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But when Old Age has on your temples shed
Now my ambition swells, my wishes soar,
This be my kingdom ; sit above the globe,
Of Wisdom's lofty castle, there reside
Safe from the smiling and the frowning world. Stick fast upon you; not the rich array,
Yet once a-day drop down a gentle look Not the green garland, nor the rosy bough,
On the great mole-hill, and with pitying eye Shall cancel or conceal the melancholy gray. Survey the busy emmets round the heap, The chase of pleasures is not worth the pains,
Crowding and bustling in a thousand forms While the bright sands of health run wasting down; of strife and toil, to purchase wealth and fame, And honour calls you froin the softer scenes,
A bubble or a dust: then call thy thoughts To sell the gaudy hour for ages of renown.
Up to thyself to feed on joys unknown,
Rich without gold, and great without renown.
My generous Muse, and sit among the stars!
Just to berself: how nobly she maintains
Her character! superior to the flesh,
She wields her passions like her limbs, and knows 1701.
The brutal powers were only born t’ obey.
This is the man whom storms conld never make Crouch'd to the victor : but a steady soul
Meanly complain; nor can a flattering gale Stands firm on its own base, and reigns as wide,
Make him talk proudly: he hath-no desire As absolute; and sways ten thousand slaves,
To read his secret fate: yet unconcern'd Lusts and wild fancies, with a sovereign hand,
And calın could meet his unborn destiny,
In all its charming or its frightful shapes.
He that, unshrinking, and withont a groan,
Bears the first wound, may finish all the war Makes Heaven its council, from the rolls above With mere courageous silence, and come off Draws its own statutes, and with joy obeys.
Conqueror: for the man that well conceals "Tis not a truop of well-appointed guards
The heavy strokes of Fate, he bears thein well. Create a monarch, not a purple robe
He, though th' Atlantic and the Midland seas
Suspended 'twixt the winds, then rush amain,
And clouds, and stars, and thunder, firm he stands,
And drops his lower nature, born for death:
Then from the lufty castle of his mind
Shoots upwards from between his closing lids,
To reach his birth-place, and without a sigh In vain the harlot Pleasure spreads her charms,
He bids his batter'd fesh lie gently down To lull his thoughts in Luxury's fuir lap,
Amongst his native rubbish ; whilst the spirit To sensual ease (the bane of little kings,
Breathes and flies upward, an undoubted guest Monarchs whose waxen images of souls
Of the third Heaven, th' unruinable sky.
Thither when Fatc has brought our willing souls, Stoop to be modell’d by the wild decrees
No matter whether 'twas a sharp disease Of the mad vulgar, that unthinking herd.
Or a sharp sword that help'd the travellers on,
And pushi'd us to our home-Bear up, my friend, He lives above the crowd, nor hears the noise Serenely, and break through the stormy brine Of wars and triumphs, nor regards the shouts With steady prow; know, we shall once arrive Of popular applause, that empty sound;
At the fair haven of eternal bliss, Nor fects the tlying arrows of Reproach,
To which we ever steer; whether as kings Or Spite or Envy. In himself secure,
Of wide command we've spread the spacious sea Wisdom his tower, and conscience is his shield, With a broad painted feet, or row'd alung His peace all inward, and his joys his own.
In a thin cock-boat with a little var,
TO THE MUCH HONOURED
THE DIRECTOR OF MY YOUTHFUL STUDIES.
There let my native plank shift me to land, Mere Hazard first began the track, And I'll be happy: thus I'll leap'ashore
Where Custom leads her thousands blind
In willing chains and strong;
Dares tread the fatal errour back,
And drag the age along.
Mortals, a savage herd, and loud
As billows on a noisy food
In rapid order roll:
Example makes the mischief good :
With jocund heel we beat the road,
Unheedful of the goal. Custom, that tyranness of fools,
Me let Ithuriel's 8 friendly wing That leads the learned round the schools,
Snatch from the crowd, and bear sublime In magic chains of forms and rules !
To Wisdom's lofty tower, My genius storms her throne:
Thence to survey that wretched thing, No more, ye slaves, with awe profound
Mankind ; and in exalted rhyme Beat the dull track, nor dance the round ;
Bless the delivering Power. Loose hands, and quit th’ enchanted ground:
Knowledge invites us each alone.
TO THE REVEREND
MR. JOHN HOW E.
1704, He well aveng'd his eyes.
Great man, permit the Muse to climb I love thy gentle influence, Rowe,
And seat her at thy feet, Thy gentle influence, like the Sun,
Bid her attempt a thought sublime, Only dissolves the frozen snow,
And consecrate her wit. Then bids our thoughts like rivers flow,
I feel, I feel th' attractive force And choose the channels where they run.
Of thy superior soul : Thoughts should be free as fire or wind;
My chariot flies her upward course, The pinions of a single mind
The wheels divinely roll. Will through all nature fly:
Now let me chide the mean affairs But who can drag up to the poles
And mighty toil of men: Long fetter'd ranks of leaden souls ?
