Each gift of nature, and each grace of art,
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,
With fatal sweetness elocution flows,
Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful breath,
And restless fire precipitates on death.
But, scarce observed, the knowing and the bold,
Fall in the general massacre of gold;
Wide-wasting pest! that rages unconfined,
And crowds with crimes the records of mankind;
For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;
Wealth heaped on wealth nor truth nor safety buys,
The dangers gather as the treasures rise.
Let history tell where rival kings command,
And dubious titles shake the madded land,
When statutes glean the refuse of the sword,
How much more safe the vassal than the lord:
Low skulks the hind beneath the rage of power,
And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower,
Untouched his cottage, and his slumbers sound,
Though confiscation's vultures hover round.
The needy traveller, serene and gay,
Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away.
Does envy seize thee? crush the upbraiding joy,
Increase his riches and his peace destroy;
Now fears in dire vicissitude invade,
The rustling brake alarms, and quivering shade,
Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief,
One shews the plunder, and one hides the thief.
Yet still one general cry the skies assails, And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales; Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, The insidious rival and the gaping heir.
Once more, Democritus, arise on earth, With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth, See motley life in modern trappings dressed, And feed with varied fools the eternal jest: Thou who couldst laugh where want enchained caprice, Toil crushed conceit, and man was of a piece; Where wealth unloved without a mourner died; And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate, Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; Where change of favourites made no change of laws, And senates heard before they judged a cause; How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish tribe, Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe; Attentive truth and nature to descry, And pierce each scene with philosophic eye. To thee were solemn toys or empty show, The robes of pleasure and the veils of woe: All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain, Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are vain.
Robert Blair.
Born 1700. Died 1746.
SURE 'tis a serious thing to die! my soul,
What a strange moment must it be, when near
Thy journey's end, thou hast the gulf in view!
That awful gulf, no mortal e'er repassed
To tell what's doing on the other side.
Nature runs back, and shudders at the sight,
And every life-string bleeds at thoughts of parting ;
For part they must: body and soul must part;
Fond couple; linked more close than wedded pair.
This wings its way to its almighty source,
The witness of its actions, now its judge;
That drops into the dark and noisome grave,
Like a disabled pitcher of no use.
If death were nothing, and nought after death;
If when men died, at once they ceased to be,
Returning to the barren womb of nothing,
Whence first they sprung, then might the debauchee Untrembling mouth the heavens :-then might the drunkard
Reel over his full bowl, and, when 'tis drained,
Fill up another to the brim, and laugh
At the poor bugbear death :-then might the wretch
That's weary of the world, and tired of life,
At once give each inquietude the slip,
By stealing out of being when he pleased,
And by what way, whether by hemp or steel;
Death's thousand doors stand open.—Who could force
The ill-pleased guest to sit out his full time,
Or blame him if he goes?—Sure he does well,
That helps himself as timely as he can,
When able. But if there's an hereafter;
And that there is, conscience, uninfluenced
And suffered to speak out, tells every man ;
Then must it be an awful thing to die:
More horrid yet to die by one's own hand,
Self-murder!-name it not: our island's shame,
That makes her the reproach of neighbouring states.
Shall nature, swerving from her earliest dictate
Self-preservation, fall by her own act?
Forbid it heaven.-Let not, upon disgust
The shameless hand be fully crimsoned o'er
With blood of its own lord.-Dreadful attempt !
Just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage
To rush into the presence of our Judge ;
As if we challenged him to do his worst,
And mattered not his wrath !-Unheard-of tortures
Must be reserved for such: these herd together;
The common damned shun their society,
And look upon themselves as fiends less foul.
Our time is fixed, and all our days are numbered;
How long, how short, we know not :-this we know,
Duty requires we calmly wait the summons,
Nor dare to stir till Heaven shall give permission:
Like sentries that must keep their destined stand,
And wait the appointed hour, till they're relieved.
Those only are the brave that keep their ground,
And keep it to the last. To run away
Is but a coward's trick: to run away
From this world's ills, that at the very worst
Will soon blow o'er, thinking to mend ourselves,
By boldly venturing on a world unknown,
And plunging headlong in the dark ;—'tis mad;
No frenzy half so desperate as this.
THE YOUTH AND THE PHILOSOPHER.
A GRECIAN youth, of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philosophic care
Had formed for virtue's nobler view,
By precept and example too,
Would often boast his matchless skill,
To curb the steed, and guide the wheel,
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