« PředchozíPokračovat »
There, as his dream foretold, a cart he found,
That carried compost forth to dung the ground.
This when the pilgrim saw, he stretched his throat,
And cried out “Murder !” with a yelling note :
My murdered fellow in this cart lies dead;
Vengeance and justice on the villain's head!
Ye magistrates, who sacred law dispense,
you I call to punish this offence.”
The word thus given, within a little space
The mob came roaring out, and thronged the place.
All in a trice they cast the cart to ground,
And in the dung the murdered body found;
Though breathless, warm, and reeking from the wound.
Good Heaven, whose darling attribute, we find, Is boundless grace and mercy to mankind, Abhors the cruel, and the deeds of night By wondrous ways reveals in open light. Murder may pass unpunished for a time, But tardy justice will o’ertake the crime ; And oft a speedier pain the guilty feels, The hue and cry of heaven pursues him at his heels. Fresh from the fact, as in the present case, The criminals are seized upon the place; Carter and host confronted face to face. Stiff in denial, as the law appoints, On engines they distend their tortured joints ; So was confession forced, the offence was known, And public justice on the offenders done.
CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come, visit every pious mind;
Come, pour thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make thy temples worthy Thee.
O Source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete !1
Thrice holy light, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire ;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring
To sanctify us while we sing.
Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy;
Thou strength of His Almighty hand
Whose power does heaven and earth command,
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,
And crownst thy gifts with eloquence :
Refine and purge our earthly parts ;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts !
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul ;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thine hand, and hold them down.
Chase from our minds the infernal foe;
the fruit of love, bestow;
And Iest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe :
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father and the Son by Thee.
Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name :
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died :
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee !
Trial and Hope.
As when a sudden storm of hail and rain
Beats to the ground the yet unbearded grain,
Think not the hopes of harvest are destroy'd
On the flat field and on the naked void ;
The light unloaded stem, from tempests freed,
Will raise the youthful honours of its head ;
And soon restored by native vigour, bear
The timely product of the bounteous year.
Nor yet conclude all fiery trials past,
For Heaven will exercise us to the last;
Sometimes will check us in our mid career
With doubtful blessings and with mingled fear,
That, still depending on his daily grace,
His every mercy for an alms may pass ;
With sparing hands will diet us to good,
Preventing surfeits of our pamper'd blood :
So feeds the mother bird her craving young
With little morsels, and delays them long.
The War-Horse. The fiery courser, when he hears from far The sprightly trumpets and the shouts of war, Pricks up his ears, and trembling with delight, Shifts place, and paws, and hopes the promised fight; On his right shoulder his thick mane reclin'd, Ruffles at speed, and dances in the wind. Eager he stands,--then, starting with a bound, He turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground; Fire from his eyes, clouds from his nostrils flow, He bears his rider headlong on the foe.
Born A.D. 1681, died A.D. 1765.
Be wise to-day, 'tis madness to defer ;
Next day the fatal precedent will plead ;
Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life.
Procrastination is the thief of time;
Year after year it steals, till all are fled,
And to the mercies of a moment leaves
The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
If not so frequent, would not this be strange?
That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger still.
Of man's miraculous takes 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 shall not drivel, and their pride
On this reversion takes up ready praise
(At least their own), their future selves applauds.
How excellent that life they ne'er will lead !
Time lodged in their own hands is folly's vails;
That lodged in fate's to wisdom they consign;
The thing they can't but purpose they postpone.
'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool,
And scarce in human wisdom to do more ;
All promise is poor dilatory man,
And that through every stage. When young, indeed,
In full content we sometimes nobly rest,
Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish,
As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise.
At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty, chides his infamous delay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ;
In all the magnanimity of thought
Resolves and re-resolves, then dies the same.
And why? because he thinks himself immortal. All men think all men mortal but themselves ; Themselves, when some alarming shock of Fate Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread: But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon close; where pass'd the shaft, no trace is found. As from the wing no scar the sky retains, The parted wave no furrow from the keel, So dies in human hearts the thought of death : E'en with the tender tear which nature sheds O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave.
First, what is true ambition? The pursuit
Of glory nothing less than man can share.
Were they as vain as gaudy-minded man,
As flatulent with fumes of self-applause,
Their arts and conquests animals might boast,
And claim their laurel-crowns as well as we;
But not celestial. Here we stand alone,
As in our form distinct, pre-eminent :
If prone in thought, our nature is our shame ;
And man should blush his forehead meets the skies.
The visible and present are for brutes-
A slender portion and a narrow bound !
These reason, with an energy divine,
O’erleaps, and claims the future and unseen :
The vast unseen! the future fathomless !
When the great soul buoys up to this high point,
Leaving gross nature's sediments below,
Then, and then only, Adam's offspring quits
and hero of the fields and woods,
Asserts his rank, and rises into man.
This is ambition; this is human fire!
Genius and art, ambition's boasted wings,
Our boast but ill deserve: O feeble aid !
Dedalian enginery! If these alone
Assist our flight, fame's flight is glory's fall.