And thence with faucy grandeur looking down: Think of (Reflection's ftab!) the pitying friend
With fhoulder fhrugg'd and forry. Think that Time Has golden minutes, if difcreetly seiz'd:
And if fome fad example, indolent, To warn and scare be wanting think of me.
ELEGY TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN
LEAVING THE UNIVERSITY.
ERE yet, ingenuous Youth, thy fteps retire
From Cam's fmooth margin, and the peaceful vale, Where fcience call'd thee to her ftudious quire,
And met thee mufing in her cloisters pale : O! let thy friend (and may he boaft the name) Breathe from his artless reed one parting lay! A lay like this thy early virtues claim,
And this let voluntary friendship pay. Yet know, the time arrives, the dangerous time, When all thofe virtues op'ning now fo fair, Tranfplanted to the world's tempeftuous clime, Muft learn each Paffion's boift'rous breath to bear. There if Ambition, peftilent and pale,
Or Luxury fhould taint their vernal glow; If cold Self-int'reft, with her chilling gale, Should blaft th' unfolding bloffoms ere they blow; If mimic hues, by Art, or Fashion spread,
Their genuine, fimple coleuring fhould fupply; . O! with them may thefe laureate honours fade; And with them (if it can) my friendship die. —And do not blame, if, though thyself inspire, Cautious I ftrike the panegyric string;
The mufe full oft pursues a meteor fire, And vainly vent'rous, foars on waxen wing.
Too actively awake at Friendship's voice, The poet's bofom pours the fervent strain, 'Till fad reflection blames the hafty choice, And oft invokes Oblivion's aid in vain. Go then, my friend, nor let thy candid breaft Condemn me, if I check the plaufive ftring; Go to the wayward world; complete the reft; Be, what the pureft Muse would wish to fing, Be ftill Thyfelf: that open path of Truth, Which led thee here, let Manhood firm pursue ; Retain the fweet fimplicity of Youth,
And all thy virtue dictates, dare to do. Still fcorn, with confcious pride, the mask of Art; On Vice's front let fearful Caution lour, And teach the diffident, difcreeter part
Of knaves that plot, and fools that fawn for pow'r. So, round thy brow when age's honours spread, When death's cold hand untrings thy MASON's lyre, When the green turf lies lightly on his head, Thy worth fhall fome fuperior bard infpire; He to the ampleft bounds of Time's domain, On Rapture's plume fhall give thy name to fly; For truft, with revʼrence trust this Sabine strain : "The Mufe forbids the virtuous Man to die."
ON THE MISERIES OF HUMAN LIFE.
AH! little think the gay licentious proud, Whom pleasure, power, and affluence furround; They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;
Ah! little think they, while they dance along, How many feel, this very moment, death, And all the fad variety of pain:
How many fink in the devouring flood, Or more devouring flame: how many bleed, By fhameful variance betwixt Man and Man: How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms; Shut from the common air, and common use Of their own limbs; how many drink the cup Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread Of mifery: fore pierc'd by wintry winds, How many fhrink into the fordid hut Of cheerlefs Poverty; how many shake With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, Unbounded paffion, madness, guilt, remorse; Whence, tumbling headlong from the height of life, They furnish matter for the tragic mufe:
Ev'n in the vale, where Wisdom loves to dwell, With Friendship, Peace, and Contemplation join'd, How many rack'd with honeft paffions, droop In deep retir'd diftrefs: how many ftand Around the deathbed of their dearest friends, And point the parting anguish.-Thought fond man Of these, and all the thousand`nameless ills, That one inceffant ftruggle render life, One fcene of toil, of fuffering, and of fate, Vice in his high career would stand appall❜d, And heedlefs rambling Impulfe learn to think; The confcious heart of Charity would warm, And her wide with Benevolence dilate; The focial tear would rife, the focial figh; And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, Refining ftill, the focial paffions work. CHAP. XXII.
REFLECTIONS ON A FUTURE STATE.
'T. is done!-dread WINTER fpreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends His defolate domain. Behold, fond Man!
See here thy pictur'd life: pafs fome few years, Thy flow'ring Spring, thy Summer's ardent ftrength, Thy fober Autumn fading into age,
And pale concluding Winter comes at last,
And fhuts the fcene. Ah! whither now are fled Thofe dreams of greatnefs? thofe unfolid hopes Of happiness? thofe longings after fame? Thofe reftlefs cares? thofe bufy bustling days?. Thofe gay-fpent feftive nights? thofe veering thoughts, Loft between good and ill, that shar'd thy life? All now are vanish'd! VIRTUE fole furvives, Immortal never-failing friend of Man,
His guide to happiness on high
And fee! 'Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth Of Heaven, and earth! awak'ning Nature hears The new creating word, and starts to life, In every heighten'd form, from pain and death. For ever free. The great eternal scheme Involving all, and in a perfect whole Uniting as the profpect wider fpreads, To Reason's eye refin'd clears up apace. Ye vainly wife! ye blind prefumptuous! now, Confounded in the duft, adore that PowER, And WISDOM oft arraign'd: fee now the caufe, Why unaffuming worth in fecret liv'd,
And died, neglected: why the good Man's fhare In life was gall and bitterness of foul: Why the lone widow, and her orphans, pin'd In ftarving folitude; while Luxury,
In palaces, lay ftraining her low thought, To form unreal wants: why heav'n-born Truth, And Moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of Superftition's fcourge: why licens'd Pain, That cruel fpoiler, that embolom'd foe, Imbitter'd all our blifs.
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand Beneath life's preffure, yet bear up awhile, And what your bounded view, which only faw A little part, deem'd Evil, is no more.
The ftorms of WINTRY TIME will quickly pass, And one unbounded SPRING encircle all.
CHAP. XXIII.
ON PROCRASTINATION.
BB wife to day; 'tis madness to defer: Next day the fatal precedent, will plead; Thas on, till wisdom is puth'd out of life. Procraination is the thief of time; Year after year it fteals, till all are fled, And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vaft concerns of an eternal scene. Of man's miraculous miftakes this bears The palm, "That all men are about to live," For ever on the brink of being born. All pay themselves the compliment to think, They one day (hall not drivel; and their Pride On this reverfion takes up ready praife;
At least, their own; their future felres applauds; How excellent that life they ne'er will lead !
Time lodg'd in their own hands is Folly's vails; That lodg'd in Fate's, to Wifdom they confign; The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone. 'Tis not in Folly, not to fcorn a fool;
And scarce in hum n Wifdom to do more.
All promife is poor dilatory man,
And that through every stage. When young, indeed,
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