How they grow gray in trilling cares, A genius which no chain controls
Or waste the motions of the spheres Roves with delight, or deep, or high :
Upon delights as vain! Suift I survey the globe around,
A puff of honour fills the mind,
Thus, like the ass of savage kind,
Could all the choirs
That charm the poles
But strike one doleful sound,
'Twould be employ'd to mourn our souls, Rowe, if we make the crowd our guide
Souls that were fram'd of sprightly fires Through life's uncertain road,
In floods of folly drown'd. Mean is the chase ; and, wandering wide,
Souls made of glory seek a brutal joy ; We miss th' immortal good;
How they disclaim their heavenly birth, Yet if my thoughts could be confin'd
Melt their bright substance down with drossy earth, To follow any leader-mind,
And hate to be refin'd from that impure alloy! I'd mark thy steps, and tread the same:
Oft has thy genius mus'd us hence Drest in thy notions I'd appear
With elevated song, Not like a soul of mortal frame,
Bid us renounce this world of sense, Nor with a vulgar air.
Bid us divide th' immortal prize Men live at random and by chance,
With the seraphic throng: Bright Reason never leads the dance;
“ Knowledge and love make spirits blest, Wnile in the broad and beaten way
Knowledge their food, and love their rest ;" O'er dales and hills from truth we stray,
But Flesh, th' unmanageable beast, To ruin we descend, to ruin we allvance.
Resists the pity of thine eyes,
And music of thy tongue.
Then let the worms of grovelling mind
Round the short joys of earthly kind
In restless windings roam;
8 The name of an angel in Milton's Paradise Lost.
TO THE REV. MR. BENONI ROWE.
Howe hath an ample orb of soul,
“ Enough,” he cried ; I'll drudge no more Where shining worlds of knowledge roll,
In tuming the dull Stoies o'er; Where love, the centre and the pole,
Let pedants waste their hours of ease
To sweat all night at Socrates;
With greater ease the great concern
All the gay things below the skies. Upon my better powers:
“Methinks a mouldering pyramid She casts sweet failacies on half our wees,
Says all that the old ages said; And gilds the gloomy hours.
l'or me these shatter'd tombs contain How could we bear this tedious round
More morals than the Vatican. Of waping moons, and rolling years,
The dist of herces cast abroad, Of naming hopes, and chilling (cais,
and kick'd and trampled in the road, If (where no sovereign cure appears)
The relics of a lofty mind, No opiates could be found?
That lately wars and crowns design'd, Love, the most cordial stream that fous,
Tost for a jest from wind to wind, Is a deceitful good :
Bid me be bunble, and firbear
They are but castles in ihe air.
Of smokin, kingdoms and their kings,
Tell me a housand mournful things
In melancholy silence.-
That living could not bear to see
An equal, now les turn and dead; D'er thy fair current, Love, with large supplies
Here his paie trunk, and there his head; Of pain to tease the heart, and surrow for the eyes.
Great Pompey! while I meditate,
With selenin honour, thy sad fate,
Thy carcase, scat:er'd on the shore
"Titlont a name, instrucis ne more A spark, or glimmering streik at inost, Shines here and there, amidst the night,
Than iny whole library before. Amidst the turbid waves, and gives a faint dclight,
“ Lie still, my Plutarch, then, and sleep, Recorer'd from the sad surprise,
And you, good Seneca, may keep
You volumes clos'd for ever too,
I have no further lise for you: and manages wih art th' unlucky cast;
For when I feel my vrtne fail,
And my amţtious thoughts prevail,
I'll take a tus among the tombs,
There the viie foot of every clown Cheerful she siniles upon the grisly furm;
Tramples the sons of honour down; So shines the setting Sun on adverse skies,
Beggars with awful ashes sport, And paints a rainbow on the storm.
and tread the Cæsars in the dirt."
Beguiles th' uneasy hours :
With the gay slaveries of a court;
I've an aversion to those charins,
And hug dear Liberty in both mine arms.
Go, vassal-souls, g), cringe and wait,
And dance attendance at Honorio's gate, Theron, amongst his travels, found
Tien run in troops before him to compose his state; A broken statue on i be ground;
More as he mores; and when he loiters, stand; And searching onv ard as he went
You're but the shadows of a man. Ho trac'il a ruin'd moniment.
Bend when he speaks; and kiss the ground : Mould, moss, and shades, had drergrown
Go, catch th' impertinence of sound: T'he sculpture of ihe crumbling stone;
Adore the lies of the great; Yet ee he pass'ı], wiin much ado,
Wait vill he smiles:--but le, the idol frown'd Ke gruess'd, and spell’d vui, Sc-91
and drive them to the fate.
This base-boni minds : but as for me,
“ Forgive,” he cries, “ ye saints below, I can and will be free:
The wavering and the cold assent Like a strong mountain, or some stately tree,
I gave to themes divinely true; My soul grows firm upright,
Can you admit the blessed to repent ? And as I stand, and as I go,
Eternal darkness veil the lines It keeps my body so;
Of that unhappy book, No, I can never part with my creation-right. Where glimmering reason with false lustre shines Let slaves and asses stoop and bow,
Where the inortal pen mistook I cannot make this iron knee
Wbat the celestial ineant !"
