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As sudden, though for years admonish'd, home.
Of human ills, the last extreme beware;
Beware, Lorenzo! a slow sudden death.
How dreadful that deliberate surprise!
Be wise to-day, 'tis madness to defer;
Next day the fatal precedent will plead;
Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life.
Procrastination is the thief of time;
Year after year it steals, till all are fled,
And to the mercies of a moment leaves
The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
If not so frequent, would not this be strange? 130
That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger still.

Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, "That all men are about to live," For ever on the brink of being born.

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All pay themselves the compliment to think 135 They, one day, shall not drivel; and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise;

At least, their own, their future selves applauds.

How excellent that life they ne'er will lead! Time lodg'd in their own hands is Folly's vails;

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But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air,

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Soon close; where pass'd the shaft, no trace is found.

As from the wing no scar the sky retains;
The parted wave no furrow from the keel;
So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
Ev'n with the tender tear which Nature sheds
O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave. 166

George Berkeley

1685-1753

VERSES ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANT-
ING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime,
Barren of every glorious theme,

In distant lands now waits a better time,
Producing subjects worthy fame:

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay;
Such as she bred when fresh and young,
When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
By future poets shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way;
The four first acts already past,

A fifth shall close the drama with the day;
Time's noblest offspring is the last.

Allan Kamsay

1686-1758

AN ODE TO PH-1
(1721)

Look up to Pentland's tow'ring top,
Buried beneath great wreaths of snaw,
O'er ilka cleugh,2 ilk scar, and slap,4
As high as any Roman wa'.5

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SONG "MY PEGGY IS A YOUNG THING" SONG

(From The Gentle Shepherd, 1725)

My Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter'd in her teens,

Fair as the day and sweet as May,
Fair as the day and always gay.
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm nae very auld,
Yet well I like to meet her at
The wauking of the fauld.1

My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
Whene'er we meet alane,

I wish nae mair to lay my care,-
I wish nae mair o' a' that's rare.
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
To a' the lave' I'm cauld,
But she gars' a' my spirits glow,
At wauking o' the fauld.

My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
Whene'er I whisper love,

That I look down on a' the town,-
That I look down upon a crown.
My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
It makes me blithe and bauld,
And naething gies me sic delyte,
As wauking o' the fauld.

My Peggy sings sae saftly,
When on my pipe I play,

By a' the rest it is confest,-
By a' the rest that she sings best.
My Peggy sings sae saftly,
And in her sangs are tauld,
Wi' innocence, the wale1 o' sense,
At wauking o' the fauld.

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8 Golfers.

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William Somerville

1692-1742

FIELD-SPORTS

(From The Chase, Pub. 1742)

'Tis instinct that directs the jealous hare To choose her soft abode: With step revers'd She forms the doubling maze: then, ere the

morn

Peeps through the clouds, leaps to her close

No settled residence observe, but shift
Their moving camp, now on some cooler hill
With cedars crown'd, court the refreshing

breeze;

And then, below, where trickling streams distil From some penurious source, their thirst

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Inwardly smiling, the proud farmer views
The rising pyramids that grace his yard,
And counts his large increase; his barns are

stor'd

And groaning staddles1 bend beneath their load. All now is free as air, and the gay pack

In the rough bristly stubbles range unblam'd;

1 Props.

From house to house, from hill to hill, Till Contemplation had her fill.

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Once I beheld thee far less trim and gay; Ragged, disjointed, and to worms a prey; The safe retreat of every lurking mouse; Derided, shunn'd; the lumber of my house! Thy robe how chang'd from what it was before!

15

Thy velvet robe, which pleas'd my sires of yore!
'Tis thus capricious fortune wheels us round;
Aloft we mount-then tumble to the ground.
Yet grateful then, my constancy I prov'd;

I knew thy worth; my friend in rags I lov'd; 20
I lov'd thee more; nor like a courtier, spurn'd
My benefactor, when the tide was turn'd.
With conscious shame, yet frankly, I confess,
That in my youthful days-I lov'd thee less.
Where vanity, where pleasure call'd, I stray'd;
And every wayward appetite obey'd.
But sage experience taught me how to prize
Myself; and how, this world; she bade me rise
To nobler flights regardless of a race

Of factious emmets; pointed where to place

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2 The Olympic games were held on a site which had belonged to the Eleans, the inhabitants of Elis, Greece.

