« AnteriorContinuar »
And why must murder'd myriads lose their all,
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,
Nor shall the pile of hope, His mercy rear'd,
Shall be by all or suffer'd or enjoy'd..
CELESTIAL HOPE.-Miss Bowdler.
FRIEND to the wretch whose bosom knows no joy!
CELESTIAL HOPE, thou gift divine!
For from the date of Reason's birth
That wond'rous pow'r was given,
Nor Pain nor Pleasure can its force destroy,-
Fancy, wave thy airy pinions,
Vernal sweets and cloudless skies.
A lovely youthful train appear,
Their guiltless bosoms know no fear:
Where are the soft delusions filed?
Alas! those visions charm no more,
The trumpet sounds to war;
Loud shouts re-echo from the mountain's side,
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-
No future age shall hear his name,
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
Now the sprightly minstrels sound,
And Pleasure's sprightly voice the hills and dales