TO-MORROW. TO-MORROW, didst thou say! Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash, The currency of ideots. Injurious bankrupt, In all the hoary registers of time, But foft, my friend, arreft the present moments; le fs As the wing'd couriers of the air, They poft to Heaven, and there record thy follyK Because, tho' ftation'd on th' important watch, Didft let them pafs unnotic'd, unimprov'd. 'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! far more pre cious Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain! O! let it not elude thy grafp, but, like The good old patriarch upon record, Hold the fleet angel fast, until he bless thee. COTTON. THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS. THE midnight moon ferenely fmiles No low'ring cloud obfcures the sky, Now every paffion finks to reft, The throbbing heart lies ftill; And varying schemes of life no more Distract the lab'ring will. In filence hufh'd, to Reason's voice, Come, while the peaceful fcene invites, Does it amid the frolic mirth Of gay affemblies dwell; Or hide beneath the folemn gloom, How oft the laughing brow of joy In vain, thro' beauty, fortune, wit, The fugitive we trace; It dwells not in the faithlefs fimile, Perhaps the joy to thefe deny'd, The heart in friendship finds : Howe'er our varying notions rove, To place its being in some state, O blind to each indulgent aim, The Hand of Heaven denies ! Vain is alike the joy we feek, The paffions into peace. To temper'd wishes, juft defires, Is happiness confin'd; And, deaf to Folly's call, attends The mufic of the mind. CARTER, THE ROSE. HOW fair is the rofe! what a beautiful How'r! But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, Yet the rofe has one powerful virtue to boast, When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are loft, Still how sweet a perfume it will yield! So frail is the youth and the beauty of men, Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty, But gain a good name by well doing my duty; WATTS. |