Imágenes de páginas

And why must murder'd myriads lose their all,
(If life be all) why Desolation lour,
With famish'd frown, on this affrighted ball,
That thou may'st flame the meteor of an hour?

Go, wiser that flutter life away,


Crown with the mantling juice the goblet high; Weave the light dance with festive freedom gay, And live your moment, since the next ye die.

Yet know, vain sceptics, know th' Almighty mind,
Who breath'd on man a portion of His fire,
Bid his free soul, by earth nor time confin'd,
To heav'n, to immortality, aspire.

Nor shall the pile of hope, His mercy rear'd,
By vain philosophy be e'er destroy'd;
Eternity by all, or wish'd or fear'd,

Shall be by all or suffer'd or enjoy'd..

[ocr errors][ocr errors]



FRIEND to the wretch whose bosom knows no joy!
Parent of bliss beyond the reach of fate!

CELESTIAL HOPE, thou gift divine!
Sweet balm of grief, O still be mine!
When pains torment, and cares annoy,
Thou only canst their force abate,
And gild the gloom which shades this mortal state.
Tho' oft thy joys are false and vain,
Tho' anxious doubts attend thy train,
Tho' disappointment mocks thy care,
And points the way to fell despair;
Yet still my secret soul shall own thy pow'r,
In Sorrow's bitterest pang, in Pleasure's gayest


For from the date of Reason's birth

That wond'rous pow'r was given,
To soften every grief on earth,
To raise the soul from thoughtless mirth,
And wing its flight to heaven:

Nor Pain nor Pleasure can its force destroy,-
In every varied scene it points to future joy.


Fancy, wave thy airy pinions,
Bid the soft ideas rise,
Spread o'er all thy wide dominions

Vernal sweets and cloudless skies.
And lo! on yonder verdant plain

A lovely youthful train appear,
Their gentle hearts have felt no pain,

Their guiltless bosoms know no fear:
In each gay scene some new delight they find,
Yet fancy gayer prospects still behind.

Where are the soft delusions filed?
Must wisdom teach the soul to mourn?
Return, ye days of ignorance, return
Before my eyes your fairy visions spread!

Alas! those visions charm no more,
The pleasing dream of youth is o'er,
Far other thoughts must now the soul employ,
It glows with other hopes, it pants for other joy.


The trumpet sounds to war;

Loud shouts re-echo from the mountain's side,
The din of battle thunders from afar,

The foaming torrent rolls a crimson tide;

The youthful warrior's breast with ardour glows,, In thought he triumphs o'er ten thousand foes; Elate with HOPE he rushes on,

The battle seems already won,

The vanquish'd hosts before him fly, His heart exults in fancied victory,

Nor heeds the flying shaft, nor thinks of danger


Methinks I see him now-
Fallen his crest-his glory gone➡
The opening laurel faded on his brow-
Silent the trump of his aspiring fame-

No future age shall hear his name,
But Darkness spread around her sable gloom,
And deep oblivion rest upon his tomb.

Thro' seas unknown, to distant lands, In quest of gain the bold adventurer goes, Fearless roves o'er Afric's-sands, India's heats, or Zembla's snows: Each rising day his dang'rous toil renews, But toils and dangers check his course in vain ;; Cheer'd by HOPE, he still pursues Fancy'd good thro' real pain; Still in thought enjoys the prize,

And future happy days in long succession rise; Yet all his bliss a moment may destroy,

Frail are his brightest hopes, uncertain all his joy. V.

Hark! the sprightly voice of Pleasure
Calls to yonder rosy bower;
There she scatters all her treasure,
There exerts her magic power.
Listen to the pleasing call,
Follow, mortals, follow all,
Lead the dance, and spread the feast,
Crown with roses every guest:

Now the sprightly minstrels sound,
Pleasure's voice is heard around,

And Pleasure's sprightly voice the hills and dales


« AnteriorContinuar »