« PředchozíPokračovat »
242 RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.
But me, searce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distressed
Me howling winds drive devious, tempest tossed,
Sails ript, seams opening wide, and compass lost,
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
But oli the thought, that thou art såfe, and be!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From loins énthroned, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise-
The son of parents passed into the skies.
And now, farewell-time unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;
To have renewed the joys that once were mine;
Without the sin of violating thine;
And while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic shew of thee,
Time has but haif succeeded in his theft
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
Want virtue or what mental grace
But men unqualified and base
Will boast in their possession ?
Profusion apes the noble part
Of liberality of heart,
And dulness of discretion.
If every polished gem we find,
Illuminating heart or mind,
Provoke to imitation;
No wonder friendship does the same,
That jewel of the purest flame,
Or rather constellation.
No knave but boldly will pretend
The requisites that form a friend,
A real and a sound one,
fool he would deceive, But prove ás ready to believe, And dream that he had found one.
Candid, and generous, and just,
Boys care but little whom they trust,
An error soon corrected
For who but learns in riper years,
That man, when smoothest he appears,
Is most to be suspected :
But here again a danger lies,
Lest, having misapplied our eyes
And taken trash for treasure,
We should unwarily conclude
Friendship a false ideal good,
A mere Utopian pleasure.
An acquisition rather rare
Is yet no subject of despair;
Nor is it wise complaining,
If either on forbidden ground,
Or where it was not to be found,
We sought without attaining.
No friendship will abide the test,
That stands on sordid interest,
Or mean self-love erected;
Nor such as may awhile subsist
Between the sot and sensualist,
For viscious ends connected.
Who seek a friend, should come disposed
To exhibit in full bloom disclosed
The graces and the beautics,
That form the character he seeks,
For 'tis an union, that bespeaks
Mutual attention is implied,
And equal truth on either side,
And constantly supported;
'Tis senseless arrogance to accuse
Another of sinister views,
Our own as much distorted.
But will sincerity suffice?
It is indeed above all price,
And must be made the basis;
But every virtue of the soul
Must constitute the charming whole,
All shining in their places.
A fretful temper will divide
The closest knot, that may be tied,
By ceaseless sharp corrosion;
A temper passionate and fierce
May suddenly your joys disperse
At one immense explosion.
In vain the talkative unite
In hopes of permanent delight-
The secret just committed
Forgetting its important weight,
They drop through mere desire to prate,
And by themselves outwitted.
How bright soe'er the prospect seems,
All thoughts of friendship are but dreams
If envy chance to creep in;
An envious man, if you succeed,
May prove a dangerous foe indeed,
But not a friend worth keeping.
As envy pinas at good possessed
So jealousy looks forth distressed
On good, that seems approaching,
And if success, his steps attend,
Discerns a rival in a friend,
And hates him for encroaching.
Hence authors of illustrious name,
Unless belied by common fame,
Are sadly prone to quarrel,
To deem the wit a friend displays
A tax upon their own just praise,
And pluck each others laurel,
A man renowned for repartee:
Will seldoni scruple to make free
With friendship's finest feeling: