Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite;
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,
And cards and counters are the toys of age:
Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before;
Till tir'd he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.
7. Meanwhile opinion gilds, with varying rays,
Those painted clouds that beautify our days;
Each want of happiness by hope supply'd,
And each vacuity of sense by pride.
These build as fast as knowledge can destroy :
In folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy :
One prospect lost, another still we gain,
And not a vanity is given in vain :
E'en mean self-love becomes, by force divine,
The scale to measure others' wants by thine.
See! and confess, one comfort still must rise;
'Tis this: Though man's a fool, yet God is wise.
LESSON CXXII.
On the Pursuits of Mankind.-POPE.
1. HONOR and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part-there all the honor lies. Fortune in men has some small difference made; One flaunts in rags-one flutters in brocade; The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd; The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.
"What differ more," you cry, " than crown and cowl ?”*
I tell you friend-a wise man and a fool.
You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,
Or, cobler like, the parson will be drunk :
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow;
The rest is all but leather or prunella.
2. Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race,
In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece :
But by your father's worth if your's you rate,
Count me those only who were good and great.
Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood:
Go! and pretend your family is young,
Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.
• Cowl, a hood worn by a monk.
What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.
3. Look next on greatness-say where greatness lies? "Where, but among the heroes and the wise ?" Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed, From Macedonia's madman* to the Swede:† The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find, Or make an enemy of all mankind! Not one looks backward; onward still he goes; Yet ne'er looks forward, farther than his nose. No less alike the politic and wise;
All sly slow things with circumspective eyes.
Men in their loose, unguarded hours they take,
Not that themselves are wise, but others weak.
4. But grant that those can conquer; these can cheat;
'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great.
Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,
Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.
Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
Or, failing, smiles in exile or in chains;
Like good Aurelius ‡ let him reign, or bleed
Like Socrates-that man is great indeed.
5. What's fame? a fanci'd life in others' breath,
A thing beyond us, e'en before our death.
All fame is foreign, but of true desert,
Plays round the head but comes not to the heart ;
One self-approving hour whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas :
And more true joy, Marcellus|| exil'd, feels,
Than Cesar, with a Senate at his heels.
6. In parts superior what advantage lies ?
Tell, (for you can) what is it to be wise?
'Tis but to know how little can be known;
To see all others' faults, and feel our own;
Condemn'd in business or in arts to drudge,
Without a second, or without a judge.
Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land ?
† Charles XII. king of Sweden, born A. D. 1682. His whole reign was one continued scene of warfare. He was killed at the siege of Frederickshall, in Norway, by a ball which struck him in the head, De ber, 1718.
A Roman Emperor in A. D. 181.
Marcellus, an eminent Roman banished by Julius Cesar to Asia, and recalled by Augustus Cesar.
All fear, none aid you, and few understand.
Painful preeminence! yourself to view
Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.
7. Bring then these blessings to a strict account;
Make fair deductions, see to what they 'mount:
How much, of other, each is sure to cost;
How each, for other, oft is wholly lost;
How inconsistent greater goods with these;
How sometimes life is risk'd, and always ease:
Think. And if still such things thy envy call,
Say, would'st thou be the man to whom they fall?
8. To sigh for ribands if thou art so silly,
Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy.
Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life?
Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife.
If parts allure thee, think how Bacon* shin'd;
The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind.
Or, ravish'd with the whistling of a name,
See Cromwell† damn'd to everlasting fame.
If all, united, thy ambition call,
From ancient story, learn to scorn them all.
The Road to Happiness open to all Men.-POPE.
1. ОH Happiness! our being's end and aim!
Good, pleasure, ease, content! Whate'er thy name;
That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die :
Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies,
O'erlook'd, seen double, by the fool and wise;
* Francis Bacon, an English philosopher, and statesman, who was born 1561, and died 1626. He was one of the greatest and one of the most universal geniuses, that any age or country has produced. He laid down those principles, by the assistance of which, Newton was enabled to unfold the whole law of nature. He was chosen lord high chancellor of England, but was legally convicted for bribery and corruption, and accused of the most gross and profligate flattery. He spent the last years of his life in study and retirement.
† Oliver Cromwell, a celebrated English general, was born 1599. He assumed the title of "Protector of the commonwealth of England," 1653. He administered the affairs of the kingdom, for five years, with great vigor and ability, and died 1658.
Plant of celestial seed, if dropt below,
Say, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow?
2. Fair op'ning to some court's propitious shine, -
Or deep with diamonds in the flaming mine?
Twin'd with the wreaths Parnassian laurel yield,
Or reap'd in iron harvests of the field?
Where grows? where grows it not? if vain our toil,
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.
Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere ;
'Tis no where to be found, or ev'ry where;
'Tis never to be bought, but always free;
And, fled from monarchs, Saint John*! dwells with thee.
3. Ask of the learn'd the way? The learn'd are blind;
This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind :
Some place the bliss in action, some in ease;
Those call it pleasure, and contentment these:
Some sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain;
Some swell'd to gods, confess ev'n virtue vain;
Or indolent, to each extreme they fall,
To trust in ev'ry thing, or doubt of all.
4. Who thus define it, say they more or less
Than this, that happiness is happiness?
Take nature's path, and mad opinions leave;
All states can reach it, and all heads conceive:
Obvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell;
There needs but thinking right, and meaning well;
And mourn our various portions as we please,
Equal is common sense, and common ease.
Remember, man, "the universal cause
Acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws;"
And makes what happiness we justly call,
Subsist not in the good of one, but all.
Henry Saint John, lord viscount Bolingbroke, a great politician and philosopher, was born 1672, at Battersea, England, 4 miles west of London. He was Secretary of war, and of state, to queen Anne, but on the accession of George I. in 1714, being accused of intrigue and ambitious motives, the seals were taken from him, and he retired to France. After various fluctuations of fortune, he returned to England and settled on his estates at Battersea, where he passed the latter part of his life in retirement, engaged in rural and literary employments. As a writer, lord Bolingbroke was nervous, elegant and argumentative, but it is to be lamented that in his writings he is too often sceptical, and that he disregards the great truths of revelation and of Christianity. He was an intimate friend of Pope, and it was by his persuasion that the Essay on Man was begun and finished. He died at Battersea, 1751.
Providence Vindicated in the Present State of Man.-POPE.
1. HEAV'N from all creatures hides the book of fate,
All but the page prescrib'd, their present state;
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know;
Or who could suffer being here below?
-The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
Had he thy reason would he skip and play?
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
2. Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv'n,
That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n;
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall;
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
3. Hope humbly then, with trembling pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher death; and God adore.
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never is, but always TO BE blest.
The soul, uneasy, and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
4. Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor❜d mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind;
His soul proud science never taught to stray
Far as the Solar Walk or Milky Way;
Yet simple nature to his hope has giv'n,
Behind the cloud-topt hill, a humbler heav'n;
Some safer world in depth of woods embrac'd,
Some happier island in the wat'ry waste;
Where slaves once more their native land behold,
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.
5. To be, contents his natural desire;
He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire;
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company.
-Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense,
Weigh thy opinion against Providence ;
Call imperfection what thou fanciest such;
Say here he gives too little, there too much--
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