Thus my bold harp profusely play'd
I am not concern'd to know
What tomorrow Fate will do : Swelling like Honorio proud,
'Tis enough that I can say, Anwind the straws and feathers crowd,
I've possess'd myself to-day: Types of a slavish mind;
Then if haply midnight-death Upaards the storiny forces rise,
Seize my flesh and stop my breath, The dust flies up and climbs the skies,
Yet tomorrow I shall be
Heir to the best part of me.
Glittering stones, and golden things,
Ever Buttering to be gone, Hard by there stood the iron trunk
I could never call my own : of an old oak, and all the storm defied;
Riches that the world bestows, In rain the winds their forces tried,
She can take, and I can lose; In vain they roar'd; the iron oak
But the treasures that are mine
Lie afar beyond her line.
I'm a kingdom of my own.
I've a mighty part within
Rich as Eden's bappy ground,
And with choicer plenty crown'd.
Here on all the shining boughs
Knowledge fair and useless grows; What Faith reveals; but still complains
On the same young flowery tree Of intellectual pains,
All the seasons you may see;
Notions in the bloom of light,
Just disclosing to the sight;
Here are thoughts of larger growth, Offend and cloud her feeble sight.
Ripening into solid truth; Peason could scarce sustain to see
Fruits retin'd, ot' noble taste; Th’ Almighty One, th’ Eternal Three,
Seraphs feed on such repast. Or bear the infant Deity ;
Here, in a green and shady grove, Scarce could her pride descend to own
Streams of pleasure mix with love: Her Maker stooping from his throne,
There beneath the smiling skies And drest in glories so unknown.
Hills of contemplation rise: A ransom'd world, a bleeding God,
Now upon some shining top
Both rejoice when there we meet.
There are endless beauties more,
Earth hath no resemblance for; To melt and bend it to obey?
Nothing like them round the pole, Txas hard to make so rich a soul submit,
Nothing can describe the soul : And lay her shining honours at thy sovereign feet. 'Tis a region half unknown,
That has treasures of its own, Sister of Faith, fair Charity,
More remote from public view Show me the wondrous man on high,
Than the bowels of Peru;
Than the golden Indies are;
Cannot coast it in an age;
TO MR. NICHOLAS CLARK.
Harts, or horses, strong and fleet,
Behold his Muse sent out t explore Had they wings to help their feet,
The unapparent deep where waves of chaos roar, Could not run it half way o'er
And realms of night unknown before. In ten thousand days and more.
She trac'd a glorious path unknown, (thrown, Yet the silly wandering mind,
Through fields of heavenly war, and seraphs overLoth to be too much confin’d,
Where bis adventurous genius led: Jióves and takes her daily tours,
Sovereign, she fram'd a model of her own, Coasting round the narrow shores,
Nor thank'd the living nor the dead. Narrow shores of flesh and sense,
The noble hater of degenerate rhyme Picking shells and pebbles thence:
Sbook off the chains, and built his verse sublime, Or she sits at Fancy's door,
A monument too high for coupled sounds to climb. Calling shapes and shadows to her,
He mourn’d the garden lost below; Foreign visits still receiving,
(Farth is the scene for tuneful woe) And t'herself a stranger living.
Now bliss beats bigh in all his veins, Never, never would she buy
Now the lost Eden be regains, (strains. Indian dust, or Tyrian dye,
Keeps his own air, and triumphs in unrival'd Never trade abroad for more,
Immortal bard! Thus thy own Raphael sings, If she saw her native store;
And knows no rule but native fire : If her inward worth were known,
All Heaven sits silent, while to his sovereign strings She might ever live alone.
He talks unutterable things;
Across the golden lyre:
From every note Devotion springs.
Rapture, and Harmony, and Love,
O'erspread the listening choir.
With an inimitable wing:
She cleaves her wondrous way,
Ånd mingled all our cares : She meets descending angels as she flies,
Friendship sat pleas'd in both our eyes,
In both the weeping dews arise,
And drop alternate tears.
Spreads her white sails aloft, and steers, Now mounting half bis morning way,
Still sjekening, and decaying still,
Dimly he wander'd up the bill
With his expiring light,
In dark eclipse his chariot rollid,
The queen of night obscur'd his gold
Behind her sable wheels;
Nature grew sad to lose the day,
The tiovery vales in mourning lay,
In mourning stood the hills.
" Such are our sorrow's, Clark," I cried,
“ (louds of the brain grow black, and bide And lose the clouds below, and leave the stars be
Our darken'd souls behind;
In the young morning of our years
Distempering fogs have climb'd the spheres,
And choke the labouring mind.
“Lo, the gay planet rears his head,
And overlooks the lofty shade,
New-brightening all the skies :
When will our long eclipse be gone,
" In vain are potent herbs applied,
Harmonious sounds in rain have tried • An English master of inusic.
To make the darkness fly: