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Ah me! too well that gait I know,
My youth's first friend, my manhood's wo!
Its breast it bares! what! stain'd with blood?
Quick let me stanch the vital flood.
O spirit, whither art thou flown?
Why left me comfortless alone?
O Solitude, on me bestow
The heart-felt harmony of wo,
Such, such, as on th’ Ausonian shore,
Sweet Dorian Moschus trillid of yore :
No time should cancel thy desert,
More, more, than Bion was, thou wert..
O goddess of the tearful eye, The never-ceasing stream supply. Let us with Retirement go To charnels, and the house of wo, O'er Friendship's herse low-drooping mourn, Where the sickly tapers burn, Where Death and nun-clad Sorrow dwell, And nightly ring the solemn knell. The gloom dispels, the charnel smiles, Light flashes through the vaulted iles. Blow silky soft, thou western gale, O goddess of the desert, hail ! She bursts from yon cliff-riven cave,, Insulted by the wintry wave
Her brow an ivy garland binds,
Her tresses wanton with the winds,
A lion's spoils, without a zone,
Around her limbs are careless thrown ;
Her right-hand wields a knotted mace,
Her eyes roll wild, a stride her pace,
Her left a magic mirror holds,
In which she oft herself beholds.
O goddess of the desert, hail !
And softer blow, thou western gale !
Since in each scheme of life I've faild,
And disappointment seems entaild ;
Since all on earth I valued most,
My guide, my stay, my friend is lost;
You, only you, can make me blest,
And hush the tempest
Then gently deign to guide my feet
To your hermit-trodden seat,
Where I may live at last my own,
Where I at last may die unknown.
I spoke, she twin'd her magic ray, And thus she said, or seèm’d to say : Youth, you are mistaken, if you think to find In shades a medicine for a troubled mind;
Wan Grief will haunt you wheresoe'er you go,
Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow,
There pale Inaction pines his life away,
And, satiate, curses the return of day:
There naked Frenzy laughing wild with pain,
Or bares the blade, or plunges in the main :
There Superstition broods o'er all her fears,
And yells of demons in the Zephyr hears.
But if a hermit you're resolv'd to dwell,
And bid to social life a last farewell ;
God never made an independent man,
'Twould jar the concord of his general plan:
See every part of that stupendous whole,
• Whose body Nature is, and God the soul,
To one great end, the general good, conspire,
From matter, brute, to man, to seraph, fire.
Should man through nature solitary roam,
His will his sovereign, every where his home,
What force would guard him from the lion's jaw? *
What swiftness wing him from the panther's paw?
Or should Fate lead him to some safer shore,
Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar;
Where liberal nature all her charms bestows,
Suns shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water-flows,
Fool, dost thou think he'd revel on the store,
Absolve the care of Heav'n, nor ask for more ?
Tho' waters flow'd, flow'rs bloom'd, and Phæbus shone,
He'd sigh, he'd murmur that he was alone.
For know, the Maker on the human breast
A sense of kindred, country, man, imprest;
And social life to better, aid, adorn,
faculties each mortal's born.
Though Nature's works the ruling mind declare, And well deserve enquiry's serious care, The God (whate'er. Misanthropy may say) Shines, beams in man with most unclouded ray. What boots it thee to fly from pole to pole, Hang o'er the sun, and with the planets roll? What boots through space's furthest bourns to roam, If thou, O man, a stranger art at home? Then know thyself, the human mind survey, The use, the pleasure will the toil repay. Hence Inspiration plans his manner'd lays, Hence Homer's crown, and, Shakespear, hence thy bays. Hence he, the pride of Athens, and the shame, The best and wisest of mankind became. Nor study only, practice what you know, Your life, your knowledge, to mankind you owe. With Plato's olive wreath the bays entwine; Those who iņ stydy, should in practice shine.
Say, does the learned lord of Hagley's shade,
Charm man so much by mossy fountains laid,
As when arous’d, he stems corruption's course,
And shakes the senate with a Tully's force ?
When freedom gasp'd beneath a Cæsar's feet,
Then public virtue might to shades retreat ;
But where she breathes, the least may useful be,
And freedom, Britain, still belongs to thee.
Though man's ungrateful, or though Fortune frown;
Is the reward of worth a song, or crown?
Nor yet unrecompens'd are Virtue's pains,
Good Allen lives, and bounteous Brunswick reigns.
On each condition disappointments wait,
Enter the hut, and force the guarded gate.
Nor dare repine, though early friendship bleed,
From love, the world, and all its cares he's freed.
But know, Adversity's the child of God;
Whom Heaven approves of most, most feel her rod.
When smooth old ocean and each storm's asleepi
Then Ignorance may plough the watery deep,
But when the demons of the tempest rave,
Skill must conduct the vessel through the wave.
Sidney, what good man envies not thy blow?
Who would not wish Anytus for a foe?
Intrepid Virtue triumphs over Fate,
The good can never be unfortunate.