The old name for Salisbury; its "spire" is one of the beauties of Salisbury Cathedral.

With my hand beneath my head,

About his chequer'd sides I wind,

And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And groves and grottoes where I lay,
And vistoes shooting beams of day.
Wide and wider spreads the vale,
As circles on a smooth canal:

The mountains round, unhappy fate!
Sooner or later, of all height,
Withdraw their summits from the skies,
And lessen as the others rise:
Still the prospect wider spreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads;
Still it widens, widens still,
And sinks the newly-risen hill.

Now I gain the mountain's brow,
What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapours intervene;
But the gay, the open scene,

1 Dyer was born at the foot of Grongar Hill, Carmarthenshire, South Wales.

Does the face of Nature show,
In all the hues of heaven's bow,
And, swelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the sight.
Old castles on the cliffs arise,
Proudly tow'ring in the skies;
Rushing from the woods, the spires
Seem from hence ascending fires;
Half his beams Apollo sheds
On the yellow mountain-heads,
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks.
Below me trees unnumber'd rise,
Beautiful in various dyes;

The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the sable-yew,

The slender fir, that taper grows,

The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs,
And beyond the purple grove,

Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,

Lies a long and level lawn,

On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wand'ring eye:
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood,
His sides are cloth'd with waving wood,
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below;
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps;
So both a safety from the wind

On mutual dependence find.
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode;
'Tis now th' apartment of the toad;
And there the fox securely feeds,
And there the pois'nous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds;
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.
Yet Time has seen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,

Has seen this broken pile compleat,
Big with the vanity of state:

But transient is the smile of Fate!
A little rule, a little sway,

A sunbeam in a winter's day,

Is all the proud and mighty have Between the cradle and the grave.

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The town and village, dome and farm,
Each gives each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the ev'ning gilds the tide,
How close and small the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows cross the eye!

A step, methinks, may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem;

So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass;
As yon summits soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which, to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear.
Still we tread the same coarse way;
The present's still a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see;
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tam'd, my wishes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul;
'Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.

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135

75

In vain you search, she is not there;
In vain ye search the domes of care!
Grass and flowers quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads,
Along with pleasure, close ally'd,
Ever by each other's side;

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And often, by the murmuring rill, Hears the thrush, while all is still, Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

And see the rivers how they run

Thro' woods and meads, in shade and sun!
Sometimes swift and sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless sleep:
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wand'ring thought;
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.
Ever charming, ever new,

When will the landscape tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody valleys warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!

The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the shady bow'r;

Tott'ring with weakness by his mother's side, Teels the fresh world about him; and each thorn,

Hillock, or furrow, trips his feeble feet:

O! guard his meek sweet innocence from all
Th' innumerous ills that rush around his life; 10
Mark the quick kite, with beak and talons
prone,

Circling the skies to snatch him from the plain;
Observe the lurking crows; beware the brake,
There the sly fox the careless minute waits;
Nor trust thy neighbour's dog, nor earth, nor
sky:

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Thy bosom to a thousand cares divide.
Eurus oft slings his hail; the tardy fields
Pay not their promis'd food; and oft the dam
O'er her weak twins with empty udder mourns,
Or fails to guard when the bold bird of prey
Alights, and hops in many turns around,
And tires her, also turning: to her aid
Be nimble, and the weakest, in thine arms,
Gently convey to the warm cot, and oft,
Between the lark's note and the nightingale's,25
His hungry bleating still with tepid milk:
In this soft office may thy children join,
And charitable habits learn in sport:
Nor yield him to himself ere vernal airs
Sprinkle thy little croft with daisy flowers:
Nor yet forget him; life has rising ills:
Various as ether is the past'ral care:
Thro' slow experience, by a patient breast,
The whole long lesson gradual is attain'd,

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35

By precept after precept, oft receiv'd
With deep attention; such as Nuceus1 sings
To the full vale near Soar's enamour'd brook,
While all is silence: sweet Hinclean swain!
Whom rude obscurity severely clasps:

1 Mr. Joseph Nutt, an apothecary at Hinckley. Lat. nuceus, of a nut tree. 2 A river in Leicestershire.