In nature's aid let art supply
With light and heat, my little sphere;
Rouse, rouse the fire, and pile it high;
Light up a constellation here:
Let music sound the voice of joy;
Or mirth repeat the jocund tale:
Let love his wanton wiles employ,
And o'er the season wine prevail.—
Yet time life's dreary winter brings,
When mirth's gay tale shall please no more;
Nor music charm though Stella sings;
Nor love, nor wine, the spring restore.
Catch then, O! catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies;
Life's a short summer, man a flow'r,-
He dies! alás!-how soon he dies!
An Allegorical Ode.
From empty mirth and fruitless strife,
The tumult and the pride of life,
The craft of trade, the farce of state,
From all the busy, all the great,-
Bear me, ye sylvans! quickly bear
To peaceful scenes, and purer air:
Come! kindly lead my weary feet
To sacred Solitude's retreat:
O! through her silent groves to stray,
And wind the sweetly devious way,
Where nature all her charms resumes,
And Eden still unfaded blooms!
While thus I pray'd, a sylvan came,
With placid looks, and generous aim:-
"How rare," said he, or seem'd to say,
"Do mortals know for what they pray !
Hast thou attain'd a strength of mind,
That scorns the aid of human kind?
And will thy deeds of virtue past
Regale thy memory to the last?
Can warm imagination play,
In rural scenes from day to day?
Will meditation, strong to bless,
Protect thee still from idleness?
Canst thou from life's distracting views
More swiftly fly than care pursues?
With tearless eye look backward o'er
That youth which shall return no more?
Without a sigh look forward too,
And age and death contented view ?”
He paus❜d-nor time for thought deny'd ;—
Awhile I mus'd, and thus reply'd.
"That youth once past shall ne'er return
I know-to live 1 wish to learn ;-
On time's swift wings to death I fly,
And therefore wish to learn to die;
I know that o'er a mortal's head
With all his hours some faults have fled;-
But yet my pray'r I still repeat,
O! lead to Solitude's retreat!"
"To Solitude's retreat," he said,
"This hour thy wishful feet are led."
Graceful he turn'd, confess'd a God,
And joyful in his steps I trod;
Behind us sinks the glitt'ring spire,
And lofty domes in clouds retire;
Before us near and nearer still,
More lofty grows the approaching hill;
With painful patient steps, and slow,
We gain the height, and look below.
"Behold,” said he, "the varied scene;
Here level lawns of lively green;
There blooming groves, where myrtles twine
Their amorous arms around the vine;
Where woodbines knit with roses blow,
And calm translucent waters flow;
Here Beauty, lovely child of Day!
Descends in light's refulgent ray,
Around her spreads a thousand dies,
And paints the flow'rs that earth supplies;
Here music blends the varied strain,
And fragrance breathes along the plain;
A cloudless sky appears above,
And all is peace and all is love!
"Now to the left the prospect view,
What mournful groves of baleful yew!
No rising flow'rs the ground adorn,
Without the rose behold the thorn!
There stagnant lakes are green alone,
And only birds of night are known;
Thick noisome fogs pollute the sky,
Hoarse thunders roar, and lightnings fly;
Through the dread walks the furies rove,
And horror hovers o'er the grove.
"Plac'd on the line that parts the scene,
Bifronted Solitude is seen;
Each coast alike her rule obeys, ·
And each at once the queen surveys;
On this she turns a smiling face,
Of dimpled youth, and matchless grace;
And stretches here, with looks of love,
A sceptre ending in a dove;
To that a mien severe appears,
Deform'd with frowns, inspiring fears,
A knotted scourge her hand sustains,
And threatens long inflicted pains.
"Know then, that heaven or hell below
The power you seek must still bestow;
To Vice and Virtue she divides
Her realm, so Fate itself decides;
The test yon magic glass supplies,
Which Memory holds, and Conscience eyes;
In that, if fair thy semblance be,
Yon scenes of bliss are all for thee:
If foul,-yon dreary haunts of woe:-
Go then, if yet 'tis best to go?"
I answer'd not, but forward still
Pass'd silent, thoughtful, down the hill,
Approach'd the Queen, with hope and dread;
Then took the glass :-the vision fled.
THE ORIGIN OF DOUBT.
When Jove at first from nothing call'd forth aH,
And various beings fill'd this pendant ball;
In rank superior to our boasted race,
Subaltern Gods, now seldom seen, had place;
Immortal these, but of a doubtful birth,
And all with man joint sojourners on earth:
Sacred to some bright nymph was every tree,
To Naiads brooks, to Nereids all the sea.
By Jove in mercy to her care consign'd
Reason, bright empress! claim'd the human mind.
Not the pure radiance that resides above,
And guides the councils of immortal Jove,
But humbler far, though honour'd with the name,
And less in pow'r, in essence though the same.
With man coeval time began to be,
Form'd from an atom of eternity.
Earth's genial pow'r produc'd a giant son
Ignorance his name, a wretch belov'd of none.
From these deriv'd, a motley race began,
Not kind with kind commixing as in man.
Time, in the youth of all that vig'rous pow'r
Which still sustains him in his waning hour,
Smit with fair Reason bright in blooming charms,
Clasp❜d the consenting goddess in his arms;
Nor barren joys the fond embrace bestows,
A lovely daughter hence, fair Knowledge, rose;
Favor'd by both, of Time and Reason bred,
The father nurs'd her, and the mother fed;
Her charms improving as her stature grew,
Unknown desir'd, and lov'd by all who knew.
Truth's radiant hand adorn'd her form with care,
And Virtue, fondly smiling, call'd her fair.
Fast by the foot of proud Parnassus stood, Remote from vulgar view, a sacred wood; Here Contemplation keeps her hallow'd court, And young ideas on the breezes sport;
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