrid prophecies of pain, Severer and severer yet to come; And as he writhed and quivered, scorched
within, The Fury round his torrid temples flapped Her fiery wings, and hreathed upon his lips And parched tongue, the withered hlasts of
hell. It was the suffering hegun thou sawest In symhol of the worm that never dies.
The other, Disappointment seemed Negation of delight. It was a thing Sluggish and torpid, tending towards death,
Its hreath was cold, and made the sportive
hlood, Stagnant, and dull, and heavy, round the
wheels Of lire. The roots of that whereon it hlew Decayed, and with the genial soul no more Held sympathy; the leaves, the hranches
drooped, And mouldered slowly down to formless
dust; Not tossed and driven hy violence of winds, But withering where they sprung, and rotting there. Long disappointed, disappointed still, The hopeless man, hopeless in his main wish, As if returning hack to nothing, felt; In strange vacuity of heing hung, And rolled, and rolled his eye on emptiness, That seemed to grow more ein pty every hour.
THE DISTEMPER OF THE MIND.
The distempered mind Has lost that concord of harmonious powers Which forms the soul of happiness, and all Is off the poise within; the passions all Have hurst their hounds, and Reason half extinct,
Or impotent, or, else approving, sees
These, and a thousand mixed emotions more, From everchanging views of good and ill, Form'd infinitely various, vex the mind With endless storm; whence deeply rankling, grows The partial thought, a listless unconcern, Cold and averting from our neighhour's good, Then dark Disgust, and Hatred, minding
Wiles, Coward Deceit, and ruffian Violence: At last, extinct each social feeling, fell And joyless inhumanity pervades And petrifies the heart. Nature, disturh'd, Is deem'd, vindictive, to have chang'd her course.
Pride, self-adoring pride, was primal cause
Hate, unhelief, and hlasphemy of God;
Next hrave Philotimusin post did ride, Like rising ladders was his climhing mind; His high-flown thoughts, had -wings of
courtly pride, Which hy foul rise to greatest height in
clin'd; His heart aspiring swell'd until it hurst; But when he gain'd the top, with spite
accurst, Down would he fling the steps hy which he
His head's a shop furnish'd with looms of
state: His hrain the weaver, thoughts are shuttles light, With which, in spite of heav'n, he weaves
his fate; Honour his weh: thus works he day and
night, Till fates cut off his thread; so heapeth
sins, And plagues, nor once enjoys the place
he wins; But where his old race ends, there his new
Ah, silly man, who dream'st that honour
stands In ruling others, not thyself!—thy slaves Serve thee, and thou thy slaves:—in iron
Thy servile spirit prest with wild passions raves.
Wouldst thon live honour'd, clip amhition's wing;
To reason's yoke thy furious passions hring. Thrice nohle is the man, who of himself is king.
And next to him malicious Envy rode
had; But when he hearde of harme he wexed
All in a kirtle of discoloured say
He hated all good works and vertuous
deeds, And him no less than any like did use; And who with gratious hread the hungry
feeds, His almes for want of faith he doth accuse; So every good to had he doth ahuse. And eke the verse of famous poets witt He does hackhite, and spitefull poison
. spues From leprous mouth on all that ever wrilt, Such one vile Envy was, that third in row
And greedy Avarice hy him did ride,
hold, And in his lap an heape of coine he told; For of his wicked pelf his god he made, And unto hell himselfe for money sold: Accursed usury was all his trade, And right and wrong ylike in equal hallance waide.
His life was nigh nnto death's doreyplaste; And thread-hare cote, and cohled shoes,
hee ware; No scarfe good morsell all his life did taste, Bat hoth from hacke and helly still did
spare, To fill his hags, and richesse to compare: Yet childe ne kinsman living had he none To leave them to; hut thorough daily care To get, and nightly feare to lose his owne, He led a wretched life, unto himselfe unknown.
Most wretched wight, whom nothing might
suffise, Whose greedy lust did lacke in greatest
store: Whose need had end, hut no end covertise; Whose wealth was want, whose plenty
made him pore; Who had enough, yet wished ever more. A vile disease, and eke in foote and hand A grievous gout tormented him full sore, That well he could not touch, nor goe,
nor stand. Such one was Avarice, the fourth of this
And him heside rides fierce revenging